#NCT SMUT

[rxnyngs]

nsfw twt links - dom haechan edition

sorry for the short post, i’ve been struggling to find new videos lately T_T … i’ll post new haechan audios to make it up to you hehe

1

watching your tits bounce as he fucks you and grabbing your hips is his fav thing about fucking you in missionary

2

you do such a good job riding him~

3

slowly pounding into you, refusing to change the pace until you beg and try to fuck yourself on his dick out of desperation

4

he can’t hold himself back when he sees you in thigh high stockings, your thighs look so fuckable

5

fingering you while you sit on his lap— he goes crazy when his dick is pressed against you

[withlovemark]

THE ORGASM DONORS: YOU HAVE BOOKED MARK LEE!

pairing: donor! mark lee x client! reader | genre: smut | words: 9k+

warnings: STRICTLY 18+

an: just 9k of pure, filthy smut…i’m never making it to the gates of heaven. this idea came to me in a dream (a horny, wet dream) all because i fell asleep to a tiktok of jaemin spinning around in his little orgasm donor hoodie. insane what the mind can do. everyone give it up for the first donor! the birthday boy! my number one boy! mark lee! and my last gift to all of you. have fun reading! — with love, c.

you never thought it would get to this point. not because you were ashamed. but there was something about your twenty something’s, this far into adulthood, and still never having an orgasm that made you feel like your body was broken in a way you couldn’t explain.

you’d done everything — read every self help blog, followed the advice on reddit threads, bought a vibrator, a dildo, the rose toy that everyone said was guaranteed to give you a mind bending orgasm, you’d whispered your needs to your previous partners, even screamed at one or two, but no one ever got it right. no one ever got you there. not even yourself.

it started to feel like a cruel joke. something other people could have, just not you. until your best friend leaned in over lunch one lazy sunday, sipping her coffee and said, “have you ever heard of the neo orgasm clinic?”

“oh god,” you laughed, “like a place that teaches you how to come?”

she grinned, “not teaches. they do it for you. and it’s guaranteed.”

you blinked, “what? so i pay for someone to have sex with me?”

“you pay someone to make you orgasm,” she shrugged like it was no big deal, “wouldn’t be the craziest thing in the world,” she says, sipping her coffee with a sly smirk.

and just like that, a seed of curiosity, or maybe desperation, rooted itself in your chest.

✚ BOOK NOW ✚

signing up was easier than expected. discreet, elegant, clinical but not cold. you filled up the introductory form — name, age, contact information, payment details, then moved onto the deeper intake.

step 1: medical verification. a form requesting a recent full panel STI test within the last month.

step 2: sexual preferences & boundaries. the screen lit up with a list and instructions

check all acts you’re open to exploring with your donor. this does not guarantee they will occur. your donor will review and operate within your boundaries at all times.

you skimmed the list, heart racing just a little and checked the following:

☑️ bondage

☑️ choking

☑️ clitoral stimulation

☑️ domination

☑️ dirty talk

☑️ edging

☑️ fingering

☑️ kissing

☑️ impact play

☑️ nipple play

☑️ oral

☑️ orgasm control

☑️ praise

☑️ rough sex

☑️ spanking

☑️ spitting

☑️ vaginal penetration

you hovered over a few others. degradation? group sex? objectification? you skipped them. not this time. you weren’t here to be humiliated — you were here to figure out why the hell your body kept locking up the second anyone touched you like they meant it.

step 3: why are you booking this appointment?

you had to type. no multiple choice. just a blank box waiting to be filled. your fingers hesitate above the keyboard. then you answered:

i’ve never had an orgasm. not from another person. not from myself. i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i’m tired of pretending. i’m tired of faking it. i want to know what it actually feels like. i want to stop being in my head. just for once. i want to let go.

you hit submit before you could overthink it.

step 4: choose your donor.

you clicked through the digital profile list, fingers hovering each name. each donor were vetted, trained, screened and certified in pleasure — not jut sex. these weren’t porn stars. these were licensed professionals. this was science, chemistry and understanding the human body and psyche. or whatever the website said to make you feel better about booking an appointment.

you hovered each name. a few looked promising. one had nice eyes. one had “mean” listed as a keyword. another had glowing reviews for how “slow and gentle” he was.

but then you saw him — mark lee. top donor. most requested. five-star average across every review. the testimonials read like something between a religious experience and the aftermath of a natural disaster.

“didn’t even know my body could do all of that, my god.”

“sweet, respectful, and somehow still completely ruined me.”

“made me orgasm like i’ve never orgasmed before”

and the most repeated one of all:

“i always book mark when he’s available, he knows exactly what to do. a guaranteed orgasm. every time.”

you didn’t even hesitate. you clicked BOOK NOW.

Neo Orgasm Clinic Consultation: CONFIRMED

Donor: Mark Lee

Date of Consultation: July 29, 2025

you stared at your bedroom ceiling in the dark, heart pounding a little too fast. you didn’t know what to expect. you didn’t know what you’d feel. but for the first time in years, you felt hope. and maybe, if the reviews weren’t exaggerating, you were finally about to find out what it meant to feel like your body belonged to you.

✚ THE CONSULTATION ✚

you almost canceled. twice. was this morally questionable? maybe. was it completely insane? absolutely.

but you still showed up. your nerves were coiled so tight they felt like they’d snap with one wrong move. you’d picked out a simple outfit, nothing too suggestive, nothing too uptight. but still, as you sat in the pristine waiting lounge of the neo orgasm clinic, ankles crossed and fingers clenched around your bag strap, you felt entirely exposed.

everything about the clinic was calm, curated. the lighting was soft and golden, the walls a warm cream, subtle scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the space. the kind of place that looked more like a boutique spa than a place where orgasms were clinically achieved.

even the receptionist was beautiful. sharp suit, glossy hair, delicate bone structure. his name tag read taeyong. he smiled when you walked in like he already knew everything about you. probably because he did.

“first consultation?,” he asked, tilting his head with a practiced sort of empathy.

you nodded, “is it that obvious?”

he chuckled, “only a little,” he teased, “but don’t worry, everyone’s nervous at first.”

taeyong pulled up your file on his screen, “you’ll be with mark today. he’s just finishing up. shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

your heart stuttered at the sound of his name. somehow, it felt heavier now. every second you spend in this clinic feeling more real than ever. this wasn’t a fantasy. this wasn’t a dream bordering into a nightmare. this was real. you were going to meet him…anytime now.

taeyong slid a sleek tablet across the desk, “while you wait, kindly review your file, click agree if no changes need to be made. consent is required for everything.”

you nodded, accepting the tablet and settling back in your seat. you skimmed your file one last time then submitted the form. the screen thanked you and welcomed you officially to the program.

exactly five minutes later, the door on the left of the receptionist table, labeled private suites opened with a soft click. and there he was. the man in the website. the top donor. real human being — mark lee.

you blinked. it was like seeing someone you’d only ever imagined walk into reality — all soft black hair, warm eyes, and a smile that was…surprisingly shy for someone with reviews like his. he was dressed in a simple black slacks and a fitted charcoal blazer, sleeves pushed up to reveal veined forearms and a silver watch. professional, polished, but somehow still boyish. he was speaking with someone. a girl that looked around your age. who’d look like she had just had the best time of her life. then she headed to taeyong and mark turned his focus towards you.

“hey,” he said, walking towards you and offering his hand, “you must be, ms. y/n.” you nod, placing your hand in his. his grip was firm, professional, “i’m mark. come follow me,” he said, guiding you toward the doors on the other side of the receptionist table labeled, consultation rooms, “no pressure,” he adds, shooting you a smile, “just talking today.”

the room felt like a cozy therapist’s office. a plush sofa, a low coffee table, a few plants. no examination table. no cold metal instruments. just comfort. mark sat across from you, legs crossed casually, an open tablet in his lap. he offered you water, asked if you were comfortable, then smiled before getting started.

“alright, let’s talk about you,” he said, voice low and calm, “why you’re here. what you’re hoping to get out of this experience.”

you hesitated. you’re sure he already knows. already looked at your file. but still, saying it out loud felt impossible. the words were caught somewhere between your throat and your pride.

“you can open up to me,” he urges softly, patiently, calmly, “we’re both here for you.”

you nodded, finally finding your voice, “ive…never had an orgasm.” you exhaled, eyes lowering, “i’ve tried…a lot…it just….doesn’t happen.”

mark didn’t blink. didn’t smirk. didn’t do anything to make you feel small. instead, he nodded slowly, like he’d heard this before. like it was okay. like you weren’t a complete helpless case. like you weren’t broken.

“thank you for telling me that,” he said softly, “i know it’s not easy to admit out loud but i want you know something — there’s nothing wrong with you.”

you looked up at him, sighing, “feels like there is.”

“i know,” he nodded, “but trust me, there are a million reasons why achieving an orgasm can be difficult — physical, mental, emotional, trauma-related, hormonal, sometimes just bad luck with partners. but it’s not permanent. and it’s not your fault.”

that made you smile, barely, but it was there. he smiled back, warm and nonchalant, “so, you’re not broken. you’re just…unsolved. that’s where i come in.” you swallowed hard. the warmth behind this words caught you off guard.

he tapped a few notes on his tablet before setting it aside, “here’s how this works,” he said, “you set the pace. we take our time. always. you can stop me and say no anytime. nothing happens without your permission. and we don’t even have to do the session unless you’re completely ready.”

you nodded slowly, processing his words, “okay.”

mark studied you for a beat, “do you want to tell me anything else you might have forgotten on your file?”

you hesitated, thinking, “i think i just…want to stop thinking so much. i get in my head. i start worrying about how i look, how i sound, if i’m being too much or not enough. it’s hard to stay in the moment.”

he leaned back, thoughtful, “so your mind is the roadblock.” he smiled a little, “that’s more common than you think.”

“do you really have a 100% success rate?” you asked quietly.

that made him laugh – not loud, not cocky, just amused in a warm way.

“our stats don’t lie,” he smiles, “but it’s because i take my time, i listen, i pay attention,” his voice dipped, “pleasure isn’t a race to the finish line. it’s a process. one i’d be honored to help you through.”

you felt your cheeks flush. he noticed and softened his voice even more, “you don’t have to decide today but if you’re comfortable, i’d be happy to schedule your first session.”

your pulse quickened, “...yes,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, "i want to.”

his smile returned, warm and sincere, “good,” he said, tapping his screen, “i’ll have taeyong reach out to confirm your appointment date.” he stood up, offering his hand again, “thank you for choosing me.”

you took it and this time your grip was steady, “see you soon, mark.”

Neo Orgasm Clinic Appointment: CONFIRMED

Client: Y/N L/N

Donor: Mark Lee

Date of Session: August 2, 2025

✚ THE APPOINTMENT ✚

you were early. too early. you sat in the same softly lit waiting room, knees bouncing, pulse in your throat. taeyong gave you a knowing smile as he gestured you towards the private suites door and the down the hallway.

“suite 8, he’s ready for you.”

the words made something twist low in your stomach as you walked towards the room. you entered slowly — suite 8 was nothing like you imagined. it wasn't clinical or sterile. it felt more like a luxury hotel room, quiet and warm, wrapped in soft ambient lighting. a large couch sat near the window. there was a bed. there were blankets, clean white sheets and a speaker humming low instrumental music. every detail was designed to ease tension, to invite softness.

you notice him adjusting something on the bedside table, a glass of water, a box of tissues, a towel. and then — mark turned.

“hey,” he said softly, “i’ve been waiting for you.”

he was dressed in black slacks, a black tie and black long sleeve button up, with the sleeves folded up his arms. hot but casual. the entire room, his casual demeanor, made it feel like you’re not at a clinic and just booked a dick appointment like it was a bumble date.

your lips curved, nerves still tangled in your chest, “i-i’m here.”

mark chuckled, not mockingly, but with that same warm, honeyed tone you remember, “you’re cute,” he said simply, “i like that you’re not pretending to be cool.”

you exhaled slowly, “i don’t think i could even if i tried.”

he stepped closer, slow and measured, giving you space with every move, “do you remember what i said during our last meet up?” he asked.

you note how he doesn’t use the word consultation, how he’s trying to make this all seem like it’s a normal hook-up and not a service.

“y-yeah. i’m in control. i can stop you. ask questions. say no.”

“good.” he murmured, his gaze searching yours for a moment longer, “but i’m going to be honest with you.”

his hand lifted, brushing his fingers down your jaw, slow and warm, “tonight, i am going to take control. you came here because your body hasn’t been shown how it deserves to be touched. and i don’t do halfway, sweetheart.”

you swallowed hard.

“so tell me,” he said, tipping your chin up with two fingers, gaze locked on yours, “can i touch you?”

you barely breathed, “yes.”

one of his hands travelled down your arm to your lower back, leaving behind trails of goosebumps in his wake.

“can i kiss you?” he said, eyes locked on yours. your breath caught. you nod.

he didn’t hesitate. mark grabbed your jaw and kissed you — hot, full, unrelenting. he kissed like he owned your mouth. his lips slanted over yours, opening you up, coaxing you open, tongue swept in with purpose — wet, confident, greedy.

you moaned into him, the sound swallowed as his tongue tangled with yours in filthy, practiced patterns. he tilted his head, deepened the angle, sucked softly at your bottom lip only to follow it up with another tongue-heavy kiss that made your spine arch. your hands clutched at his shirt on instinct, dizzy from the pace, the heat, the want.

you feel him smirk through the kiss as he kept going. his hands began to roam, starting at your waist, dragging up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your shirt, just enough to make you gasp, then down again, gliding over your hips before settling on cupping your ass. his hands gripping tight and hot.

you squirmed, trying to shift closer but he held you steady. dominant. measured. not rushing but not enough to give you relief either. he guided you towards the couch, lips never leaving yours.

“sit.” he ordered, voice like velvet wrapped around steel. you obeyed without thinking. he kneeled between your legs, grabbing your thighs to pull you to the edge. the kiss resumed, but filthier this time, more desperate. he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to fuck your mouth with his tongue until you forgot what you’re here for.

“you taste so fucking sweet,” he growled, pausing to bite your bottom lip. slowly. sensually. “bet i’ll find out you taste even sweeter somewhere else.” you gasped, trembling. his fingers were already under your shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, “arms up, baby.”

you lifted your arms, dazed, his use of pet names making it feel way more romantic than it should. he carefully peeled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, hands immediately finding your bare skin, palms dragging up your ribs, thumbs brushing the peaks of your breasts through your bra. you leaned toward him instinctively and he chuckled.

“sensitive,” he muttered, “good. i want every part of you begging.” he kissed you again, harder this time, wet and open, lips slick with spit, you could hardly keep up. every kiss felt like it left you raw. ruined. but craving more.

his fingers toyed with the clasp of your bra, then popped it open easily. he dragged the straps down your arms, slow and teasing, “you’ve been neglected long enough, haven’t you, pretty girl?” he said against your lips.

he trailed his mouth down your neck, sucking at the pulse point until you whined, then he licked lower, over your collarbones, between your breasts, circling your nipples with maddening slowness. his hands stayed firm on your thighs, squeezing, keeping you spread and trembling.

“i want you to stop waiting for an orgasm,” he murmured as he kissed lower, lips just above your waistband, “feel everything. the pressure. the tease. the ache.”

your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding his face on your nipple, “please—mark, i need—”

“i know what you need.” his voice was low, but firm. his mouth still latched one of your nipples, sucking harshly.

“you think you’re the first person to sit here and say they don’t know how to come?,” he laughed softly, switching to the other peak.

“you’re not broken, baby. you’re untouched. and i’m about to change that.”

he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear at once, and then he stopped, eyes locked on yours.

“you trust me to take care of you?”

“yes,” you whispered, breath hitching.

“say it louder.”

“yes—yes, i trust you.”

“good girl.”

he smirked, dragging everything down in one slow, smooth pull, baring you to the cool air. to his heated stare. his eyes darkened as he took you in, and he let out a soft groan, hand gripping your knees to push them open wider.

mark leaned back just though to take in the sight of you — completely undressed, legs parted, breath shaky, lips kiss-swollen, flushed and desperate, beneath the soft golden lighting of suite 8, vulnerable and exposed.

“fuck,” he breathed out, jaw tense, “you’re so pretty like this. spread out for me. waiting.”

you whimpered as his hands slid up your inner thighs, thumbs brushing too close to where you ached, then retreating again. and again. and again. his touch was everywhere except where you needed him most. the ache between your legs pulsed — soaked and neglected, your body betraying how ready it was.

but still, your mind wouldn’t shut up. wouldn’t let you stay there in it. what if i can’t? what if i freeze up? what if he thinks there’s something wrong with me?

and mark knew. he could see. hear it in your gasps, feel it in your tension. that’s why he smirked like that, cruel and knowing. like he was enjoying watching you unravel in slow motion, one nerve at a time.

“tell me how this feels,” he murmured, leaning forward to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone again.

“let me hear you.”

“i—” you gasped, jerking as his teeth grazed a nipple, then soothed it with a slick, wet lick, “it’s—it’s not enough—mark, please—” he hummed against your skin, lips warm as he kissed back up to your throat.

“good. that’s exactly where i want you. i don’t want you comfortable yet. i want you needy. desperate. begging me to touch this pretty pussy.”

and you were starting to be. you could feel the slickness between your thighs, a heartbeat thrumming at your core. still, mark didn’t touch you there. his hands continued their teasing path, caressing your hips, your stomach, your thighs. never slipping between.

his tongue pushed into your mouth again, curling with yours, fucking it slow. one hand tangled in your hair to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss. his other hand slid down—finally, finally—settling just above your mound. the heel of his palm pressed just enough to tease the ache, and you whimpered, hips jerking upward like your body was pleading.

“already soaking, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, “and i haven’t even touched you properly.”

“please, please, i need—”

“no.” he cut in, voice sharp, dangerous. “i decide when you get that. you gave me your trust, baby. so let me show you what your body’s capable of when it’s not trying to hurry up and finish just to feel something.”

you whimpered quietly, looking at him with pleading eyes and only then did he let his fingers finally slip lower, gliding through the slick pooling between your legs. you gasped at the contact, but he didn’t go inside. just circled, rubbed, spread. over and over. maddening and slow.

“you’ve been chasing orgasms,” he muttered, placing a hot, wet kiss below your ear, “without knowing where they live.”

you moaned when he dragged his thumb over your clit, gentle at first, then firmer, enough to make you buck your hips. his mouth found yours again, kissing you harder now, every wet slide of his tongue mirrored the rhythm of his hand, slow, controlled, rubbing soft circles around your clit.

and you tried to stay in it, you really did. but before you could focus on the pleasure, your mind tensed again. breath caught. brain whirring. what if it’s not enough? what if i sound weird? what if i can’t let go?

your thighs started to close.

“no.” mark growled, his voice darker now. he shoved your legs apart again, pinning them open, “don’t hide. let me give you what you’ve never had.”

“i’m trying,” you choked, voice high and splintered, “but i-i dont know if i—what if i can’t–”

“it’s building up,” he grunted against your lips, “but you’re in your head. i can feel it”

and then, with no warning, he pushed one finger inside you. your back arched as your walls clamped around him, a quiet sigh slipping from your lips.

“fuck—so tight,” he hissed, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he pushed deeper, curling slightly.

“you’ve been keeping this all to yourself, huh?” he pumped slow, shallow, his finger curling just enough to make your toes curl with it. then he added another. watching your face like a predator.

the moment your moan cracked through the air, high and broken, your eyes shot wide open, your hand clamping your own mouth, instinctive, terrified of the sound you made.

mark’s entire body tensed. he grabbed your wrist and yanked it down.

“don’t fucking do that.” his voice was rough. eyes wild. not with lust but with something more dangerous. hungry.

“up.” he ordered lowly, voice already thick with arousal. “on the couch. lay back.”

you blinked, dazed, “what—”

“now.”

the command in his tone made your stomach clench. you moved instinctively, letting him guide you, your bare back sticking slightly to the leather as you laid down. he helped spread your thighs wide over the edge. you were open now, fully exposed to him. he hovered above you.

then — he pulled his tie off in one swift motion. yanked it free from around his neck with a harsh flick. and before you could ask what he was doing he pinned your arms behind you and wrapped it tightly around your wrists, the silk biting softly into your skin.

he leaned over you, hot breath against your ear, “do you know what i do when pretty girls like you can’t let go?”

you shook your head, lips parted, eyes blown wide with lust.

“i don’t slow down,” he whispered, “i break them.”

then he looked down at you like a man starving. like a man about to feast.

“look at this,” he muttered, dragging two fingers through your folds again, lightly slapping your pussy, as he positioned himself between your cunt.

“so wet and ready,” he grunted against your aching core.

the first stroke of his tongue was slow. deliberate. — a warm, wet slide right up the length of your slit, ending with a soft suck to your clit that made your hips jump. you gasped, back arching.

mark groaned against you, “god, you taste unreal,” he growled, “i could stay here all night.”

and he meant it. he licked again, then again, tongue flattening against your core, teasing, tasting. his mouth was hot, his tongue devastating, alternating between slow strokes and precise flicks, sucking at your clit just enough to make your thighs tremble. his hands gripped your hips tight, holding you open as he buried his face deeper.

he was good. too good.

but still, that coil of pressure in your belly wasn’t catching. your breath hitched with every swirl of his tongue, but it didn’t crest. it didn’t tip. you kept chasing the edge but never quite reaching it. you couldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. what if this is it and i still don’t come? what if i’m the one person he gives up on? what if i disappoint him?

mark noticed it all. and he was tired of watching you get in your own way.

“i said i’d take my time with you.” he muttered, voice rough as knelt between your legs, towering over your exposed body, chest heaving slightly.

“but don’t mistake that for mercy.”

the kindness in his voice had cooled into something sharper, darker. still controlled. still careful. but this wasn’t the same soft-spoken man who asked if he could touch you. could kiss you. this was the version of him who knew exactly what you needed before you did. the one who didn’t need your trust. the one who commanded it.

you blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath. mark was already working on his shirt, buttons flicked open with practiced, irritated speed. like you being like this —trembling and touched and still not broken open, had finally pushed him past whatever professional restraint he’d been clinging to.

“you want to feel something real?” he asked, low and dark as he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside. his torso was lean, toned, strong, defined muscle under fair skin. veins prominent in his forearms, a shadow of control beneath the surface. you couldn’t stop staring, but he didn’t give you long.

“eyes on me.” he snapped. you flinched and obeyed instantly.

“good girl.” he muttered, already undoing his belt.

“you’re done overthinking tonight. you’re not here to analyze. you’re here to surrender.” he kicked his slacks off in one motion, dark briefs still clinging to his hips, already showing the outline of his cock pressing tight against the fabric. he moved between your legs again, now completely shirtless, he let you feel him. skin on skin. then, his hand came up to grip your jaw, not hard, just firm enough to make you feel it. to keep you grounded in his hold.

“i’m going to rewire that pretty little brain of yours,” he grunted.

“because clearly, your body’s ready but your head hasn’t shut the fuck up once since you got here.”

you whimpered, nodding under his grip.

“and when you come, it’s going to be because i made it happen.” he continued, dragging the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, “you’re not going to perform. you’re not going to fake. you’re going to fucking lose it. because i’m going to take it from you.”

then he was sinking to his knees again, this time bringing your legs up to your chest, holding you open like a meal he was ready to devour. the position was cruel. your hands tied behind your back was starting to hurt. but he didn’t care.

“no more playing nice.” he muttered. “you’ve had enough of that.”

and then—he ate.

there was nothing soft about it this time. his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the only thing that could save him. tongue flat and wide, licking deep and messy, then curling to flick at your clit with precision that made your hips jerk off the couch. you cried out but he only held you down harder.

“stay still.” he growled into your cunt, tongue never pausing, “i didn’t say you could run.”

you couldn’t push him away, the tie tight around your wrist. his grip on your thighs tightened. every stroke of his tongue was filthy, practiced, deliberate. he sucked your clit, then dragged his tongue lower, licking you open, tasting you with obscene, wet sounds that only made the pressure worse. hotter. deeper.

and still — you couldn’t let go. still, that voice in your head whispered too much. what if he’s doing all of this and i don’t come? i bet i look really weird right now. what if i’m really broken?

mark slammed his hand flat over your lower stomach, fingers splayed wide, his mouth unrelenting. and then he pulled back, just for a breath. just long enough to growl, “get out of your fucking head, baby. right now.”

his voice dropped.

“focus on what i’m doing to you.”

then he spit directly on your clit, letting it fall slowly, hot, messy, then immediately sucked you into his mouth like a punishment. it was so hot. a high pitched moan escaped your lips before you could even think about it. he hummed low like he knew it’d short-circuit your brain, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. his fingers slid back inside, fucking you now. harder, faster, rougher, thrusting with a rhythm of your unraveling.

“i don’t care how long it takes.” he snarled, breath hot against you.

“i’ll break you open and fuck the hesitation out of you.”

it was working. the fear was melting into heat. shame into friction. every thought replaced by the overwhelming sensation. you were teetering on the edge of something unfamiliar and terrifying. the pressure was unbearable, intense and unrelenting, like your body was being dragged past the edge whether it was ready or not.

mark didn’t stop. he pulled your clit between his lips again and again, flicking his tongue until you were gasping. curling his fingers over and over again.

“say it.” mark growled. “say you want to come.”

“i—fuck—i want to—mark—”

“louder.”

“i want to come! please—don’t stop—please—”

“come.” his voice demanded, vibrating against your skin. “let. me. have it.”

and then—you broke.

“oh my god—” the words tore out of you, breathless and wrecked, “f-fuck, don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

and he didn’t. your hips bucked against his mouth. the rest of the words dissolved into a sob from your throat so raw, so guttural, you hardly recognized the sound as your own. your back arched clean off the leather couch, hands gripping so tight hoping you could tether yourself to the moment as your body seized with sensation.

your orgasm didn’t rise like a tide — it detonated. it wrecked you open. no warning. just impact. a white-hot snap that split through you like a faultline finally giving way under years of pressure. it was too much. too big. too real. like something that had been lodged deep inside your chest your whole life had just ripped free — wild and screaming and glorious. years of silence and shame, of second-guessing and not-quite-getting-there, all flooding out at once.

your thighs clamped around his head, but mark didn’t flinch. he held you there, mouth relentless, fingers tight on your hip to anchor you through every tremor, every aftershock, as you writhed and whimpered and let the orgasm tear through your body. his tongue is merciless, unrelenting. mouth locked on you like he was dragging every last drop of that orgasm out of you until there was nothing left. until you were finally begging him to stop.

when he pulled back, his lips were slick. his face wrecked. his eyes triumphant.

mark licked his lips, “that,” he panted, “was one.”

you blinked at him, tears shining in your lashes, “i didn’t think i could…”

“you can,” he said firmly, brushing your hair back. “you did.”

then he untied your wrists slowly, carefully. but his voice stayed rough, “get on the bed.” he ordered.

“we’re not done.”

he gripped your thighs lifting you easily like you weighed nothing at all, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. a silent yelp slipped from your lips as he tossed you onto the bed with a bounce that knocked the breath from your lungs. the sheets were cool against your overheated skin, your body slack and spread open, chest rising and falling like you’d just survived something. or maybe like you were bracing for what was next.

mark’s lips found yours again, hot and claiming. his kiss wasn’t soft anymore — it was deep and consuming, all tongue and teeth and groaned hunger. he tasted like you. he traced a hand up your side, slow and steady, fingertips brushing every rib, every tremble. he was watching you like he didn’t want to miss a single twitch.

“you still with me?” he asked, voice rough around the edges now. lower. thicker. like he was barely holding himself back.

you nodded, dazed. “yeah. just…. holy shit.”

he smirked, “good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

you huffed a breathy laugh. “like… i didn’t even know i could come like that.”

mark’s thumb brushed the corner of your lips, dragging gently across your cheek. his eyes softened, but only for a second.

“that was just the beginning.”

then his expression darkened — not cruel, but hungry. that same deep hunger you’d caught glimpses of earlier, now unleashed. like something inside him had snapped loose the second you shattered and now he was free to do what he really wanted.

he sat back, eyes locked to yours and reached over to the nightstand. you watched as he tore open a foil packet with his teeth. condom. protection. professional. safe. but the way he rolled it on, slow, deliberate, cocky — made your mouth go dry.

your eyes dropped. you finally saw him. all of him. he was long. thick. the flushed tip already glistening with precum. your breath hitched.

“you’re still so wet,” he murmured, dragging his fingers between your folds again, making you jump, “you want more?”

your answer was instant, “yes. please.”

“you want to be fucked until you forget your own name?”

“yes, please—mark,” your hips bucked into his touch, already craving the stretch.

mark leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, his breath was hot.

“i’m going to fuck you now.”

the words made you clench. one hand guiding his cock to your entrance, the other gripped your hip with enough force to bruise.

“breathe,” he reminded, voice steady.

“and keep your legs open for me.”

you obeyed, trembling, aroused, needy. and then — he pushed in. just the tip at first. then inch by inch, he filled you. stretching you open, dragging slowly through your soaked heat, the pressure exquisite and unbearable. your eyes rolled back. your nails clawed into the sheets. when he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, you couldn’t breathe.

“fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god—mark—” your hands came up to grip his hair.

you were so full. it felt like too much. he stilled there, letting you feel it, the stretch, the weight, the sheer intimacy of being filled by him.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, jaw clenched.

“you’re gonna hold on, baby? think you’re strong enough to fight me off again?”

and then he pulled out just enough to slam back in, you cried out. back arched. stars bursting behind your eyes.

he started thrusting — deep, sharp, claiming. again. again. setting a brutal rhythm, relentless and unforgiving, pounding into you with full, punishing strokes that rocked the entire bed. his grips on your hips was bruising. his pace was perfect, desperate, controlled, yielding. your moans were raw, punched out of you with every thrust. loud. real. unrestrained.

mark never looked away. watching every twitch of your body, every tremble, every cry of his name that tore from your lips like a prayer.

“you feel that?” he rasped. “your body is already giving in.”

you could barely speak. your second orgasm was building fast, sharp and electric, clawing up your spine as he adjusted his angle just enough to hit that spot, again and again, until you were falling apart beneath him.

“mark—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“come again.” he ordered, voice dark and breathless.

“come on my cock this time. prove to me you can do it.”

your mind shut off completely. no thoughts. no fear. just him. just the way his cock dragged inside you, hitting just right. his hand moved up your body, rough and reverent until his fingers brushed over your chest, teasing. and then his thumb rolled over your nipple. palm cupping your breast, kneading.

his other hand slipped under your back, lifting and forcing you to arch into him. he sucked one nipple into his mouth with a low groan that made your walls clamp around him hard.

you screamed. it was too good. his cock, his mouth, his hands — everywhere. his tongue bit your nipple and you sobbed, overwhelmed, drenched, utterly destroyed.

“you’re doing so good, you don’t have to think. i’ll do it for you.”

he dragged his teeth across your nipple again as his hips continued slamming into you, cock swelling inside you. then he brought his thumb in between your bodies, toying with your clit, rubbing harsh circles until your body couldn’t take it.

your second orgasm ripped through you. just eruption. you clutched his shoulders, mouth open, body convulsing against him as the climax burst out of you with a scream.

“good fucking girl,” he growled, hips not slowing.

“just like that. let it all go for me.”

you did. you had to. your thighs were trembling violently. your pussy clenched so tight around him you heard a curse tear from his throat. he didn’t stop. he rode it. let you sob and shake around him, fucking you through it.

his cock was pulsing and relentless, dragging wet and hot inside you as your cunt fluttered around him, overstimulated and soaked. you were beyond thought. your mind—completely gone. your body—his to command. he held your wrists down. you were a mess of tears and cries and raw nerve endings, and you loved it. you were addicted to the high. wanting every second to last longer.

“mark—please—don’t stop—”

“i’m not” he growled. “’i’m not stopping till your body forgets how to do anything but come.”

he pulled out for a quick second. hands gripping your waist hard before he suddenly flipped you onto your stomach. before you could even blink, he was dragging you up onto your knees, forcing your ass in the air, cheek pressed to the mattress.

“face down.” he growled, voice low, breathless, “ass up.”

you obeyed instantly, mind fogged and floating, body pliant and aching. you didn’t care anymore. you weren’t you anymore. you were his. bent to his will. so cock-drunk. your mind a blank page. he was rewriting your system with every thrust, every word, every sound he dragged out of you.

he shoved your knees apart with his thighs, rough hands spreading your cheeks, and then spat down, watching it drip between your folds. his cock nudged your entrance again, already slick from how soaked you were. you whimpered when he teased the head along your slit, grinding it against your oversensitive clit just to watch you shudder.

he leaned in close, voice a hot whisper against your ear, “gonna make up for all those years no one ever made you come,” he rasped, “every single time they fumbled and failed. this pussy’s never gonna remember that.”

and then—he slammed back into you. you screamed into the sheets. the new angle had him deeper, thicker somehow, hitting that spot so brutally your entire body jolted forward.

“mark—fuck—fuck—fuck!,” you moaned, biting down on the sheets, practically drooling.

he didn’t slow. didn’t pause. just gripped your hips and fucked you, hard and fast, his pelvis slapping against your ass with every thrust. the sound of skin on skin filled the room, wet, filthy, relentless.

“listen to that,” he rasped, voice wild now. “listen to what this pussy does for me.”

you couldn’t respond. couldn’t think. could only feel. the stretch felt sharper like this, more urgent. every stroke had you gasping, choking, keening into the mattress. and then—

slap!

you cried out when his palm landed hard on your ass. not cruel, just enough to make you jolt, to send that spike of heat ricocheting up your spine and straight down again, pulsing into your core.

“yeah,” mark breathed, voice cracked open with need, “you like that?”

you nodded, incoherent words slipping from your lips.

another slap! a little harder.

you sobbed, hips bucking back against him, desperate to meet every thrust.

“that’s it,” he growled, pounding into you harder now, the bed frame rocking under the force, “take it. take everything.”

and then his hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat, his hands wrapped around it. not tight enough to scare you. just tight enough to own you. your choked out moans filling the air. toes curling so hard you swore you’re about to get a cramp.

your third orgasm slammed into you out of nowhere. your body locked up and shattered around him, your cunt clenching so hard you saw white. he let you go as you screamed into the mattress, every nerve on fire, legs shaking violently as pleasure tore through you, raw and final and unrelenting.

— and still, he didn’t stop. mark held you steady as your body writhed, collapsing from the sheer force of your release, but he was relentless, “you don’t stop until i say you do.”

you whimpered something, his name, maybe, or just a breathless plea, but it didn’t matter. he fucked through your orgasm like a man possessed, chasing the aftershocks, turning them into something new. something sharper. overwhelming. your body trembled beneath him, hips twitching, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the sheets. your pussy clenched around him again and again, involuntary, helpless. every drag of his cock sent sparks skittering across your skin.

“you’re shaking.” he groaned, chest pressed to your back now, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, “gonna make you fucking squirt, baby. i can feel it. you’re right there.”

“no—mark—too much, i can’t do that—,” you try to push him off. try to crawl away. but he was stronger. and he kept his cock pounding inside you.

“yes. you can.” his hand slid down, fingers seeking your clit, rubbing fast and brutal circles that had your legs kicking out, your voice catching in a strangled sob.

“i said face down. ass up.” he reminded you, voice dark and firm as he shoved your head back into the mattress, palm flat between your shoulder blades, keeping you there.

“be good. take it. this is what you came here for.”

the pressure was unbearable, his cock punishing inside you, fingers never letting up on your swollen clit. your mind blanked, eyes rolling back for the umpteenth time and then you reached a high you didn’t even think was humanly possible. something you only saw happen in porn.

a ragged, high-pitched cry tore out of you as your body convulsed, back arching violently before you collapsed into your fourth orgasm. the gush came, hot, wet, explosive. your cunt fluttered and sprayed around him, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as you squirted all over his cock, the sheets, the floor. you could barely process it. your brain had gone static. a glitching signal of pleasure.

“fucking amazing,” mark snarled, hips stuttering.

“that’s it. let it all go.” he pulled out just enough to watch you gush again before slamming back in. your whole body jerked like a live wire. you were sobbing now, overstimulated, wrecked, your hands had give up on clawing at the sheets for something to hold onto. there was nothing. nothing but him.

mark cursed, nearly losing his rhythm, “fucking hell—”

he didn’t stop. he kept pounding into your overstimulated cunt, watching your body convulse under him.

“gonna—fuck—i’m gonna come—” his pace stuttering for the first time, hips faltering mid-thrust. you could hear the unraveling in his breath, raw and uneven. his thrusts turned sloppy, deeper, harder. and then, with a strangled moan, he came. his hips slammed into you one last time, cock buried deep as he spilled into the condom with a guttural groan, body jerking with each pulse. he stayed there, breathing ragged, pressed tight against your back, his body shaking with the force of it.

for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the thunder of both your heartbeats. you were barely on your knees, cheek pressed to the sheets, body twitching faintly from aftershocks, cunt still fluttering around the softening length inside you.

mark let out a long breath, low, shaky. he leaned forward, his chest slick with sweat and your juices, smearing against the curve of your spine as he slowly eased down.

“you okay?” he murmured finally, voice hoarse, frayed around the edges.

you nodded, too blissed-out to form real words, “yeah. just… holy shit again.”

he chuckled weakly, wrapping his arms around your middle and gently easing you down onto the bed. his cock slipped out slowly, and you whimpered at the loss, already missing the fullness. a laugh slipped from your lips anyway, a disbelieving, breathy sound.

you couldn’t move. not in a bad way. more like your body had melted into the mattress, boneless and warm, every muscle humming with aftershocks. your mind was soft, quiet, the storm of thoughts you usually lived in was gone. for the first time in your life, there was peace, full-bodied, deep, radiating out from the very core of you. like something inside had finally clicked into place.

you’d come. you’d actually come. not faked it. not chased it just to please someone else. not brushed against it only to have it slip away. this time, it hit you full force. not once but four times.

the kind of orgasms that emptied you, pulled sobs from your throat and tears from your eyes and for once you hadn’t cared. you hadn’t flinched. you hadn’t shut down or shrunk into yourself, hadn’t tried to perform or hid or apologize. you’d felt it all.

and somewhere in the middle of all that, you’d actually squirted. your thighs had trembled, you’d felt yourself gush around him, soaking the sheets, your mind and body surrendering with no shame. no fear. no filter. you hadn’t know it could feel like that. like being cracked open and remade. like something holy. your cunt still fluttered with phantom pulses, like your body couldn’t quite believe it either. like it wasn’t ready to let go.

mark lay beside you, propped up on one elbow, his other hand already reaching for the warm towel he’d placed nearby. he flipped you over gently, his touch deliberate and slow. like he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere but right here. he cleaned you up in silence. careful. focused. he dabbed between your legs with gentle, precise strokes, flinching every time you flinched. “sorry,” he muttered each time, almost apologetic.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.

you nodded, a small smile on your lips, “better than okay…i feel like i just got reborn.”

that earned a real laugh from him this time, “that’s a new one,” he said with a shake of his head.

you stretched, wincing slightly, sore in all the right ways. everything throbbed but in a way that made you feel alive. present. you turned your head to look at him.

“that was… insane,” you murmured, “i mean, you literally had to destroy me to get me out of my own head.”

mark smiled, brushing hair from your damp forehead, “it wasn’t destruction. it was release. you just needed to shut this little guy off ,” he says, lightly tapping your temple, “and stop being scared to let your body feel.”

your throat tightened, not from embarrassment, but from the truth of it. because that’s exactly what it was. you’d let go. fully. completely.

mark grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand, twisted the cap and held it to your lips like it was instinct. “drink. you lost a lot of liquids back there.”

you giggled, then took a few sips, letting him wipe the corners of your mouth with his thumb afterward. it should’ve been awkward. but it wasn’t. it was safe.

eventually, mark rose from the bed and helped you sit up slowly, handing you your clothes one piece at a time. you slowly got dressed. you were glowing, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes bright. alive. awake. soft.

once you were both dressed, mark walked you back to the lounge of the clinic. the lighting had brightened slightly step by step—intentional, maybe, to ease clients back into the world gently.

“thanks,” you said as you walked side by side, your voice a little hoarse, but steady, “for the... comprehensive service.”

his mouth twitched, almost a smile, “neo orgasm clinic prides itself on thorough results.”

“oh, i noticed,” you deadpanned. “i think i saw god.”

mark let out a soft laugh, “i take it your file won’t need another ‘no prior orgasm’ flag.”

you rolled your eyes. “no, i think we can check that one off. multiple times, actually. all thanks to you.”

he cocked his head, the edge of a smirk playing on his lips, “you did the work.”

you snorted, “right. i was just lying there, crying and begging while you—never mind. forget it. you know what you did.”

“professionally, of course,” he said smoothly, “all part of the protocol.”

you looked him up and down, “if that was protocol, i’d hate to see what your personal life looks like.”

his smirk sharpened, almost imperceptibly, “you wouldn’t survive it.”

you raised a brow, “is that a challenge?”

his eyes glinted, “only if you book another appointment.”

you laughed then leaned in slightly, just enough for him to hear, “but seriously, you didn’t just make me orgasm. you made me feel like…like my body finally belongs to me.”

something flickered in his expression, not warmth, not empathy. just... acknowledgment. like a box being ticked. another line in the report. mark’s gaze held yours. there was no smugness, no pride. just warmth. steadiness — a donor who’d done exactly what he promised and only what you needed.

“thank you for trusting the process,” he said simply.

then, with a crooked grin, you added, “i should probably leave a tip. or at least a five-star review.”

he raised an eyebrow in amusement, “tips aren’t required. but reviews help with the rankings.”

“oh, i’ll be specific,” you said, walking toward the door leading to the lounge, “something like: ‘ruined me in under an hour. swore i saw heaven. would recommend.’”

mark tilted his head, quietly chuckling beside you. the door opened. you stepped inside and turned back toward him. “seriously though five star session.”

he nodded once, “glad we could meet your goals.”

you smirked, “gonna be hard to top this one.”

the corner of his mouth curled, sharp and knowing.

“book me again.” he said lowly, voice like velvet, “i’ll try.”

then, offering his hand once more, firm and polite, “it was a pleasure to be your donor, ms. y/n.”

you shook it, firm, “i’ll be your client any day.”

and with one last glance, one last smile, he turned back toward the double doors. and just like that it was over.

✚ END OF SESSION ✚

the door whispered shut behind him, soft and final. you stood in the lounge for a second longer than necessary, trying to get back into reality.

you were still warm. still sore. still…not quite in the world. your legs wobbled slightly, the plush carpet beneath your feet suddenly feeling too soft. too quiet. the silence here was different. this one was polished. the kind that came with good lighting and air purifiers and an undercurrent of expensive professionalism.

you approached the front desk slowly, finding taeyong already tapping away at his tablet, his perfect posture and gel-slicked hair still completely intact, like nothing behind those doors could ruffle him. he glanced up with the kind of smile that had been trained into perfection. not fake. just smooth. comforting. scripted.

“that’ll be charged to the card on file,” he said gently, voice soft enough not to jar you.

you nodded. your voice wasn’t ready yet.

“also, this is for you.” he reached beneath the desk and pulled out a matte black paper bag with subtle silver foil lettering that gleamed when it caught the light:

thank you for trusting neo orgasm clinic with your satisfaction.

you blinked. “what’s this?”

“a small thank-you from our donors,” he said, still smiling, still unbothered — as though this entire exchange was no more intimate than a routine dentist visit. like you weren’t just being fucked to your next life behind those doors.

you took the bag with both hands, still feeling like you were floating slightly outside yourself.

“have a good rest of your evening! we hope to see you again,” taeyong smiled from behind his computer.

you gave him a tired little smile, a soft wave and murmured a polite “thanks,” and turned toward the exit.

you made your way to your car, dropped into the driver’s seat, and opened the bag, curious to see what it holds — inside was a neatly folded hoodie, ultra-soft, white, with bold letters:

ORGASM DONOR

you stared. then snorted. a full bodied laugh punched out of your chest. it was dumb. it was ridiculous. it was perfect. tucked beside it, almost like an afterthought, was a juice box. your laugh came sharper this time.

you popped the straw in, took a long sip and leaned your head back against the seat. let the juice cool your tongue. let the moment wash over you and muttered to yourself, “best. fucking. clinic.”

you pulled your phone out. opened the clinic’s feedback portal. your fingers hovered for a second. then you typed:

released me from the shackles of my mind. came four times. even squirted. lost track of the tears. saw god. 10/10. highly recommend. would let mark destroy me again. professionally, of course.

somewhere behind those pristine white doors, donor mark was already reviewing his next file. another client. another list of goals. another carefully measured beginning.

✚ APPOINTMENT STATUS: COMPLETE ✚

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

BONUS: #1. #2. #3. #4. #5.

—

an: and the first donor is done! i hope this lived up to the expectation. if you hate it please don’t tell me lmao. this whole entire concept is supposed to be silly! i hope you had fun reading it! please don’t take it too seriously :)

🩺 likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated

client tags: @alwayswonbinning @haechyuckan @neotannies @jaeminiwrld @taeeflwrr @kittydollzz @amazinggraxia @markleewatermelon @snwydoie @lvlyynim @neosteric @s4turdaydr1p @booskies @bananinhazz @hyucksaint @feet4liferss @mangoescrazy @jaejaezprincess @mokalattee @combinatoright-blog @stormy1408 @neonaby @zhangyixingxing1 @ni-ki-starnetwork @markiesfatbooty @luvjoongz @bbykaixx @lubunnii @ryuvrsie @hyuckluvr-com @37point5rated @snoopyana @britishvamps @sssaturn @serhser @flowerrpwrr @rex-ie @yutasputa69 @serpeverde005 @imsaltnt @imnotrosiee @leleszn @shiningnono @ant-onie @kakutoz @kiwichenji @ihatefrvits @haechanahceah67 @huffnpufffckk @nctdreamchaser @markiepoo4eva @neocockthotology @poutybzby @mackleroni @grimlinshere @mey-archive @su11yoon @n9vacane @hoonhyeonhae @crooked-haven @liaviva

[leejenowrld]

back to friends — (m)

“𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐜���� 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐝?”

word count — 21k words 

genre — smut, fluff, angst

pairing — best friend!mark lee x oc! reader 

synopsis — after years of crossing lines and pretending you’re just friends, one reckless night destroys every boundary between you and mark. you fuck like you’re starving—filthy, desperate, angry—never able to stop wanting him, no matter how much it ruins you. now, tangled in a mess of jealousy, heartbreak, and possessive sex, you both spiral through hookups, fights, and raw confessions, knowing the truth is the one thing that could end you. this is a story about the addictive, ruinous pull between best friends who can’t stop breaking each other open, and the fear that you’ll never be able to go back to the way things were.

chapter warnings — explicit language, college au, mark and readers relationship dynamic may be confusing, explicit sexual content graphic descriptions of oral, vaginal, and a lot of smut in this, rough sex, spanking, slapping, spit play, choking, ass play, begging, face sitting, and overstimulation, car sex, party bathroom sex, possessiveness/jealousy kink, rough claiming, jealousy-fueled sex, use of degrading language, humiliation play, dirty talk/degradation, mutual masturbation & exhibitionism, fingering, oral in front of mirrors, riding in laps, emotional vulnerability & comfort sex, sex after distress, crying during/after sex, aftercare, unprotected sex alcohol use, smoking, references to partying

surprise drop, happy birthday markie 🫶<3!!

[fic playlist]

It’s four in the morning when you wake to find Mark asleep at the foot of your bed, arm slung over the comforter, cheek pressed against your shin. The light leaking from the cracked bathroom door pools along the floorboards, blurring the boundary between your space and his, as if even the shadows have given up trying to separate the two of you. There’s a mug half-spilled on your nightstand, the faded print smudged from the last time he stole it for his endless late-night coffees. You can smell his cologne even now, sharp and familiar, woven into the sheets you both pretend are only yours.

You’re so used to finding pieces of him everywhere, a shoe kicked under your desk, rings abandoned in the kitchen sink, half-folded t-shirts on your chair, that sometimes it feels like you’re borrowing your own life. There’s a comfort in it, the kind that breeds laziness, or maybe just a low-level hunger you’re never supposed to feed. He never bothers with an excuse. Mark slips into your bed the way he claims a seat beside you at the movies, or stretches out on your carpet with his head in your lap, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it’s always been his. None of you ever question it when he stays over after movie nights and you both drift off tangled together, limbs knotted and breaths slow. It’s just instinct, the way you end up side by side, sharing pillows and warmth, the quiet thrum of his heart pressed into your spine. There’s never a conversation, never a line drawn, never a need for reason, just the ease of knowing where he fits, how your bodies slot together, how you both sleep best when it’s like this, close and careless and unconcerned with how it looks to anyone else.

The lines between you and Mark have always been blurred, dragged out and rubbed raw by every touch that lingers too long, every look that burns a little too openly. There’s nothing innocent about the way his hands find your hips at parties, yanking you in to shut you up with his mouth against yours, tongue deep and desperate while the room spins and your friends just laugh, pretending they haven’t noticed you pressed up against a wall, his fingers tangled in your hair. You shower together when you’re hungover and lazy, but it’s never just about saving time, he stands behind you, soap slick on your skin, rinsing shampoo from your hair with a mouthful of filthy jokes, his hands sliding down your body until you’re shivering, thighs slick and parted under the spray, knowing he’ll only stop if you say so. 

There are nights sprawled out half-naked on your bedroom floor, sharing half a bottle of vodka and a pack of cigarettes, his head in your lap as you dare each other into confessions that always spiral into touch: his fingers stroking your stomach, your hand curled around the waistband of his boxers, your breaths thick and uneven, hearts racing so hard you can hear them in your ears. Everyone assumes you’re fucking and you do fuck, in every way that counts except the last. You’ve never corrected anyone, never had the nerve to call it what it is. What would you even say? That he’s your best friend? That you want him in ways that ruin you, that you’d let him do anything if he only asked? That sometimes, when he leans in close and your lips brush, the whole world shrinks to the heat and hunger trembling in that half-inch between you, and you want to tear him open and swallow whatever’s left?

You fuck him more often than you’d ever admit, even to yourself. It happens on nights when you’re both pissed off from shitty dates or ghosted by people you barely cared about, nights you storm in with ruined mascara, rip off your clothes, and climb straight onto his cock while he’s half-asleep on the couch, riding him until you both forget your own names. It’s casual, matter-of-fact, so unashamed you could laugh; there’s no pretending at innocence, not after the hundredth time he’s bent you over the kitchen counter at two in the morning, tongue in your cunt, fingers in your mouth, holding you open so you can watch yourself fall apart in the black window glass. He’ll fuck you with his rings on, thick fingers pressing bruises into your thighs, palm around your throat while you whimper his name. Sometimes you tie him up with your own scarves and make him beg, make him writhe, make him lose all that easy confidence until he’s swearing and panting for you, so hard he can’t think. 

Other nights he’ll pull your hair, spit in your mouth, fuck you so slow you go mad, pin your wrists over your head and keep you there until you’re crying, cock-drunk and shuddering, dripping all over his sheets. You both see other people, sometimes they call while he’s still inside you, and you answer on speaker just to hear him curse under his breath, teeth gritted as you squeeze him tighter. Sex is the language you both speak best, the only place you let yourselves be honest: no shame, no shyness, just bodies wrecked together, craving and needed and real. You never talk about what it means. You never call it love. But there’s a logic to it, a ritual, whenever you’re both frayed and desperate and lonely, it’s Mark you crawl to, Mark who splits you open, Mark who leaves you marked up and grinning, both of you spent and half-laughing in the aftermath, pretending it’s just how friends take care of each other. Sometimes you think your life together is one long, unsent message. Half-truths and borrowed comforts, spun out in the shape of routine, his name on your takeout order, your number as his emergency contact, a toothbrush in every drawer. You wonder if this is how it’ll always be: two bodies in orbit, never colliding, always trembling on the verge of disaster. Still, every morning he’s there, curled into the shape of something almost tender, and you let yourself believe you’re not alone. It’s easier that way. You both have your ways of pretending.

You haven’t spoken in days, just shouting, slamming doors, fucking each other stupid whenever the fight gets too hot to handle, the kind of angry sex that leaves you shaking after, mascara smeared down your cheeks, hickeys blooming across your collarbone where your dress won’t cover. Right now you’re in Mark’s car, the hem of your dress hitched up over your hips, slick already painting the inside of your thighs as he buries his face between your legs, tongue working circles around your clit, jaw flexing with every desperate whimper you give him. The car is bouncing with every sharp thrust of his fingers, back seat fogging up, streetlights flickering across the sheer straps of your dress, a strappy, skin-tight slip in cherry red, cut so high it barely covers your ass when you climb out, tits pushed up and mouth still painted, heels kicked off in the footwell. He drags you forward by the waist, hands rough and unrepentant, as if he’s trying to fuck the thought of Jay right out of you, eating you like he’s starving. You’re gasping, shoving at his hair, telling him, “Don’t—Mark, be soft, I can’t go in there covered in your cum—” but he just groans, tongue flicking, fingers curling, the taste of your skin making him growl. 

The argument lingers between you, thick as sweat, Mark’s voice from earlier echoing in your head, snarling about Jay, about how he treats girls like shit, how he’s seen Jay ghost girls after fucking them at some shitty afterparty, how he’s rude, uses girls for ego, brags about every fuck. You spat it back, called Mark jealous, accused him of never letting you make your own choices, and he’d just stared at you, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes dark and wild. “Maybe I am jealous,” he’d bitten out, “but I’m not gonna let you get wrecked by some dickhead who doesn’t know how to treat you.” Every time you argue like this, it ends with you on your back, it doesn't matter if it’s your bed, his car, or the hallway floor, Mark always needing to stake his claim, to leave his spit and cum where no one else can touch. Right now, as his mouth pushes you higher, you can’t think straight, whining for him to slow down, begging him to be gentle so you don’t walk into that restaurant with Jay’s name on your lips and Mark’s fingerprints all over your thighs. You look wrecked, hair tumbling wild around your face, lips swollen and parted, dress riding up so high you’re one deep breath from flashing half the parking lot, eyes glazed, skin flushed with want. Mark glances up at you, mouth glistening, smirks, and murmurs, “You want me to be soft? That’s not how you argued for it, princess.”

He’s brutal tonight, knuckles pressing into the slick heat of your thighs, tongue splitting you open with single-minded hunger, eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to look away. You’re sprawled in the backseat, legs thrown over his shoulders, that tiny red dress bunched at your waist and the straps falling off your arms. He palms your hips hard enough to bruise, dragging you down the leather seat until your ass squeaks against it and you’re arching into his face, heels digging into his back. His breath is hot, tongue working relentless circles over your clit, sometimes slow, just the tip flicking, then deep and savage, mouthing at you like he wants to swallow every sound you make. Every time you whine, he growls low, the vibration making your thighs tremble. His hair is a mess where you’ve grabbed at it, yanking him closer, grinding against his mouth in frustration when he doesn’t give you what you want fast enough. The windows are fogged and dripping with condensation, every movement rocking the car, headlights sliding across your skin like a silent audience.

You’re panting, trying to claw your composure back, but the argument’s still clawing through your veins, thick and mean. Mark’s tongue is relentless, lips slick and jaw aching, but when you grind down harder and drag that taunt into the charged, cramped air, “Wonder if Jay would do it like this,”—he doesn’t let you finish. Your hips rock against his face, every muscle in his shoulders flexing under your thighs, but his eyes snap up to yours, black and burning, and he actually growls. The sound is feral, furious, vibrating straight through your cunt, teeth gritted as he pulls his mouth away just enough to rasp.

“Shut the fuck up about Jay.” His breath is hot against your skin, eyes still locked on yours, possessive and wild. “He wouldn’t even know where to start.” Then he dives back in, tongue punishing, sucking your clit so hard your vision blurs, fingers pressing bruises into your hips as if he’s daring you to even think about anyone else. Every flick and drag of his mouth now is a threat, a promise, all of it—watch me, remember this, you’re fucking mine.

Mark’s grip on your thighs tightens, nails biting in, and he sucks your clit hard, just to shut you up. You gasp, almost sob, your back arching off the seat. “Fuck—Mark, he’d probably cum in his pants just seeing me like this, wouldn’t he?” You say it just to see his jaw tense, just to watch the darkness bloom in his eyes as he licks up your slit, slow and punishing, then buries his face deeper, groaning into you as if he can drown out every other man’s name with the sound of you falling apart on his tongue. 

You feel him grin, lips curled around your cunt, breath hot and furious. “Keep talking,” he rasps between licks, “see where it gets you.”

Your hands slip from his hair to his shoulders, nails scraping red lines down his back as his tongue fucks into you harder, relentless, filthy, he’s eating you out like it’s a fight he has to win, mouth slick and greedy, lips swollen and wet as he laps you up. You whimper, trying to twist away, but he just pins you down, forearm heavy across your stomach, fingers digging into your thigh so you can’t escape, forcing you to feel every brutal, beautiful drag of his mouth. You curse him, moan for him, tell him he’s being rough, that he’s going to ruin your dress, but you can’t stop rocking against his tongue, riding his face, cunt throbbing with every flick and press. “Yeah, ruin it,” he mutters, mouth hot and sticky against you, “let him see exactly who fucked you up.” The car smells like sweat and sex and leather, your mascara running, eyes glazed and lips bitten raw, legs trembling every time he sucks your clit between his teeth, tongue flicking so fast your vision whites out.

You start to break, hips shaking, chest heaving, voice cracking as you try to warn him you’re close, but he only doubles down, tongue and fingers working you open until you’re crying, sobbing his name, begging for him to slow down, to let you breathe. He doesn’t stop. His hands slip up your waist, pinning you in place, and he keeps licking, keeps sucking, chasing your orgasm like he needs to own it, to brand you from the inside out. You choke out his name, thighs squeezing his head, the whole car rocking with the force of your release, body wrung out and spent, pussy clenching around nothing as he laps up every drop, groaning like he’s drunk on you. Your hands fist in his hair, tears streaking down your cheeks, breath stuttering as you finally go limp, Mark’s mouth still hot and wet on your cunt, his voice nothing but a gravel whisper, “let him fucking wait, you’re mine first, always mine.”

Your body’s still shuddering, cunt still pulsing around nothing, when your phone buzzes with a message, telling you that he’s inside and waiting for you. You’re yanked back into the glare of the real world, heat flashing across your face as you gasp and push at Mark’s head. “Stop, Mark—fuck, he’s here,” you hiss, voice raw and breathless, hips jerking when he gives your clit one last, stubborn, filthy lick before finally letting you go. You’re left a mess: thighs sticky, dress rumpled up around your waist, hair wild from where he gripped it. You reach for the visor, yanking it down and frantically trying to tame your hair, fingers trembling as you swipe at your mascara, rub your mouth raw with your thumb until the smeared lipstick is half fixed. Mark just sits back in the seat, lips swollen and chin shining with you, watching with that unreadable look, chest still heaving, hands clenched tight on his knees as you smooth your dress back down over your thighs, cover up the marks he left in every place you’ll never forget.

You shoot him a look, equal parts exasperation and wrecked, cheeks burning as you stuff your heels back on, heart pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to break free. “Jay’s inside,” you mumble, barely trusting your voice not to shake. He just sighs, low and frustrated, the anger and want still burning underneath, too much left unsaid between you. For a second you think he might start another argument, might grab your wrist and pull you back in for more, but instead he just leans across the console, catches your chin, and presses the softest, most fucked-up kiss to your forehead. It’s the kind of touch that undoes you, gentle, dizzying, painfully close to love. “I’m only a call away,” he murmurs, voice barely holding together. You nod, swallowing hard, lips parted but no words coming, and the moment hangs there, long, slow, brutal, like you’re both waiting for something to give.

You force a laugh, breathless, still trembling as you open the car door and step out, your knees unsteady, dress clinging to your skin where he left you marked. “Bye, Mark,” you whisper, voice tiny, and you don’t look back as you walk toward the restaurant, clutching your phone like a lifeline, pulse still fluttering from his mouth. You can feel his eyes on you the whole way, your body still humming with him, every step echoing the ache of leaving him in that car, unfinished. Only when you’re finally inside, safe past the glass doors and lost in the low golden lights, do you dare to glance back, Mark’s car still parked there, headlights low, engine running. He’s watching, always watching, jaw tight, and only when you disappear from sight does he finally shake his head and pull away, leaving you there with every nerve raw and every line between you just that much more impossible to untangle.

The restaurant is loud and bright, all glass and chatter and laughter pressing in from every side, but none of it distracts you from the phantom ache still humming between your thighs, Mark’s touch lingering on your skin like a bruise that won’t fade. You try to focus on Jay, on the way he leans across the table with that easy, practiced confidence, but it’s all surface: compliments that sound like lines, eyes that never quite meet yours unless he’s checking out your cleavage, every conversation turning back to sex no matter how you try to steer it elsewhere. You laugh when you’re supposed to, sip your drink, play the game, but Mark’s words circle in your head—he doesn’t care about you, he just wants to get off, he’ll use you up and leave you feeling cheap—and for the first time, you start to wonder if he’s right.

Jay’s hand finds your knee under the table, fingers inching up your thigh with a confidence that feels wrong, too familiar, nothing like the heat and safety you’re used to. He whispers something in your ear about how good you look, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you all day, but there’s no warmth behind it, no care, just that greedy undertone that makes your stomach twist. You force yourself to flirt back, to play along, letting his hand go higher, laughing at jokes that don’t land, but you’re thinking about Mark, the taste of him, the burn in his eyes when you teased him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. You wonder if Jay could ever make you feel like that. The answer settles low in your chest, heavy and cold.

Jay’s conversation grows sloppier as the night drags on, eyes glazing with every drink, stories getting more explicit, leaning into crude innuendos and little comments about what he wants to do to you. There’s no curiosity about your life, your dreams, your day, just hungry glances at your mouth, at your thighs, hands always wandering, lips always parted. You nod, smile, let him take your hand, but every touch feels wrong, like you’re playing at someone else’s fantasy, and Mark’s warning rings louder in your ears: guys like that don’t know how to take care of a girl like you. For a second, you think about texting Mark, about running back to his car and letting him take you home, but you swallow it down and keep smiling, keep pretending. It’s not until Jay licks his thumb and tries to wipe a streak of mascara from your cheek—clumsy and a little too rough, breath hot and sour from his last drink—that the ick crawls up your spine. You laugh it off, brushing his hand away, blaming it on too many cocktails. He leans in close, lips brushing your ear, and says, “Do you wanna go back to mine?” The question is blunt, expectation hanging heavy in the air. You force another bright smile, nodding, feeling the lie burn your tongue, and stand to follow him out, heart pounding, Mark’s shadow still clinging to your skin as you step into the night.

You know you’ve made a mistake as soon as Jay’s door clicks shut behind you. The apartment is colder than you expected, lights low, the air thick with last night’s booze and the stale, burnt edge of cheap weed. There’s a mess of trainers in the hallway, empty shot glasses on every windowsill, and the soundtrack of some club remix leaking from a speaker you can’t see. Jay doesn’t ask if you want a drink, doesn’t even bother making small talk, just hooks his fingers into the crook of your elbow and leads you straight down the hall, eyes already scanning your body like he’s checking off a list. His room’s the same: sheets tangled, two condoms already torn open on the nightstand, the air sharp with sweat and something sweet and sour, a girl’s bra slung over his desk chair like a souvenir.

Jay’s notorious, everyone knows it. His crew, Sunghoon and Heeseung and Jake, haunt campus bars and afterparties, all swagger and loud voices, a constant echo of hands on waists and crude bets. Mark and his lot, Jeno, Jaemin, Donghyuck, have never tried to blend, never tried to fake nice. Mark calls Jay’s friends walking red flags, says they don’t know the meaning of respect, and it’s easy to see why. Where Mark is careless with his heart but careful with your body, Jay’s got nothing but appetite—he doesn’t ask, doesn’t check, just takes. You can feel the difference in every touch, every glance, the way Mark would always pause to search your eyes, to brush your hair off your cheek, but Jay just grins, eyes heavy-lidded, hands already traveling up the slit of your dress as you fall back onto his bed. Jay and his group of friends afd the kind of boys who wear their conquests like a joke, whose group chats are full of body counts and grainy photos. Mark and his friends can’t stand them, never could. Mark talks shit about them in every room, calls them out for being trash, and even though he’s got a reputation of his own, you know how different he really is. Mark might fuck around, but he always asks, always cares, always checks if you’re okay before he goes any further. Jay’s just the opposite, entitlement, assumption, no patience for the word no.

It starts hot, at least in theory, his mouth hungry on yours, teeth and tongue, your dress shoved down your arms, tits spilling out while he grinds against your bare thigh, rutting like he’s been hard for hours. His fingers are rough, pinching your nipple, one hand sliding straight down to your cunt, pushing your panties aside without a word. You kiss him back, roll your hips into his palm, try to conjure up some version of wanting, but the smell of him and the pushy scrape of his knuckles just leaves you colder. Still, you let him maneuver you, let him hitch your leg up higher, cock slapping heavy against your cunt as he grinds in, but when he tries to shove inside you, barely any warning, no condom, no preamble, something in you freezes. You press a palm to his chest, breath ragged. “Just—wait,” you manage, and for a moment he just stares, blank and annoyed, as if you’re a glitch in his program.

His lip curls. “Wait? For what, princess? What do you think we’re here for?” His hand stays tight on your thigh, fingers digging in, but there’s no warmth, no coaxing, just expectation. “You think I dragged you out here for a chat? You know who you are, right? I’ve seen the way you look at Mark, shit, I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. You ride him in the kitchen, suck him off in the locker room. Sunghoon said he walked in on you with his cock down your throat after a game, Jake said you let Mark fuck you in the shower after finals. Don’t pretend you’re shy now. My boys said not to bother with you, said you’re just his slut, but if he keeps coming back for more when he’s got every girl on campus lined up, must be a tight little pussy. You’re fit, I’ll give you that. Great tits, that mouth, that body—wouldn’t mind a turn. Now stop wasting my time and get on all fours.” His voice turns cruel, mouth close to your ear. “Let’s see if you’re as good as they say. Get on your knees. Or do you only do that for him?”

His words gut you, filthy, degrading, each syllable scraping something raw. For a second, you just stare, dress halfway down your hips, chest bare, breath stuck in your throat. Then the shame curdles to rage. You shove him hard, voice sharp and shaking. “Go fuck yourself,” you spit, scrambling off the bed, yanking your dress up over your chest, fumbling for your bag with shaking hands. 

Jay laughs, cold and bored, already rolling over and grabbing his phone, muttering, “Fucking tease, you’re all the same,” as you stumble barefoot down his hallway. The door slams behind you, breath burning, heart racing, humiliation prickling over your skin. You don’t even think, just punch Mark’s name into your phone with trembling fingers, fighting tears as you hurry out into the cold, the need to hear his voice outweighing every other instinct.

Mark picks up on the first ring. His voice is gentle, low, softer than you’ve heard it in days, all the anger and tension stripped away in an instant. “Hey, I’ve got you, where are you?” he murmurs, like it’s a secret, like it’s just for you. You can’t even get the words out, just shaking and gasping, tears spilling down your cheeks, every breath ragged and broken. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” he soothes, so much warmth in his tone you can feel it curl around you through the line. “Don’t talk, just stay there. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I already know where you are.” You hear the jingle of his keys, the sound of his door slamming, the familiar rush of him moving, every detail so achingly familiar, every detail safety itself. He never makes you say it, never asks for an explanation, never tells you what you should’ve done differently. He just moves.

Within minutes, headlights cut through the dark, his car pulling up wild, tires spinning. The passenger door’s thrown open before you can even wipe your cheeks, Mark’s already out, moving fast, finding you half-crumpled on the curb, he pulls off his jacket, shoving your arms through the sleeves before you can think to refuse. “Come here,” he says, voice thick, hands gentle, steady as he pulls you against his chest. You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing, still trembling so hard your knees knock together, his warmth the only anchor in the spinning night. He holds you there, big hands running slowly, grounding circles up and down your back, pressing kisses into your hair, your forehead, the shell of your ear. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice low and trembling at your ear, breath hot where it fans your cheek, “I’ve got you, baby. Nobody touches you but me, yeah? You’re safe—only with me. Always.” The words are a secret, a promise, spoken with a hunger that shakes you, his arms winding tighter around your waist like he could fuse you to his chest. There’s a catch in his throat, something raw and desperate, as if he’d tear the world apart just to keep you right here, shivering in his jacket, head buried under his chin. You hear the way he clings to every syllable, turning your safety into a vow he’ll never break, no matter what.

He helps you into the car, steady hands guiding you by the waist, fingers slow, gentle, trembling just a little when they brush the bare skin above your hip. He buckles your seatbelt, the metal clicks loud in the silence, and when he leans in, his thumb strokes your jaw with a tenderness that makes your eyes sting all over again. His lips brush your forehead, warm, lingering, pressed a little too long, like he can’t bring himself to let go. He doesn’t move to his side. For a moment, he’s still, the cabin thick with the scent of him, the windows steaming up, engine humming low beneath you both. You watch as his jaw tightens, eyes burning, fists clenched so hard his knuckles pale. He glances back at Jay’s apartment door, a muscle jumping in his cheek, the promise of violence simmering just beneath his calm.

You groan, soft and hoarse, head falling back against the seat, every part of you already knowing—knowing—what he’s thinking. “Mark, not now,” you whisper, half pleading, too exhausted and raw to argue but too fragile to watch him break himself over this. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off the door, doesn’t look at you, just squeezes your knee in his palm, thumb rubbing slow circles, grounding you. “Don’t worry,” he says, voice low, sweet but with a thread of steel you feel all the way in your bones. “I’ll take care of it.” It’s soft, but it’s a promise, and you can taste the fury in every word, like the act of hurting you has become something personal to him, a trespass that needs retribution.

Before you can protest, he’s gone, the door swinging open, closing behind him with a weight that says don’t follow. You watch him cross the pavement, each step heavier, more certain, his shoulders squared and head high. There’s a brutality to his focus, the set of his mouth, the way he raises his fist to the door and knocks, once, twice, hard enough to echo through the whole shitty house. The wait is barely a breath. Jay opens, half-dressed, eyes already rolling as he catches sight of Mark standing there, every inch of him radiating danger. “The fuck do you want?” Jay slurs, gaze flicking from Mark to where you’re curled in the car, nothing in his expression but contempt. “Come to pick up your little bitch? She was crying before she even got her panties off. Guess she only gets loud for you, huh? Sloppy seconds, Lee.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. He grabs Jay by the collar, yanking him forward, slamming him into the doorframe. His fist meets Jay’s jaw, a brutal, ugly sound, and you see the shock in Jay’s face as Mark doesn’t let go, doesn’t back down, rage boiling over in every blow. “Don’t ever talk about her. Don’t even fucking think about her,” Mark snarls, voice ragged, every word punctuated by another hit. 

Jay spits blood, muttering curses, still trying to wound. “You’re both pathetic, does she let anyone fuck her if you’re not around. Do you want her? Go ahead, man, she’s a fucking mess.” 

Mark’s grip only tightens, knuckles bone-white, eyes burning holes through Jay’s skull. “I know exactly what you tried. I don’t need her to tell me—you’re done. Don’t look at her, don’t even breathe her name, or I’ll fucking end you.” The words land low, venomous, and he slams Jay back into the doorframe with a final shove that leaves Jay slumped, head lolling, split lip and swelling jaw already blossoming purple. Mark doesn’t give him another glance, just wipes his bloody knuckles on his jeans and stalks away, steps echoing off cracked pavement. Through the blur of your tears you catch a crooked smile tugging at your lips, sick with adrenaline and relief, crying and shaking but impossibly grateful that it’s always him. This isn’t the first time Mark’s thrown a punch for you, and it won’t be the last; you’ve lost count of the times he’s come back to you with bloody knuckles and bruised pride, just to make sure you’re safe, just to remind you that nobody gets to hurt you.

When he slides back into the driver’s seat, the anger still crackling through him, your chest hiccups with a sob, breath catching when he glances over at you—wild, messy, but his entire expression melting into that rare, unguarded tenderness that belongs only to you. He reaches for your hand and laces his fingers through yours, squeezing so tight you nearly gasp, but it’s the safest feeling in the world. “You good?” he murmurs, voice velvet-soft, thumb stroking slowly over your knuckles, and when you nod, tears streaking your cheeks, he just smiles—a real, aching smile that makes something inside you unclench. He starts the engine, one hand never leaving yours, and for the whole ride home, the anger drains out of him, replaced by this slow-burning intimacy, like the world’s shrunk to just the warmth of his palm and your breaths getting steadier by the second.

You’re still sniffling, cheeks wet, but every mile feels easier when he turns up your favorite song and quietly hums along, the notes vibrating through the space between you. He cracks dumb jokes under his breath, says your hair looks like a crime scene, and when you let out a watery laugh, he grins like it’s his life’s mission to make you smile. At a red light, he pulls your hand into his lap, turns his head, and kisses the inside of your wrist so softly it makes you whimper, heat pooling low in your stomach. “You were right about him, Mark,” you whisper, voice small, gratitude and exhaustion tangled together. He just hums, squeezing your hand again, his eyes all gentle pride and need. “You can say ‘I told you so,’ if you want,” you sigh, already melting into the sweetness of him.

Mark just leans closer, his voice a velvet drag in your ear, “Why would I waste time saying ‘I told you so’ when I’d rather show you how good you’ve got it right here?” His breath is warm, his words electric, and the way you gasp, shivering, makes him smile even wider because there’s nothing casual in the way he loves you, nothing in the world that could ever make you feel safer than his hands and that hungry, gentle devotion shining in his eyes.

The apartment feels softer in the dark, the hush only broken by the distant hum of the fridge and the weight of Mark’s footsteps beside you. He keeps your heels in his hand, swinging them absently, the other arm wrapped steady around your waist as you stumble inside. Your face is sticky with tears, mascara smudged to your jaw, every part of you heavy and tender, but Mark never lets you walk alone, not even for a step. He toes the door shut behind you and hangs your bag on the hook, then gently tugs the ruined shoes from your hand, leaving them by the entry like it’s a ritual he’s done a thousand times. You’re shivering, arms crossed, but he just moves closer, fingers brushing your cheek, knuckles soft as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Let’s get you out of this, yeah?” he murmurs, voice low and slow, every syllable dragging comfort through your bones.

He helps you undress, careful and patient, unzips your dress, eases it down your arms, unhooks your bra with deft hands, never rushing, never taking more than you offer. He keeps his eyes on your face, checking for every flinch, every wince, and when you’re left in nothing but his old hoodie, he pulls you into the bathroom and starts the shower, testing the water temperature with his wrist like he always does for you. The steam blooms around you both, warm and safe, and you let him guide you under the spray. Mark washes you slow, lathering your hair, massaging your scalp, fingers tracing the lines of your shoulders and back. His touch is reverent, never sexual, just the steady comfort of someone who’s seen you at your ugliest and loves you anyway. He lets you lean on his chest as he rinses the soap away, lips pressed to your temple, his hands soothing every place Jay’s gaze made you feel small. “You’re here, with me. That’s all that matters,” he whispers, over and over, and for a few long minutes, it’s almost enough to believe him.

When you’re clean, he wraps you in a towel and dries your hair with the old t-shirt he knows is your favorite. He kneels to pull warm socks onto your feet, his thumb lingering at your ankle, eyes never leaving yours. You both slip into bed, tangled together under the covers, the world shrinking to the soft cotton and the thump of his heartbeat pressed into your spine. Mark’s arms fold around you, one hand smoothing over your ribs, the other playing lazy patterns on your thigh. You talk about everything and nothing, favorite movies, the time he made you pancakes and burned every single one, how much you hated Jay’s cologne, how you wish things could be simple. His voice is always soft, never pushing, just inviting you to spill whatever needs to be let out. “You’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to be sad,” he says, “but you don’t have to do it alone.”

It’s only when the apartment is dark, Mark’s breathing steady at your back, that it all catches up to you, the way Jay looked at you, the way his words scraped through your skin, every sick stare and cruel sneer. The ache bursts out in great, shuddering sobs, your body curling tight, knees to your chest, shoulders shaking. Mark doesn’t say anything, just pulls you closer, sliding his arms around your waist, pressing his lips to the wet salt of your hair, holding you so close you almost believe nothing bad could ever touch you again. You let it all out, safe in the dark, safe in his arms, the ugliness of the world pressed back by the quiet, dogged strength of his love.

Mark shifts beside you, rolling his body over yours with the same slow, careful weight he’s used a hundred times before, but tonight every movement is reverent, almost aching. He nudges your knees apart, sliding between your thighs, the mattress dipping under his warmth, and you blink up at him through wet lashes. His palm cups your cheek, thumb gentle as it wipes away each fresh tear, tracing the curve of your jaw, lips brushing over the lines his own fingers made. His eyes are so open, so impossibly soft, brown glass catching every glimmer of you, searching your face for pain, for permission. “Look at me, baby,” he whispers, voice thick with devotion, “just let me take care of you, yeah? Nothing else matters right now. Just you and me.”

You reach for him, need cracking open and spilling between your bodies. Your hands clutch at the back of his neck, sliding into his hair, tugging him down until your mouths crash together, messy, gasping, hungry, all teeth and tongue and bruised want. Your lips part wide, tongue stroking deep into his mouth, swallowing the groan he lets out as you grind your hips up, the heat of him already heavy against your thigh. His hands bracket your face, fingertips tracing your temples, then trailing down to your throat, mapping every inch of you like he needs to relearn your body just to be sure you’re real and safe and his. You moan into him, arching up so your tits press flush to his chest, your cunt already slick and desperate, rubbing against the bulge in his boxers.

He groans, rough and low, hips rocking into yours, breath hot and broken against your mouth as his hands slide down, thumbs tracing the wet salt off your cheeks, curling under your jaw to tip your face up, his kiss deepening, claiming. You bite at his lip, grinning through the mess, and he growls, biting you back, his tongue tangling with yours, the kiss all hunger and healing and every secret you’ve never had the courage to say. You’re grinding up into him now, cunt slicking his thigh, moaning his name, dragging his hand down to cup your ass, desperate for him to fill you, fuck you, remind you that you’re his. “Let me make it better, baby,” he pants, voice shredded with want, hips pushing down until you can feel every hard inch of him pressed between your legs. “Let me make you forget all of it—just us, just this, just you.” You whimper, lips swollen, thighs falling open wider, and he groans again, mouth slanting over yours as he kisses you deeper, fucking you with his tongue, grinding his cock against your soaked pussy until neither of you can tell where comfort ends and hunger begins.

Your lips break from his, breath ragged, head pressed back into the pillow as you look up at him through blurred lashes, the ache spilling from your mouth before you can even think to stop it. “I feel fucking disgusting, Mark,” you whisper, voice raw and shaking, tears hot again as your hands fist in the sheets beneath you. “He looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was just, just a hole to use, something to brag about. I knew he was a dick, I knew it, but I just—I wanted to feel good for once, to feel wanted, and now I just—” Your voice cracks, sob catching on the edge of his name. “I feel stupid. I feel like I let him do it. Like I should’ve known better. Like everyone probably thinks I’m easy, or dirty, or pathetic, and I can’t get the way he talked about me out of my head.”

Your chest heaves, the pain relentless, every word dragging old wounds to the surface. “I’m so tired, Mark. I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t get to me, tired of letting people touch me like I don’t matter. I know I act tough but it hurts, it really fucking hurts, and I keep thinking maybe I deserve it, maybe if I was different, if I was stronger, if I wasn’t such a mess—” Your hands tremble as you clutch his wrist, needing the warmth of his skin, the certainty of his grip. “I hate how much it gets to me. I hate that he made me feel small. I hate that I let him get close at all. I just—I don’t want to be anyone’s dirty secret. I want someone to look at me like I’m worth something. I want someone to want me, all of me, even when I’m like this, even when I’m crying and ugly and ruined inside.” You choke on a sob, eyes searching for him, voice breaking on every syllable. “He kept saying things about us, about you—like I was just your slut, like I let you do anything. Like I’m just easy for you. And it’s not true, it’s never been true, I only ever wanted you to want me. I wanted to feel safe with you, wanted to matter to you. I just—I feel so empty. I’m so tired of letting people use me. I just want to feel something good that doesn’t turn ugly in the morning.”

Mark lowers his head, forehead pressing to yours, his breath shaky against your cheek as his hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing away the tears you can’t stop shedding. For a long moment he’s silent, jaw working, the air thick with all the things he’s never let himself say, everything raw and trembling behind his eyes. “I hate the way you talk about yourself,” he murmurs, voice so gentle it nearly breaks you, every word quivering with something desperate and unsaid. “You’re not dirty. You’re not easy. You’re the best thing I’ve ever touched. The only thing that ever felt fucking right.” His hands tighten, grounding you, his lips ghosting over your eyelids, your cheeks, every place that hurts. “You’re worth everything. You always have been. I wish you could see yourself the way I do—fucking hell, I wish I could make you believe it.”

He exhales, heavy, and you feel him fighting himself, holding so much back, voice low and ragged. “I know I act like I don’t care. I know I fuck around, and I say shit I don’t mean, and I let people think you’re just another girl in my bed. But you’re not. You never have been.” He pulls back just enough to look you dead in the eyes, every inch of him open, hurting. “You’re the only thing that scares me. You’re the only one who could ever fuck me up like this. I’d do anything to make you feel safe, to make you feel good. I’d burn the whole fucking world down for you, I swear. I just—” His voice cracks, softer than you’ve ever heard. “I’m fucked up too, you know? I want you so bad it hurts, and I’m so scared I’ll ruin you. But I never, ever want to see you hurt like this again. Not from him. Not from anyone. Not even me.”

You climb onto him, your knees bracketing his hips, every inch of your skin burning, your cheeks still streaked with tears. Mark is sprawled beneath you, hair wild against the pillow, chest rising and falling in harsh waves as you crawl over him, one trembling hand wrapping around the back of his neck. Your lips crash into his, tongues tangling, hungry, animal, slick—nothing soft about it. You grind your hips down, rolling your soaked pussy over his cock through thin cotton, the friction brutal and perfect, your clit catching on the ridge of his head until you’re whimpering, eyes fluttering, slick smearing all over him. The room fills with the wet slide of your cunt dragging over his cock, your sobs turning to gasps, every movement messy and raw.

You moan against his mouth, so desperate it’s embarrassing, “Need you to fuck me, Mark—need it, need you inside me, please—” The way your voice cracks on please has him growling, hands flying to your ass, squeezing hard, dragging you down over him until you can feel every twitch and throb through his boxers. 

He’s still trying to slow you down, hands gentle even when you don’t want gentle, whispering, “Hey, baby, you’re still crying—fuck, slow down, let me—” 

But you shake your head, breathless, hips rutting down, grinding your clit on the head of his cock, smearing slick through the fabric. “No, Mark, just—just let me, I want it, want you, want you to make me feel good, want to feel you stretch me, wanna come for you, wanna show you you’re the only one, always you—”

He lets out a broken laugh, one hand smoothing up your spine to fist in your hair, dragging you down for another kiss, tongue fucking into your mouth as his hips buck up into you, cock straining, leaking for you. “God, look at you, can’t get enough, can you? My fucking girl, riding me like you’re starved.” You whimper, biting at his lip, pressing your tits to his chest, nails raking down his sides as you finally tug his boxers down, your fist wrapping around the length of him, guiding him to your entrance. The head of his cock nudges your slit, and you’re both shaking, you from need, him from holding back. “You know I love you, right?” he pants, voice hoarse, eyes wild but clear. “I tell you every day, but right now, fuck, I need you to hear it—I love you, I love you, I love you—always have, always will. You’re mine.”

It isn’t a shock, not really, a thousand ‘I love you’s’ have already hung between you and Mark, braided through every part of your lives like a shared secret language. You say it when you’re laughing over burnt toast in the kitchen, when you steal each other’s fries, when you collapse together after an exam, when you find his socks in your laundry or your hairbands on his wrist. You say it every night, almost on autopilot, a soft “love you, idiot” as you roll over, or a muttered “love you too” when one of you leaves for class, or a quick “I love you more” lobbed across the hall like a dare. It’s part of the fabric of you, familiar and safe, a truth you both wear without thinking.

But this, this is different. There’s nothing casual or careless in the way he says it now, voice breaking, fingers digging into your hips as you ride him, sweat and salt and tears glimmering on your skin. There’s no armor, no routine, just the raw ache of it, the way your bodies slot together and all those words finally mean what they’re supposed to. It’s not a crazy thing to say “I love you” here because you both already know; it’s always been true. But when you’re desperate for him, bouncing in his lap, sobbing into his mouth, begging him to claim you with every thrust, it lands differently, stripped of every offhand joke and every safety net. You hear it in the way he gasps your name, in how his hands shake, in how you both cling tighter, desperate to make the words real in a way they’ve never been before. It’s the first time you’ve said it and needed it to hurt, to heal, to fill every crack left by the world outside this bed. Here, I love you isn’t a throwaway or a punchline; it’s a demand, a prayer, a promise you both bleed for and believe. Here, it sounds like home.

You sink down on him, body opening up inch by inch, the stretch perfect, obscene, your cunt swallowing him until you’re stuffed full, skin to skin, dizzy from the heat and fullness. You start to move, grinding down slow and deep, clenching around him, making filthy sounds in your throat as you ride him, hips snapping, fucking yourself stupid on his cock. Every thrust is a confession, every moan a worship, your mouth hungry on his throat, jaw, lips, biting and sucking, leaving him marked and breathless. “Say it again,” you beg, voice cracking as you bounce in his lap, thighs burning, tits bouncing with every movement, “say you love me, say it’s just me, please, Mark, need it—”

He grabs your hips, rocking up into you, his own voice cracking, “I love you, fuck, I love you, look at you—so perfect, all mine, nobody else gets you like this—” He can’t stop saying it, can’t stop touching you, every word poured into your mouth, your skin, your cunt, until you’re sobbing his name, coming hard on his cock, breaking open for him, every inch of you desperate and raw and safe, wrapped up in the kind of love that leaves you ruined, trembling, and whole all at once.

You sink deeper onto his cock, the thick, perfect stretch making you moan so loud it’s almost a scream, thighs trembling as you take him to the root. Mark groans, the sound raw, filthy, hands flying to grip your hips so hard his fingers leave imprints. “Fuck—so fucking tight,” he grits, voice already shaking, eyes glued to the place where your cunt swallows him, wet and glistening, obscene in the dim light. You can feel him twitch inside you, your walls clenching around him, greedy for every inch, every throb, as you settle your hands on his chest for leverage. His head falls back, lips parted, jaw sharp with want, his chest already slick with sweat. “You love riding me, don’t you? Love showing me how this pussy was made for me.” The words are ragged, half challenge, half worship.

You start to move, slow at first, rolling your hips, grinding down in a circle, feeling every ridge and vein drag against your soaked walls. The friction is delicious, cruel, and you can’t help but tease, lifting yourself almost all the way off, just the tip buried inside, before slamming back down, making the head of his cock press against that sweet spot inside you. Mark hisses, hands flying up to cup your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you arch your back, riding him harder, breath catching as he leans up and latches onto your nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing, tongue swirling. You grind down, rutting your clit against his pelvis, making both of you gasp. “You want it rough, baby?” he pants, voice gravel, one hand sliding down to slap your ass, the sound sharp, skin stinging as you bounce faster. “Fucking take it. Show me who you belong to.”

“Yours,” you whimper, picking up the pace, ass slapping down onto his thighs, the wet smack filling the room, your tits bouncing in his face, hair wild around your shoulders. “All yours, Mark—fuck, only yours, nobody else gets me like this.” You lean forward, licking a stripe up his throat, biting at his jaw, your cunt milking him, fluttering around him with every thrust. 

He growls, fingers digging into the meat of your ass, guiding you up and down, his voice low and sharp: “That’s right. Let them talk. Let the whole fucking building hear you scream for me.” He brings his thumb down to your clit, circles tight, ruthless, until you’re whining, legs starting to shake, tears welling again from the sheer intensity. “Look at you, bouncing like a fucking whore, taking everything I give you. You love being watched, don’t you? Love being my filthy girl.”

You nod, dizzy, drunk on him, on the slap of skin and the stretch of him splitting you open, on how you can feel every inch inside. “Want you to fill me up, want you to fuck me until I can’t walk,” you babble, riding him hard, hands braced on his chest, nails scraping red lines down his skin. “Want to make a mess all over you, want you to come inside me, want everyone to know you ruined me—” 

Mark snarls, bucks up into you, fucking you from beneath, the bed frame rocking, his hips slamming up to meet yours. “Say it again,” he commands, thumb circling your clit faster, his cock hitting so deep you see stars. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours—only yours, always yours, Mark, please, please, harder—” You’re sobbing, writhing, sweat slicking your thighs, bouncing faster, grinding down until your clit throbs, every muscle in your body burning with the need to come. 

He slips two fingers into your mouth, groaning as you suck, tongue swirling, spit dripping down your chin as you stare into his eyes. “Good girl,” he growls, pulling his fingers free, sliding them down to press into your ass, stretching you, filling you, making you moan even louder. “So greedy, so fucking perfect, taking everything I give you.”

You feel yourself unraveling, body shaking as your orgasm builds, the filth of it making you dizzy. “Gonna come, Mark—need it, need you, fuck, please—” He’s ruthless now, hips pounding up into you, his cock hitting that spot over and over, thumb punishing your clit until you shatter, orgasm ripping through you, cunt squeezing him so tight he curses, gripping your hips, rutting up as he follows you over the edge. You come undone together, a mess of sweat, spit, and tears, his name a broken sob on your lips as he fills you, cock pulsing, warmth spilling inside you, leaking down your thighs as you keep grinding, milking every last drop.

When you finally collapse on top of him, shuddering, boneless, Mark wraps his arms around your back, pressing kisses into your hair, your cheek, your jaw. He’s whispering, desperate, needy, filthy: “You’re mine, fuck, you’re mine, look at this mess you made for me. I’ll eat you out right now, clean you up with my mouth—want you dripping with me, want everyone to see. Let me, baby, let me taste you, wanna eat my cum out of your pussy.” You whimper, exhausted but high, moaning as he pulls you up, drags you back down onto his face, tongue greedy and relentless, licking you clean, humming filth into your skin as you twitch and shake, overstimulated and glowing, marked up for him and only him.

Mark doesn’t let you go, even when you start to squirm, legs trembling, breath shuddering in your chest. He’s ravenous, tongue working through your folds, lapping up the mess he left inside you, groaning low like he’s starved for the taste of you. “Fuck, you’re leaking everywhere,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and sweet against your skin. “So fucking pretty when you’re full. All of it is mine.” His hands grip your ass, spreading you wider, holding you open so he can lick every drop that spills out, the filth of it making your head spin. Your thighs quake on either side of his head, body arching up, overstimulation prickling every nerve, but you can’t stop grinding down, needing more, needing him, needing to be ruined all over again.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, tongue flattening against your clit, sucking, swirling, fingers sliding back into your pussy, spreading you open, pressing deep, curling just right. “God, baby, you taste so fucking good—could eat you all night, fuck, never get enough of you,” he groans, the words vibrating right into your core. You’re sobbing, voice gone, hands fisted in his hair, hips jerking helplessly as he keeps you locked in place, tongue relentless, unrepentant, pushing you higher even as you whimper for a break. He kisses up your stomach, wet and hungry, lips dragging across every mark he’s left, then latches onto your nipple, sucking until you cry out, the sensation bright and sharp and aching.

“Can’t believe you let me wreck you like this,” he rasps, lips swollen, chin slick with you and him, eyes blown wide with hunger and something deeper, darker. “No one else gets this, no one else gets to see you fall apart. Just me, yeah? Just Mark.” You nod frantically, tears mixing with sweat, thighs squeezed tight around his face, cunt fluttering around his fingers as you chase another high. He fucks you slow, then fast, teasing, twisting, making you beg, making you sob for more. “Say it again, baby,” he commands, mouth hot at your ear as he pulls you down, grinding you onto his tongue, “tell me who’s pussy this is. Tell me what you want.”

“Yours, yours, yours, Mark—please, please, want you to fuck me, want your cock again, want you everywhere, fill me up, ruin me, make it hurt, please—” The words spill out in a litany, half-cry, half-moan, every one of them making him groan, making him fuck you deeper, his hands bruising your hips as you bounce, clit throbbing, every inch of you vibrating with the need to come again. 

He grins up at you, filthy and proud, eyes shining. “Good girl. Want me to finger you while I eat you out? Want to come on my tongue while you look me in the eye?”

You barely manage a nod before he pushes two fingers in deep, curling them just right, tongue flicking your clit merciless, eyes locked to yours as you writhe above him, moaning, gasping, begging for release. The tension snaps, your body convulsing, cunt spasming around his fingers, soaking his face as you come hard, the orgasm ripping through you, leaving you trembling and weak. Mark moans, licking you clean, fucking you through every aftershock, refusing to let go, refusing to let the high end. “That’s it, that’s my girl—look how pretty you are, how wrecked you get for me. Let me taste all of it, let me drink it down.”

He finally lets you collapse against his chest, holding you close, one hand soothing up and down your spine, the other tangled in your hair. You’re both shaking, sweat and tears and cum slicking your thighs, breath mingling as you press kisses to his throat, jaw, lips—each one messier than the last. “You’re mine,” he whispers, voice choked, desperate, reverent. “Always mine. No one touches you like this, no one ever will.” You answer with your mouth, tongue plunging into his, your hips rolling against his thigh again, not able to stop yourself, not wanting to, addicted to the way he makes you feel.

Mark shifts beneath you, hard again, cock twitching, leaking pre-cum between your thighs. He grins, crooked, wild, pupils blown, all the softness twisted into hunger. “Greedy little thing, huh? Didn’t get enough the first time? Need more?” He grabs your hips, grinding you against him, making you feel every inch, every pulse. “You want to bounce for me again? Want to come on my cock until you’re begging me to stop?” You nod, breathless, ruined, ready for anything he gives. He pulls you up, positions you over him, the tip of his cock nudging your entrance, eyes holding yours, burning with love and lust and everything you’ll never need to ask for—because he’s already giving it, over and over, as many times as you want, as many times as you need.

When Mark guides you down, there’s no rush—just a quiet, shared breath as your hips sink into the cradle of his, his cock slipping inside you slow and steady, letting your bodies meet with all the patience neither of you ever get from the world. The stretch is familiar, not urgent; it’s a filling you’ve known a thousand times, but it never stops being new. His hands rest on your hips, not gripping, just warming your skin, thumbs painting lazy circles over bone and softness. He looks up at you like you’re the only thing in the universe worth seeing, eyes gentle, a little glassy, his mouth parted and waiting for you to come to him.

You settle over him, rolling your hips in a slow, searching rhythm, chasing sensation but never hurrying it. Every slide is accompanied by a sigh, a whispered “good, so good, you’re perfect” from Mark, and you shiver with tenderness, hands coming up to rest on his chest, fingers curling in the faded cotton of his t-shirt. You move together with the easy grace of muscle memory—like dancing, like breathing, like the oldest story you’ve ever written together. He strokes your back, your arms, your thighs, caressing you as if memorizing every inch, grounding you in touch, in safety. When you start to tremble, he hushes you, murmurs sweet, secret things into the hollow of your throat: “I’ve got you, always. You can let go here.”

You lean down to kiss him, lips soft and plush, noses bumping, both of you smiling into it even as you start to moan. His mouth opens for you, tongue sliding gentle against yours, no teeth, no rush—just warmth, just home. You taste tears, both yours and his, and neither of you flinch from the salt. When you break the kiss, you press your forehead to his, your bodies moving in slow, rolling waves. The room is quiet, just the wet sound of your bodies, the creak of the bed, the stutter of your breaths tangled together. He cups your cheek, brushes his thumb under your eye, wipes away the last remnants of tonight’s pain, replacing it with the weight of his love.

He whispers every truth you need to hear, voice ragged with feeling, velvet and breaking: “You’re my favorite. My best thing. I’ll never get tired of you, not ever. You’re the reason I believe in good things.” His hands wander—tucking your hair behind your ear, smoothing the arch of your back, resting over your heart to feel it thump. You’re moving slow, hips grinding down so his cock drags along every sweet spot inside you, your clit rubbing perfectly against his pelvis. There’s nothing rough here, just the shared ache to be close, to give and be given, to be seen, to be known. Every time you gasp his name, it sounds like a prayer.

Mark presses kisses to your collarbone, to your shoulder, up the long line of your neck, breathing you in like he needs it to survive. His hands never stop moving—down your sides, up your waist, tracing every old scar and new bruise with a reverence that almost makes you cry. “So beautiful,” he sighs, voice slurred with love, and you can feel him shaking beneath you, holding back, lost in the wonder of you. When you slow, grinding down with your walls fluttering, his arms wrap around your back, pulling you to his chest so you can bury your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him, rocking together in small, slow motions that make the whole world disappear.

You start to unravel, pleasure building slow and deep, every little friction a spark, every whispered word a balm. “Come for me, sweetheart,” Mark urges softly, thumb stroking your cheek, kissing your closed eyelids as your hips start to stutter. “Let go, I’ve got you. I’ll hold you together.” The orgasm creeps up, gentle but overwhelming, warmth spreading through your belly, stealing your breath, making you gasp and cling tighter, crying out his name as your body pulses around him, every muscle melting. He follows, shuddering, breath stuttering against your shoulder, cock pulsing deep inside, holding you so close you could almost swear you hear his heartbeat inside your own chest. After, you don’t move. You stay wrapped around each other, skin pressed tight, limbs tangled, chests rising and falling in sync. Mark strokes your hair, kisses your jaw, rubs your back slow and patient, humming the song you love under his breath. The room is dark, safe, your bodies glowing with afterglow and the simple, fragile wonder of being wanted—of being chosen, every part of you, again and again, in the soft, golden hush where you both finally belong.

Mark doesn’t let you go, not even when your bodies start to settle and your breaths fall quiet, content to just exist in each other’s arms. His hand slides up your thigh, slow and steady, knuckles grazing soft skin, his eyes still fixed on your face like he’s trying to memorize you in the half-dark. He shifts you gently, turning your bodies with a practiced, loving patience, rolling you onto your back so he can drape himself over you, cocooning you beneath his weight. There’s nothing hurried—just the slow press of his chest against yours, the heat of his cock nestled between your thighs, the soft sound of his mouth brushing your cheek, your jaw, the bridge of your nose. He kisses you everywhere but your mouth, as if saving the best for last.

He enters you again, slow and careful, never breaking eye contact, his cock pushing deep inch by inch until you’re full, breath caught, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. Mark hooks his arms under your knees, angling your hips just right, spreading you wide, but every movement is reverent, tender—his thumbs drawing slow circles on the backs of your thighs, his lips never far from your skin. He starts to move in long, lazy strokes, hips rolling against yours, cock dragging against every sensitive place inside you, making you gasp and arch and shiver beneath him. He whispers your name with every thrust, a mantra, a worship, something holy spun into the dark.

Between each movement he pauses, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, brushing your hair back, kissing your eyelids, breathing you in. His hands cradle your face, fingertips stroking your jaw, and he murmurs little confessions—how good you feel, how beautiful you look, how he wants to spend the rest of his life learning every secret your body holds. The room is filled with your soft noises: the hitch in your breath when he pushes deeper, the shaky “I love you” you whisper back, the shuddering moans you can’t hold in as his rhythm starts to stutter, each slow thrust drawing you closer and closer to unraveling. Mark’s hips never slam, never lose that soft rolling tempo—he’s making love to you like there’s all the time in the world, like you’re the only two people left alive.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair, heels digging into his lower back, grounding him to you. Your bodies rock together in the oldest rhythm, slow and deep, every inch of skin slick and warm, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, your collarbone, your trembling lips. He tells you you’re perfect, that you’re safe, that there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, inside you, loving you soft and open and real. You whisper back, tell him he’s home, that he’s your favorite, your best thing, your only thing. Every time you moan his name, he answers with a kiss, with a squeeze, with another lazy, delicious thrust.

As the night bleeds on, he makes you come slow, again and again, never rushing, never letting the moment slip away. He draws it out—his cock dragging in and out, fingers finding your clit, his words spilling like honey in your ear, keeping you on the edge until you’re crying with the sweetness of it, the intimacy, the love that fills every space between your bones. When you fall apart for him, it’s soft and loud all at once, your whole body trembling as he holds you, murmurs “that’s it, let go, I’ve got you,” kissing away every tear, rocking you through every aftershock.

He doesn’t leave you empty. Mark stays inside, hips pressed tight to yours, chest heavy over your heart, mouth pressed to your hairline, humming your favorite song. You fall asleep that way—tangled up, him buried deep, his hands stroking your sides, your bodies sticky and spent and glowing in the hush. When you wake, it’s to the slow drag of his hips and the sweet, aching stretch of him moving inside you again, his voice low and thick with love, promising you a hundred more mornings just like this, a thousand more nights where it’s only you, only him, and the world outside fading into nothing at all.

Mark doesn’t let you go, not even when your bodies start to settle and your breaths fall quiet, content to just exist in each other’s arms. His hand slides up your thigh, slow and steady, knuckles grazing soft skin, his eyes still fixed on your face like he’s trying to memorize you in the half-dark. He shifts you gently, turning your bodies with a practiced, loving patience, rolling you onto your back so he can drape himself over you, cocooning you beneath his weight. There’s nothing hurried—just the slow press of his chest against yours, the heat of his cock nestled between your thighs, the soft sound of his mouth brushing your cheek, your jaw, the bridge of your nose. He kisses you everywhere but your mouth, as if saving the best for last.

He enters you again, slow and careful, never breaking eye contact, his cock pushing deep inch by inch until you’re full, breath caught, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. Mark hooks his arms under your knees, angling your hips just right, spreading you wide, but every movement is reverent, tender—his thumbs drawing slow circles on the backs of your thighs, his lips never far from your skin. He starts to move in long, lazy strokes, hips rolling against yours, cock dragging against every sensitive place inside you, making you gasp and arch and shiver beneath him. He whispers your name with every thrust, a mantra, a worship, something holy spun into the dark.

Between each movement he pauses, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, brushing your hair back, kissing your eyelids, breathing you in. His hands cradle your face, fingertips stroking your jaw, and he murmurs little confessions—how good you feel, how beautiful you look, how he wants to spend the rest of his life learning every secret your body holds. The room is filled with your soft noises: the hitch in your breath when he pushes deeper, the shaky “I love you” you whisper back, the shuddering moans you can’t hold in as his rhythm starts to stutter, each slow thrust drawing you closer and closer to unraveling. Mark’s hips never slam, never lose that soft rolling tempo—he’s making love to you like there’s all the time in the world, like you’re the only two people left alive.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair, heels digging into his lower back, grounding him to you. Your bodies rock together in the oldest rhythm, slow and deep, every inch of skin slick and warm, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, your collarbone, your trembling lips. He tells you you’re perfect, that you’re safe, that there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, inside you, loving you soft and open and real. You whisper back, tell him he’s home, that he’s your favorite, your best thing, your only thing. Every time you moan his name, he answers with a kiss, with a squeeze, with another lazy, delicious thrust.

As the night bleeds on, he makes you come slow, again and again, never rushing, never letting the moment slip away. He draws it out—his cock dragging in and out, fingers finding your clit, his words spilling like honey in your ear, keeping you on the edge until you’re crying with the sweetness of it, the intimacy, the love that fills every space between your bones. When you fall apart for him, it’s soft and loud all at once, your whole body trembling as he holds you, murmurs “that’s it, let go, I’ve got you,” kissing away every tear, rocking you through every aftershock.

Mark folds his body over yours, the shift slow and hushed, the mattress sighing beneath the new weight, and you feel every inch of him settle like warm silk against your skin, a curtain of safety drawn around the night, his lips meeting your brow in a kiss that tastes of rainwater and promises that never rust, and for a moment you swear the room has no walls at all, only the breath of his devotion circling you, holding back every sorrow the world once pressed into your shoulders. His palm glides from the hollow of your throat to the soft underside of your thigh, lifting until your bodies open to each other with the reverence of a blossom at dawn, and he sinks inside with a patience wide as the ocean, inch by inch, filling every empty space as if sculpting new constellations under your ribs. He stays buried deep, forehead resting to yours, hearts hammering together in a shared drum, and you feel the evening inhale through the open window, the curtain billowing like a tide, carrying away the last shadow of hurt that clung to you when the door closed behind Jay earlier. Two hearts beat, two lungs breathe, two mouths search, and the silence between pulses feels holy.

Each slow thrust turns into a tide rolling over sand, smoothing every sharp edge the day carved into you, and you rise to meet him with matching softness, hips canting in a rhythm stitched from memory and wonder, your fingers weaving through his hair where curls spring loose like vines reaching for light, and he murmurs your name with each glide deeper, voice velvet and raw, a psalm for two. The lamp on the dresser casts a warm ellipse across his shoulders, revealing the shadows of freckles and half-healed bruises left by earlier hunger, and you map them with your lips, sealing every dark mark with a kiss that promises gentleness, while his thumb sweeps the curve of your cheekbone as though outlining a secret script only his pulse can read. He whispers you are safe, you are wanted, you are cherished, repeating the words until they seep into marrow, and with every breath you offer him your trust the way petals offer dawn, aching wide for warmth and color. Your bodies sway together, slow arcs, until the hush inside the room grows louder than any storm you have known.

When he moves faster it feels like a sunrise cresting the horizon rather than a blaze, gold pouring through unseen cracks and pooling beneath your ribs, filling you with gentle light, and your tears return, only these carry sweetness instead of salt, glimmering against your temples before slipping to his lips where he kisses each one away, drinking them like sacred wine. You whisper you love him in a voice small yet steady, the phrase that once floated casually through shared breakfast air now rooted deep as an ancient oak, and his reply sounds like soil and seed and future in full bloom, I love you, more than any morning, more than any sky, and the words thread through your pulse while his hips keep that slow tender rhythm, coaxing wave after wave of warmth through your belly until pleasure swells gentle and immense, an unfurling banner of soft fire behind your eyelids. You cling to him, nails grazing shoulders in silent applause, thighs trembling around his waist, and when climax washes over both of you it arrives like a slow-rolling thunder, low and resonant, leaving the air vibrating with quiet awe, bodies fused in a glow that feels unbreakable.

Afterward he never pulls away, his weight a quiet shield over your heart, breaths mingling as his fingertips sketch lazy spirals along your spine, and the outside world retreats to a distant hush while inside these four joined limbs the universe remakes itself calmer and brighter. You trade soft kisses that taste of sleep and spun sugar, the covers tucked around your sides like gentle tides, and you let your eyes drift closed to the sound of his hum, a lullaby older than memory, until dreams drift onto the shore carrying lanterns lit with his name, and the last thing you feel before slipping under is his thumb tracing the arc of your hip, sealing the night with a promise made of silken light and quiet infinity.

He doesn’t leave you empty. Mark stays inside, hips pressed tight to yours, chest heavy over your heart, mouth pressed to your hairline, humming your favorite song. You fall asleep that way—tangled up, him buried deep, his hands stroking your sides, your bodies sticky and spent and glowing in the hush. When you wake, it’s to the slow drag of his hips and the sweet, aching stretch of him moving inside you again, his voice low and thick with love, promising you a hundred more mornings just like this, a thousand more nights where it’s only you, only him, and the world outside fading into nothing at all. You drift in the hush that follows, your head cradled against Mark’s chest, his heartbeat slow and steady under your cheek. His arms never loosen, even as your breathing evens out and your lashes grow heavy, the sweat drying on your skin where his body warms every shivering inch of you. He tucks the blankets up around your shoulders, fingers sliding through your hair, thumb smoothing across your brow with a tenderness that feels older than language. He kisses your temple, barely a whisper of contact, but it glows through you like a fuse catching light. You melt into the bed, boneless and warm, body marked inside and out with the memory of him.

The room is thick with quiet and heartbeats and the spent hush of night after a storm. Mark’s hand rests over your sternum, palm rising and falling with your breaths, as if anchoring you to the present, or to him. You find yourself tracing small circles on his ribs, the two of you still tangled, legs and arms and the faint press of his chest hair beneath your fingertips, and it feels too intimate to be anything less than forever—but neither of you speak, both hovering at the edge of a truth that feels too new and too old at once. Your eyes close, a soft sigh slipping from your lips, and the world contracts to the space between your heart and his. You don’t say anything about how different it feels, about the way every slow thrust, every whispered promise, every sobbed I love you has rewired something permanent between you. You don’t dare name it, not tonight, not yet. But as you fall asleep with his hand still holding your heart steady and his body molded to yours in the dark, you know with a certainty that burrows deep and quiet: nothing about you and Mark will ever be the same again. Tomorrow, the world will shift on its axis. But for now, in this quiet cocoon of tenderness and heat, you let yourself rest, not knowing what’s changed, only that everything has.

You wake alone, sunlight slicing across the tangled sheets, the faint warmth of where Mark’s body should be already fading from the mattress beside you. The apartment is too still, the air holding its breath, no gentle snore or lazy arm thrown over your waist, no sleep-drunk smile pressed into your shoulder. Your heart gives a slow, uncertain twist, this isn’t how it goes, not ever. Mark always stays until the last possible second, always needs to be woken with your fingers tracing his ribs or your lips against his jaw, always rolls over with a muttered “five more minutes, baby” and holds you tighter, refusing to let you go. Today, you only have cold sheets and a pillow that still smells like his cologne, a ghost of last night clinging to the fabric.

You shuffle out to the kitchen, still wearing his old shirt, bare legs chilly against the floor, hoping to find some sign that the intimacy of last night wasn’t just a fever dream. But Mark’s already dressed, standing at the counter in his hoodie, head bent over a mug he rinses with mechanical precision. His movements are sharp, practiced, every edge drawn tighter than usual, shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for impact. He doesn’t look at you when you enter, doesn’t call you “trouble,” doesn’t offer that lazy smile you love, just keeps his eyes on the swirl of black coffee in the press. “Morning,” he mutters, and that’s all. You hover, aching for him to turn, to pull you in by the waist and kiss your temple, to ask if you slept okay, but he just pours a cup for himself, leaves yours untouched on the shelf. There’s no note on the napkin, no inside joke, no warmth in the simple routines that have always been yours.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorway, watching him as he stirs sugar into his coffee. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t ask about your plans, doesn’t tease you for your messy hair or the way his shirt hangs off your shoulder. The silence grows heavy, the kind that drowns conversation before it’s born, and when you finally risk a gentle, “Did you sleep okay?” 

His response is little more than a shrug, eyes still glued to the mug. “Yeah. Fine. Hope you got some rest.” He glances at you once, fleeting and unreadable, before his gaze drops to his phone, thumb moving across the screen like you’re not even there. You want to reach for him, to close the distance, to say last night changed everything, but the words won’t come. It feels like talking to a stranger who wears your lover’s skin.

He sits at the table, scrolling through notifications, answering texts, never looking up, never reaching for your hand beneath the battered wood the way he always does. Every movement is careful, contained, like he’s built a wall in the night and you’re still outside, shivering. Even the sun seems sharper, more indifferent. When his alarm buzzes, he stands abruptly, drains the last of his coffee, and slings his bag over his shoulder. There’s a beat where you think he might stop—might cross the kitchen, gather you close, whisper something only for you—but he just slips on his shoes, fingers fumbling with the laces, his mouth a flat line. “Got class,” he says. “I’ll see you later.” No kiss, no “love you,” not even the habitual tug of your hair before he leaves.

The door clicks shut, the sound too soft, almost apologetic, and you’re left standing in the kitchen, clutching his shirt to your chest, every part of you ringing with the ache of what’s gone missing. Last night’s tenderness is still on your skin, the memory of his hands, his mouth, his whispered I love yous—now so distant you wonder if you dreamed it. The kitchen feels colder, the world newly unfamiliar. You sink into the nearest chair, press your fingertips to your lips as if you can hold in the shape of his kisses, and try to remember what it was like before everything changed. You stare at the closed door and realize you have no idea when—if—he’ll walk back through it the same as he was.

It’s been weeks. The seasons have changed, trees shedding gold at the curbs, but you and Mark have become strangers inside the apartment you once treated like your shared skin. He’s barely home, leaves early, comes back late, never brings you coffee, never collapses beside you with laughter still clinging to his collar. He’s always somewhere: the library, the courts, the party circuits, always with a different girl in tow. You’ve seen the stories on friends’ feeds, Mark pressed close to someone else, lips half-hidden by her hair, hands on hips, faces blurred in the strobe and sweat. You pretend it doesn’t cut, but it does. You both orbit the same social spaces, but where you used to gravitate together, tangled on some couch, legs thrown over his lap, the inside joke always ready, now there’s only the brittle clatter of small talk if you pass in the kitchen, the cold hush when he comes home and leaves again without looking up.

The silence is worst at night, when your room feels cavernous, sheets too smooth, the air carrying nothing but the faint echo of his laughter from down the hall. When you see him, he’s different—sharper, harder around the eyes, smirking too wide, flirting with anyone who’ll bite. You’ve tried to fill the space with other people: dates who feel more like distractions, long walks with boys who say the right things but touch you wrong, dinners that end in awkward hugs at your door. None of them fit. You lie to yourself, say it’s freedom, say you’re over it, but every time you open your phone and see his name, your chest knots up and the ache returns, raw and endless.

It all comes out over takeout one night, the carton half-empty in your lap, your face buried in Chaewon’s shoulder. She’s always been gossip central, the first to know who’s fucking who, who cheated, who got dumped, who’s lying about being over someone. Tonight she just lets you cry, stroking your hair, murmuring little comforts—“He’s an idiot, you’re better off, you deserve so much more, babe”—until the sobs fade to sniffles and you can finally talk. You tell her you miss him more than anything, that you feel like you’ve lost your best friend and your world at once, that you’d trade every kiss with every stranger just to get back the sound of his voice in the middle of the night.

After a while, Chaewon sighs, pulling you upright, pushing hair out of your eyes. “Listen,” she says, her tone shifting from gentle to sharp, “word on the street is that Mark admitted to Jeno he’s, like, actually in love with you. Not just in-love, like wrecked over you. Like, all his friends know it. Even Jeno told Donnghyuck and now everyone’s side-eyeing him when he walks into a room. The thing is—” She twirls a chopstick between her fingers, lips twisting. “—that’s exactly why he’s keeping away. He told Jeno he doesn’t know how to act around you now, like he’s scared if he’s close he’ll fuck it up or make things worse. You know how he is, doesn’t trust himself, hates losing control, especially with you. So he’s…what do guys do? He’s running. He’s fucking around, acting like it’s nothing, because if he lets himself feel it, he thinks it’ll ruin everything you have left. That’s how his brain works. He thinks loving you means letting you go. Classic Mark Lee logic. Absolute idiot.”

Her words slice through the haze, and you realize this mess,this constant blur, this never-defining, never-settling, is the only way you’ve ever known each other. You think about every night you watched him slip out to hook up with someone else, every morning you curled up in his bed and pretended not to care, every time you both went on dates just to avoid the way you looked at each other in the dark. Maybe you thought this loose, confusing dance was freedom. Maybe it was just fear, the slow decay of not daring to say what you wanted, the thousand half-truths you told yourself because you couldn’t bear to break what little you had.

Chaewon watches you, waiting for it to sink in, then nudges your knee. “So. Here’s what I think: you need to stop waiting for him to figure it out. He’s an idiot but he loves you, and he’s scared shitless. But you’re both just as miserable now, so what’s the point in pretending? Just go to him. Tell him the truth. Make him listen. Don’t let fear decide what happens to you. If you want him, fight for it. Someone has to go first. Why not you?” She smiles, a little sad, a little wise. “Besides, babe, you’ve spent too long missing each other. It’s time you let yourselves have something real.”

You nod, still blinking away the sting of Chaewon’s advice, half terrified she’s right, half wishing it were that simple. But before the ache can settle too deep, she straightens, a wicked spark flickering in her eyes. “Okay, then. Time to put your money where your heartbreak is, babe. There’s a party at Jeno’s this weekend, he’s calling it, get this, ‘the Fall of the House of Lee’ because he thinks it’ll be so wild someone’s gonna end up crying on the roof or falling in love in the kitchen.” She cackles, nudging you again. “He said he’s even bought fairy lights, disposable cameras, and a fog machine. Full main character moment.”

You laugh, in spite of yourself, but she leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Listen, Winter’s already been telling everyone that Mark’s taking her, that it’s basically a done deal and they’re the new campus power couple. You really want her running her mouth all over group chat tomorrow? Babe, you’re gonna walk in with someone else, make him squirm. Make him remember exactly who he’s losing.” She taps her phone against her chin, eyebrows wiggling. “So. Prospects. Let’s see… Jaemin? No, too pretty—he’d steal your thunder and probably try to make out with Jeno by midnight. Renjun? Absolutely not, you’ll both end up psychoanalyzing each other in the bathroom by 10 p.m. Donghyuck? Hah! You’d end up co-hosting karaoke and spilling all your secrets, plus he’s still banned from Jeno’s after the glitter bomb incident. Chenle? Please. You’d have to sign a waiver and split the tequila bill.”

You start to laugh harder, and Chaewon grins, triumphant. “That leaves us with the obvious. Jeno. He’s hot, he’s safe, he’s never minded playing boyfriend for a night, and you know he’ll hype you up so good Winter will pop a blood vessel. Plus, Mark has always, always had a weird thing about you and Jeno. You know he’ll notice.” She squeezes your hand, the plan already taking shape. “So that’s it. You’re going to walk in on Jeno’s arm, all legs and lipstick, looking like you’re the one having the night of your life—and you’re going to let Mark see every second of it.” She leans in, eyes glinting with mischief and something close to hope. “Trust me, babe. Sometimes you have to start the fire yourself and watch who runs through it for you.”

When the weekend finally hits, the air’s electric—Chaewon’s already on your bed before sunset, a tornado of silk scarves and lip gloss and scattered jewelry. She raids your closet with merciless glee, tossing out anything even remotely demure, crowing with triumph when she unearths the slinky black dress you only ever wear when you want to feel like chaos bottled in velvet. “This one,” she declares, pressing it against your frame, the hem barely grazing your thighs, neckline plunging, every curve on unapologetic display. She drapes it over a chair and sets her sights on you—“Tonight’s for revenge, baby, not for comfort.”

She props you up on the stool, dusts shimmer along your cheekbones, blends gold into your eyelids until you look like you’re glowing from inside out. Her fingers work deftly, threading your hair into loose, glossy waves, letting a few strands tumble artfully around your shoulders. You watch her in the mirror, her reflection grinning back, eyes gleaming. “No bra. Trust me. If he’s gonna stare, give him a reason.” The fabric skims your skin, clings to your hips, the side slit flashing smooth thigh with every step. She drapes a delicate gold chain around your neck, slides thin bangles onto your wrist, fastens hoops through your ears, every detail curated to make you look expensive, dangerous, absolutely untouchable.

You tilt your head, studying the final result: lips lacquered in wine-dark red, hair soft and wild, bare skin gleaming under the low light. Your perfume is the last touch, spicy and heady, dabbed at your throat and wrists until you can feel the pulse of your own want. Chaewon stands back, hands on her hips, admiring her work. “He won’t know what hit him,” she says, voice wicked. “Nobody will.” You laugh, nerves twisted up with something giddy and mean. For the first time in weeks, you feel powerful—predatory, a little cruel, the kind of girl who walks into a room and rewrites the story. By the time you slip into your heels and zip your dress, you’re grinning at your reflection, ready to burn the night down and let everyone—especially Mark—watch you glow.

You arrive with her at your side, arm in arm, laughter bubbling nervously and wild. Jeno greets you at the door with his usual bear hug, swinging you off your feet. “If it isn’t heartbreak herself,” he teases, ruffling your hair, “and Chaewon, my second favorite bad influence. You two plan on breaking anyone’s heart tonight, or just each other’s records for shots?” 

Jaemin’s there too, leaning against the kitchen counter, eyebrows waggling as he catches sight of you. “Who let you get this hot? Jeno, I told you to set a dress code, this is indecent—what if Mark’s delicate sensibilities can’t take it?” 

Donghyuck snickers, tossing you a lemon wedge. “You could wear a trash bag and he’d still combust. Not that I’m complaining.

Everyone’s in rare form tonight, the kind of party where the air’s thick with heat and risk and everything feels spun just a little too tight. Jeno’s living room is a glowing maze of bodies, Jaemin has commandeered the kitchen counter, charming his way into someone’s phone, Donghyuck and Renjun have staged a mock rap battle on top of the coffee table, making the crowd shriek and howl with every savage rhyme. The karaoke mic keeps cutting in and out, but nobody cares, someone’s always belting into it, half the party on their feet, the rest pressed close in little clusters, limbs entwined, voices lost in the music and the press of skin.

Chaewon is a vision in silver, already holding court by the hallway mirror, arms tangled with friends new and old, but she never lets you stray too far. You catch her gaze across the room—she winks, raises her glass, and mouths, don’t you dare stop now. Jeno materialises at your side, all effortless charm and mischief, leaning in until his lips brush your ear. “Chaewon’s told me what the plan is gonna be. Tonight, we’re raising hell. Let’s make him beg.” His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight, and you squeeze back, grinning as he spins you straight onto the dance floor.

The music thunders, heavy and sensual, lights flickering gold and scarlet, and you let Jeno pull you close, one hand at your hip, the other guiding your wrist, both of you moving slow at first, bodies pressed chest to chest. He dips you low, makes you laugh, spins you wild until you’re dizzy and sparkling, the world a blur except for his smile and your own reflection in his dark, dancing eyes. When the beat shifts, he pulls you in tight, your back to his chest, his hands splayed wide over your hips as you roll together, letting every curve and sway broadcast exactly how good it feels to be wanted, to be watched.

Drinks appear, cold and fizzing, and you clink glasses, laughing against his shoulder. You toss your head back, arch into him, letting his hands trace your sides, the dress riding high, your skin hot where his palms press possessive. Jeno’s voice is warm in your ear: “He’s watching, babe. He hasn’t looked away once.” Chaewon howls from the sofa, egging you on, and you drop into his lap, straddling him right there on the couch, hands sliding into his hair, lips finding his in a show-stopping kiss—hot, deep, slow, tongue tangled, your body moving against him in time with the bass, both of you unbothered by the roar of the party around you.

You break away, panting, one hand cupping his jaw, the other gripping his thigh. Jeno’s eyes are bright, laughter and adrenaline mixing as he squeezes your waist, grinding you down just enough to make your skirt ride even higher. You feel the eyes on you, the energy shifting, the music drowning out everything but the heat between you and the promise of chaos in every touch. For the first time all night, you let yourself feel wild, and alive, and absolutely untouchable, knowing full well that across the room, Mark’s hands have gone slack on Winter’s hips, and there’s fire in his eyes that’s only for you.

Mark and Winter are sprawled across the couch directly opposite, the two of them a tableau of manufactured ease, her dress hiked high over tanned thighs, one heel digging into the cushion, her body twisted half into his lap. She laughs too loud at something he hasn’t said, lipstick smeared messily across his jaw as she clings to him, running painted nails through his hair with the sort of entitlement that makes your skin crawl. But Mark’s only going through the motions, barely even touching her, his arm flung along the back of the couch, bottle dangling carelessly from his fingers. His face is angled toward Winter, but his gaze never stops roaming, drifting past her shoulder, sweeping the crowd until his eyes lock on you, over and over, never subtle, burning holes through the haze and noise.

You catch the heat of his stare as you lean in closer to Jeno, the two of you performing for the whole room, your laughter ringing out, nails tracing lazy circles on Jeno’s chest. Jeno plays along with relish, hand splayed wide on your thigh, voice dropping to a murmur meant for Mark’s ears as much as yours. “He’s dying over there, you know. Can’t take his fucking eyes off you.” You glance back, meeting Mark’s glare dead-on, lips parting just enough for him to see your tongue dart out, glossy and wet, before you press your mouth to Jeno’s jaw, letting him tug you fully onto his lap.

Winter, sensing the shift, winds herself tighter around Mark, grinding into him with an exaggerated roll of her hips, breathless and brazen, but it only makes him stiffer, his fingers digging so hard into the leather you wonder if he’ll snap it in half. Every time you giggle for Jeno, Mark’s grip tightens; when you grind down, his jaw clenches, something ugly and wild flickering behind his eyes. Even Winter starts to falter, her laughter brittle, eyes darting between the two of you, her voice growing shrill. She leans in, mouthing something hot and dirty in Mark’s ear, but he just nods, gaze trained over her shoulder, watching the way you arch for Jeno, how your thighs bracket his, your hand tugging Jeno’s shirt open at the collar, the whole thing a dance you both know is for him.

You stretch your legs across Jeno’s lap, arching your back, laughter rising as Jeno whispers something wicked, fingers skimming the bare skin above your knee. You don’t miss the way Mark’s nostrils flare, the way he shifts under Winter, his own hips jerking almost involuntarily. Jeno grins, voice hot in your ear: “If looks could kill, he’d be dragging me out by the throat right now. You want to really break him?” His hands slip to your waist, tugging you flush against his chest. “Just say the word.” The tension in the room builds—thick, stifling, sexual in a way that leaves every inch of you buzzing, the crowd around you oblivious to the storm brewing between your couch and his. Winter grabs Mark’s face, pulls him in for a messy, desperate kiss, smearing her lipstick in a line across his cheek, but he barely responds, his eyes wide open, locked on you, like he’s daring you to stop, to come claim him, to end the game before it spirals past the point of no return.

Chaewon catches your eye from across the room, nods once, all teeth and knowing wickedness. “Ready?” she mouths, and you hold Mark’s gaze, something like a challenge written in every line of your body, heart hammering in your chest as you nod back. The room spins, time hanging suspended on the cusp of something dangerous, and you know—whatever happens next, there’s no turning back. Not tonight. Not for either of you.

The music dips, bassline giving way to a slow, dirty beat—something older, heavier, the kind of song that seeps into your bones and makes everyone move closer. Sweat clings to your skin, your dress hitching higher as Jeno keeps you tight against him, hands gripping your thighs as you grind in his lap, the old sofa creaking beneath you. The lights have softened, gold and violet spilling across tangled limbs, the crowd thinning as people drift to the kitchen or the balcony for air, but you stay, refusing to break the spell, refusing to look away from Mark, who sits opposite with Winter splayed across him like a threat he never asked for.

Chaewon starts a truth-or-dare in the corner, cackling as Jaemin kisses someone upside-down, but you and Jeno spin in your own orbit, laughter and showy flirtation pulling a small audience. Mark’s knuckles have gone white, jaw clenched so tight you see the muscle ticking as he watches, not even bothering to hide it anymore. Every time you throw your head back and laugh at something Jeno says, Mark’s stare burns through you, fingers digging into the couch, his chest rising and falling too fast. Jeno leans up, warm breath against your ear, voice low and playful: “He’s dying, you know. If he doesn’t do something soon, I really am going to take you home.”

You grin, emboldened, and let your hand slide up Jeno’s thigh, close enough that Mark sees everything. You nuzzle into Jeno’s neck, mouth open against his skin, moaning just loud enough for the people nearby to catch, and Mark—across the room—looks seconds from snapping. Winter’s all over him, lips smearing fresh red over his jaw, but his body’s rigid, his hands just resting on her waist, the light in his eyes growing feral every time your laughter cracks the air. Finally, Mark grabs Winter’s wrist, gentle but firm, says something low and final, and she yanks away, glowering, stalking off through the crowd with her pride in tatters.

Now Mark is alone on the couch, eyes locked to yours, and the whole party seems to press in around the two of you. Jeno smirks, nudges you off his lap, and with a quick stretch, he disappears into the crowd, catching Chaewon’s eye and giving her a little wink. She lifts her drink in a silent toast, her grin wide and satisfied. You sit there, heart pounding, adrenaline washing through you, not sure if you’re the hunter or the hunted anymore. Mark stands slowly, draining his glass, the buzz of the room warping and dulling as he closes the space between you. Every step is careful, his expression unreadable, until he’s there—right in front of you, so close you can smell the whiskey and something sharp and familiar. He kneels down, hands landing on your knees, fingers tracing circles over your skin.

Mark leans in, crowd blurring into a wall of noise, every nerve in your body sharp and exposed under his stare. His hands rest on your knees, and for a second you think he’s going to pull you in, but there’s too much distance in his eyes—something shuttered and dark, lips pressed into a hard line. You wait for him to say something soft, to apologize, to laugh the way he always does when things get tense, but all you get is silence and the furious pulse of your own heart. “You done playing?” he says, voice low but brittle, barely holding steady. “You get what you wanted out of Jeno, or do you want another round?” His thumb skims your bare skin, but there’s nothing gentle in the touch; it’s an accusation, every word sharp enough to cut.

You blink, disbelief rolling through you, the whole party vanishing from your mind. “Are you serious right now?” you shoot back, trying to keep your voice steady, refusing to let him see you flinch. “You’ve barely looked at me for weeks. You’ve been an asshole, Mark. Don’t act like this is on me. You ghosted me. You made me feel like shit, like none of it meant anything. Don’t fucking turn this around.”

You let out a shaky breath, fingers twisting the hem of your dress, pulse thumping everywhere you wish you could be numb. You lean back, meeting his eyes, voice trembling but relentless. “You don’t get to act like this is nothing, Mark. You hurt me. You really fucking hurt me. You just—left. You shut me out, you pretended you didn’t care, you let everyone think we were just friends again, like nothing happened between us. You went and hooked up with other people, you let Winter and a million of other bozo’s hang all over you, you stopped talking to me and just expected me to pretend it was fine. Do you know what that felt like? I was your best friend, Mark. You made me feel like I didn’t matter at all. Like none of it mattered.”

Your voice cracks, heat behind your eyes, but you don’t stop. “You didn’t even say anything. You just disappeared. You let me sit there, wondering what I did wrong, wondering why I wasn’t enough, why you couldn’t just talk to me. I missed you so much it made me sick. I still miss you, even now, and it’s fucking killing me to sit here and pretend that I’m okay. I needed you and you weren’t there, not even a little. I tried to move on because I had to—because I couldn’t stand the idea that you didn’t want me anymore, or that maybe you never did. So don’t you dare look at me like I’m the one who broke us. And you left after we made love, Mark—just slipped out like it didn’t mean anything, like I was just another girl you fucked at some party, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt lonelier in my life. I lay there in your bed, still smelling you on my skin, trying to convince myself it didn’t hurt, but it did. I felt empty and stupid, ashamed for wanting more, for thinking maybe you wanted me back. I just kept thinking, if you really cared, you’d have stayed—you’d have looked at me in the morning and made me feel safe. Instead, I woke up alone.”

He swallows, eyes shining, mouth open but no words at first—just the frantic rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand hovers over your thigh, needing permission to touch. “I’m sorry,” he finally says, voice raw and unsteady. “I’m so fucking sorry, I know I was awful. I didn’t want to hurt you, I just—I was scared. I was losing it, feeling everything get so fucking big, and I didn’t know how to handle it. Every time I looked at you, I wanted more. I wanted everything. And that scared the shit out of me. I thought if I kept my distance, if I acted like I didn’t care, maybe it would go away, maybe I could handle it. But I can’t. I couldn’t. You’re everywhere. You’re in everything I do. I didn’t talk to you because I didn’t know how to say any of this. I kept thinking I’d ruin us, that you’d leave if you really knew how much you mean to me. That you’d see how fucked up I am about you and run.”

Mark’s hand tightens around yours, thumb tracing desperate circles, his voice rough and ragged. “What I felt after that night scared me more than anything,” he admits, searching your face, shame flickering behind every word. “Making love to you—it wasn’t just sex, it was everything, it was all the shit I’ve been trying not to feel for years. I woke up and realized I couldn’t go back. I didn’t want to ruin us—I thought if I stayed, if I let myself be close, I’d mess it up and lose you for good. I was terrified that I’d break what we had, that I’d be too much, that you’d wake up and see I was never enough for you. So I panicked. I thought maybe if I acted like it was nothing, if I kept my distance, we could keep our friendship, keep something, even if it meant losing the part of you I wanted most. I’m sorry I hurt you. I just—I didn’t know how to handle what I felt.”

Mark exhales, thumb brushing the tear tracks on your cheeks like he can erase them molecule by molecule, and when he speaks his voice trembles with the weight of every unsent text, every middle-of-the-night thought he tries to bury. “I woke up that morning, sunlight spilling over your back, and it hit me so hard I couldn’t breathe, how right it felt, how badly I wanted to wake up beside you a thousand more times. And I panicked, because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, the only thing I’ve never wanted to risk. I lay there counting all the ridiculous little ways you already owned me: the extra blanket you leave folded on the couch because you know I run cold, the way you steal my hoodies but always wash them with that lavender detergent so they still smell like home, the playlist you made for my 3-a.m. study nights and updated every semester without telling me. I thought about freshman year when you dragged me to the ER at 2 a.m. because I’d sliced my hand cooking ramen, and you sat on the hospital floor making stupid puns to keep me from passing out. I thought about sophomore winter when you lost your voice for a week and still showed up to my recital with a sign that said you’re doing amazing, Mark,’ shaking it like a lunatic. Every single memory said the same thing: I love you.”

“And that terrified me. All my life, people leave when I get too intense, when the fun slips and the real stuff shows. I kept thinking if I stayed in that bed, if I let the morning happen, coffee with you in my shirt, your laugh in my kitchen, my heart on my sleeve, you’d see how deep it goes and decide it’s too much. So I did the only cowardly thing I know: I ran. I tried to file the night away under ‘good memories,’ like it was a photo I could tuck in a drawer and visit when it hurt less. But then I saw you in the kitchen that first morning after, trying to pretend you were fine while I pretended I didn’t notice the way your hands shook around your mug, and it wrecked me. Ghosting you was never about not caring; it was about caring so violently I didn’t know how to hold it without crushing it—or you. I thought space would protect us. Instead it hollowed me out. Every song on the radio was you, every stupid campus rumor about who you were dating felt like a blade. I’d walk past the laundry room and see my hoodie missing, and I’d have to bite my tongue to keep from begging you to come home.

“I love you,” he repeats, the words fragile and fierce all at once, “because you’re the pulse under every quiet moment of my day. Because even when I tried to forget you, everything I did was a map back to you. I love you for the way you correct people’s pronouns without making it a spectacle, for the way you hum off-key in the grocery store, for the way you mouth ‘you’ve got this’ before every exam even when you’re the one who studied all night. I love you when you’re brave and when you’re scared, when you’re gentle and when you’re spitting mad. I love you because you make me want to write better songs, be a better friend, take better care of myself, just so I can be worthy of standing next to you.” He cups the back of your neck, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and trembling. “So yeah, I left that morning, but every step away from you felt wrong. I’m done running. If you’ll let me, I’ll spend every morning for the rest of my life proving I’m not going anywhere again.”

There’s a riot swelling behind you—Chaewon’s shriek, Jeno’s wolf-whistle, Jaemin’s howl, Donghyuck’s palms beating a slow, mocking clap that rolls through the room and ripples into a hundred shouts and laughter—but none of it touches you. You’re gone, lost in the heat and hunger of Mark’s mouth on yours, the taste of relief and apology and every unsaid word. His hands cradle your face, then drop to your hips, dragging you closer, crushing you into his chest until you feel your heart slamming against his, the world tilting on its axis. He kisses you like he’s starving, like he can’t believe you’re real, his lips bruising and soft, teeth biting, tongue sliding into your mouth and swallowing every protest. Your hands fist in his hair, pulling him down, grinding into his lap, letting yourself drown in the pressure of his hands, the way he groans when you roll your hips and press your body hard to his.

You’re half on his lap, breathless and dizzy, the room blurring into nothing but the urgent, frantic slide of mouths and hands. He breaks the kiss only long enough to rasp, “Come here,” and then he’s standing, hands gripping under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing, carrying you through the crowd. The cheers fade, replaced by the thud of your pulse, your legs wrapped around his waist, fingers twisted tight in the collar of his shirt. Mark shoulders through the hallway, head bent to yours, lips never far from your skin. He finds the nearest empty bathroom, fumbles the lock behind you, and sets you down on the counter—his hands greedy, his eyes wild, the taste of you still on his lips. For the first time in weeks, you’re both exactly where you belong, nothing between you but heat and want and every promise you couldn’t say until now.

Mark’s hands don’t waste a second, skimming up your thighs, rough and sure, hiking your dress over your hips with a greed that makes your breath catch, his knuckles scraping your skin. He nudges your knees wider, dropping to his knees in front of you right there on the counter, the door barely locked, your body trembling from the rush. He palms your thighs, spreads you so wide the cool tile bites at your skin, and dips his head between your legs like he’s been starved for years, tongue flat and hot and immediate, licking a stripe up your slit, groaning at the taste. “Fuck, you’re already soaked for me,” he mutters, lips sliding against you, voice guttural and low, hands bruising your hips as he holds you in place, refusing to let you squirm away.

You arch into him, moaning loud, the sound ricocheting off the tiled walls, your hands flying to his hair, tugging hard, but he only groans, tongue pushing deeper, lapping at your clit, circles slow then fast, relentless and hungry. “Open up for me,” he growls, “Let me see how much you missed me.” Your legs shake, thighs clamping around his head, but he just grins against your cunt, hands splayed possessive on your stomach, holding you still as he devours you, tongue fucking you, nose bumping your clit until you’re a mess, already dripping down his chin. He spits on you, rubs it in with two fingers, tongue flicking vicious and quick, making you gasp, begging, “Please, Mark, please—don’t stop, fuck, don’t you dare stop.”

He eats you like he’s drowning, like you’re the only air in the world. “Taste so fucking good, baby,” he pants, pulling back just enough to watch your slick pool, then leans in again, sucking your clit into his mouth, humming deep in his chest until you’re nearly sobbing. You grip the edge of the counter, back arching, one heel slipping, toes curling as you grind against his face, chasing every filthy, wet sound, lost in the feel of his tongue, his lips, his teeth. He fucks two fingers into you, crooking them just right, curling deep, fucking you open, stretching you out for his cock. “That’s it, take it, all of it—let me ruin you, let me make you come for me.”

Your orgasm hits fast and mean, pleasure flooding your veins, your thighs clamped so tight around his head he groans, nose buried in your cunt as you cry out, body shaking. He rides it out, keeps licking, doesn’t let up until you’re twitching and oversensitive, begging for mercy, tears slipping down your cheeks from how much you need him, how badly you’ve missed him. He finally pulls back, mouth glistening, licking his lips, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, eyes blazing. “So fucking perfect, look at you, ruined just for me,” he whispers, voice raw, fingers still buried inside you, pressing against that spot until your whole body jerks with aftershocks.

He stands, kissing you hard, making you taste yourself on his tongue, groaning when you bite his lip, fingers fisted in his shirt. He grabs you by the waist, flips you around, bends you over the counter, your cheek pressed to the cool marble, ass bared to him, dress pushed up around your ribs. He drags his cock against your slick folds, teasing, rubbing the head through your mess, groaning at the heat, the slide. “Beg for it,” he murmurs, one hand gripping your hair, yanking your head up so you meet his eyes in the foggy mirror. “Tell me how much you want it.”

You whine, voice wrecked, desperate, “Please, Mark, I need you, fuck me, I need you inside me, want you to fill me up, want everyone to know I’m yours—please, don’t tease, just give it to me.” 

He laughs, mean and soft, lining himself up and slamming into you in one hard, smooth thrust, filling you so deep you cry out, clawing at the counter for purchase. “That’s it, baby, take it, take every inch, fuck, you feel so good—so fucking tight, so fucking wet for me,” he growls, hips snapping, his cock drilling into you over and over, the slap of skin echoing through the bathroom, filth pouring from his mouth as he ruts into you, unrelenting, desperate.

He grabs your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, the pace brutal, your breath fogging the glass, your tits pressed flat to the marble, moans bouncing off the walls. “Look at yourself,” he pants, one hand gripping your throat, thumb pressed to your pulse, making you stare at the reflection—your eyes wild, mouth open, cheeks streaked with tears and pleasure. “See how pretty you look getting fucked stupid? See how much you love my cock?” He slaps your ass, watches the red bloom, then soothes the sting with his palm, bending over to mouth at your shoulder, biting down until you gasp, your body shuddering under him.

He slows just to torture you, rolling his hips, dragging his cock out until you whimper, then slamming back in, hard enough to make you scream. “Say it,” he demands, voice wrecked. “Say you’re mine. Say nobody else gets this, nobody else makes you come like this.” 

You sob it out, voice raw: “I’m yours, only yours, fuck, nobody else, please, Mark, harder, I need it, need you, want you to fill me up—” He groans, hips stuttering, hand moving from your throat to your clit, rubbing furious circles, pushing you right to the edge. “Come for me again,” he pants, “Want to feel you squeeze me, want you to milk my cock while I fill you up.”

Your orgasm rips through you, every muscle locked, cunt spasming around him as you scream his name, stars bursting behind your eyes, whole body shaking. He follows, cock throbbing, slamming deep, hips jerking as he spills inside you, flooding you, holding you down so you can’t escape, both of you shaking, breathless, ruined. He stays buried in you, kissing your neck, murmuring every filthy, tender thing he never said, hands roaming your body, worshipping every inch like you’re the only prayer he’s ever known.

When he finally pulls out, your legs wobble, his cum dripping down your thighs, both of you grinning, wrecked and shining, skin sticky with sweat and spit and love. He pulls you upright, spins you around, kisses you slow, hands gentle now, holding your face, thumb brushing your jaw as he whispers, “Mine. Always.” He helps you fix your dress, smoothing your hair, still pressed close, foreheads touching, eyes locked, letting you breathe in the softness after the storm.

You stare at each other, hearts pounding, laughter bubbling up as you realize the party is still raging just outside, your world forever changed behind a locked door. He kisses you again, soft and slow, then grabs your hand, fingers lacing tight. “Let’s go make them all jealous,” he grins, wicked and soft, pulling you back into the night, your body humming, every inch of you branded by him. For once, there’s no question, no fear—just the wild, aching certainty that what’s yours will always find you, no matter how hard the world tries to tear it away.

author’s note

now, if you made it this far, i’d love it if you left me a comment, reblog, or even a like. i read every single one and they mean so much to me—it’s genuinely the best way to let me know what moved you, what you loved, or even what broke your heart. writing is a little lonely sometimes, it always takes me restless nights, and hearing from you makes it all feel worthwhile, like sharing a secret or lighting a candle for these characters. so don’t be shy! every little note is treasured and makes me want to keep going. thank you for reading, and for loving these messy, magical people with me. <3

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[yutaholic]

poison | nct series (M)

they were the kids no one wanted; the absolute worst, but now they run the town and all it takes is one night to complete change your life.

note: these are stand-alone oneshots set in the same universe that can be read separately. this fic was supposed to be darker, but ended up being super domestic.

disclaimer: the members are just my muses. I don’t know any of them personally and would never say that they would actually act or behave in the ways portrayed in this story.

psa: very smutty! you have been warned. don't like it, don't read it!

wolfsbane. (M) long drives and pretty lies, you’re looking for purpose and no one understands you like Jeno does. genre: first love! jeno { coming August 9 }

nightshade. (M) stolen kisses and deep secrets, you’re looking for danger and no one pushes your limits like Mark does. genre: baby daddy! mark { coming August 16 }

larkspur. (M) crying eyes and slow dances, you’re looking for passion and no one holds you the way Jaemin does. genre: fiance! jaemin { coming August 23 }

hemlock. (M) bitter fights and rough touches, you’re looking for trouble and no one makes you crazier than Haechan does. genre: husband! haechan { coming August 30 }

Copyright 2025 © yutaholic All rights reserved do not copy or translate without my permission!

[revehae]

daddy’s girl

pairing ↠ dilf!jaehyun x (f) reader (ft. bf!jaemin)

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, age gap (18+), unprotected sex, stepcest, underaged drinking, toxic relationship, reader is barely 18, this is like extremely gross don’t say you weren’t warned

summary ↠ jaehyun has been your stepdad since you were maybe thirteen or fourteen. at first, you didn’t want anything to do with him - not to go to his and your mom’s wedding, not to move to his state, and definitely not to live in his house. you had convinced yourself that all men were the same. but jaehyun was nothing like the father that had abandoned you at the worst possible time and left you to deal with your emotionally unavailable mother. he was kind, sweet, caring. and as you grow older, you find yourself falling for the one person you should never, under any circumstances, want.

wc ↠ 20k

a/n ↠ my first real fic all year 🥹 as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

for as long as you could remember, you had never been particularly fond of your boyfriend’s friends.

they were outright obnoxious, and even that was you being kind and considerate. their voices boomed loudly and their laughter rang out, and the demeaning remarks they made too often to be mere jokes always made you a little uncomfortable. 

though they knew better than to make any lewd comments about you, at least. most of them were about a pretty girl wandering the party, or their girlfriend of the week. but you weren’t dumb. you saw the way they looked at you every now and then, judging you. scorning you. tearing you apart. 

no comments were spoken squarely to your face, but you knew they were conjured. it made you wonder what they said to jaemin when you weren’t there on his lap, and you wondered if he chimed along. 

thick clouds of smoke loomed in the stuffy air, making it difficult to breathe. you coughed into your fist, feeling your throat itch. honest to god, you had absolutely no clue how they smoked that shit. the one time jaemin had coaxed you into putting a joint to your mouth, you had thought you were dying.

haechan said something that abruptly made the group of boys burst into laughter. you jolted, lifting your head from jaemin’s shoulder. he tightened his arm, which was looped around your back, holding you against him. “jaem?” you whispered. 

“hm?”

you were reluctant to say anything, knowing how he would likely respond, but you didn’t want to be here anymore. “can we go somewhere else?”

jaemin exhaled through his nose. you knew he didn’t want to leave. to him, these nights with his friends were harmless little exploits that made his life a little easier. 

it didn’t help that he was already annoyed with you. when he swung by earlier to pick you up, he looked you up and down, and the first thing to leave his mouth was a disgruntled, “why do you always dress so childishly?”

you had never thought of your bright colors and cute patterns as inherently childish. matter of fact, the cute, brown top with stitched teddy bears you were wearing was one of your favorite shirts. 

“why do you want to leave?” jaemin asked softly, gently rubbing your back in hopes of soothing you. 

“it’s too noisy,” you complained, peering up at him.

jaemin could have rolled his eyes. fuck’s sake, it was a party. obviously, it wasn’t going to sound like a prayer hall. “if you smoked a little, it wouldn’t bother you.”

“i don’t like smoking.”

“that’s because you’re not used to it, baby,” jaemin reasoned. 

“i don’t want to get used to it,” you mumbled. “you guys all pass around the same joint. you’ve basically kissed each other. which means that when you kiss me, i’m kissing all of them.”

jaemin groaned, “you’re so dramatic, you know that, sweetheart? it’s just a joint.”

“can you please just take me home?” you pleaded. between the rings of smoke hanging over you and the resounding thud of music and the cacophony of loud voices, you felt like you were suffocating.

jaemin was silent for a few moments, jaw tight. something tightened in your chest, recognizing the look on his face as something angry. before you could change your mind, jaemin pushed you off his lap, watching you scramble onto your feet, and spoke, “gonna call it a night early, gang. my special princess over here is too good to hang with us.”

mark groaned. haechan rolled his eyes. jeno snickered, not so discreetly looking at your legs, and said, “bye, princess.”

jaemin flipped him off and guided you away, murmuring, “come on, baby.” his hand was on the small of your back.

the two of you pushed past the bundle of people partying in the main room, which was easier with your tall, respected boyfriend in tow. your shoulders relaxed when you were outside. you were happy to be breathing in the fresh air rather than smoking and doing whatever else people could get their hands on.

jaemin opened the door on the passenger side of his car, letting you climb inside. by the time you were on the road, his hand was on your thigh.

you didn’t mind that. jaemin was a very touchy boyfriend and he always had his hands all over you. the attention was something you needed, something you craved. it was just safe enough to make you feel wanted within the boundaries of your control.

but then, after maybe ten or fifteen minutes, his hand started to move. you tore your gaze from the window down to the motion on your lap, stomach churning as you sensed his hands slipping further and further. then, your eyes went up to his face. his eyes were on the road, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

everyone was nervous about losing their virginity. everyone was scared of firsts. but for you, it was a little more than that. you weren’t scared of what happened during the act; you were terrified of what came after.

would jaemin still want you after you gave him what he’d been coveting? would he come back for more? could you meet his expectations, compare to the fantasies he’d crafted in his mind and had been hoping to enact?

you couldn’t know for sure. once you gave him what he wanted, you had nothing to keep him around anymore; nothing to rein him back in after the night was over. and the last thing you wanted was to be alone again. it had been okay, the ice, the nip, when it was all you’d ever known, but now that you had known how it felt to be warm, you didn’t want to remember how it felt to freeze.

“jaemin,” you called out softly. “what are you doing?”

“nothing, baby,” jaemin lied sweetly, feigning innocence. all the while, his hand was continuing to move up your leg. slowly, but surely. 

when he got too close, you decided that you were more than a little uncomfortable and gingerly pushed his hand away, as if not to upset him. “babe, i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

jaemin forced a smile, and somehow, that was more unnerving than if he had screamed at you, exasperated. “goddamn it, woman,” he murmured. “you already dragged me away from my friends. the least you could do is make it worth it.”

you swallowed, guilt hitting you like a punch in the chest. but the anxious stirring in your stomach was a thousand times worse, a million times louder, and potent tenfold. “i’m sorry,” was all you could bring yourself to say. 

jaemin scoffed, refusing to look at you. which was probably not so bad, all things considered. “yeah, you should be,” he grumbled. 

your eyes watered, but you looked out the window and tried to think of happier, kinder times. you didn’t want to cry, not until you were alone where no one could see. you hated crying in front of others. it was embarrassing. to say nothing of the fact that whenever jaemin reduced you to tears, he called you a crybaby, and he’d already made you feel childish enough.

the rest of the drive home was silent, save for the sound of the wind blowing through your hair and the occasional honking; your only refuge in the midst of your struggle to be the perfect girlfriend. the cool night breeze calmed you, soothed you, and traffic felt familiar. it was oddly comforting, being stuck between two things with nowhere to go. 

a feeling you knew all too well. 

the only downside was that the longer you stayed there, hardly moving, the longer you had to pretend everything was okay and try desperately not to sob.

it felt like forever before you were finally back home. you immediately got out of the car, having assumed that jaemin wanted nothing more to do with you right now. 

to your surprise, he sighed and willed himself to get out of the car, walking you to your front door. 

you peered up at him, trying to read his face, trying to understand where he was at and where you had pushed him. “are you mad at me?” you asked timidly, as if you didn’t truly want to know the answer.

jaemin took his time to answer, exhaling quietly. “no, baby,” he said after a moment. “i’m not mad. but you can’t avoid sex forever, you know. that’s what people do. it’s natural.”

he said it so outrightly, so bluntly. as if it was really, truly just another thing that everyone did, that had no risk and no consequence. you admired his fearlessness sometimes, wondering how his life had unfolded for him to be so bold, and realized you knew very little about him. “i know,” you whispered. 

jaemin reached for your hand, tenderly brushing his fingers over your knuckles. “but?”

you released a shaky breath. jaemin understood you, some ways better than others. he may have been completely clueless in some regards, but your body language was not one. shy, you confessed, “but i’m scared.”

“why are you scared?” jaemin asked, keeping his voice soft and level. “do you not trust me, sweetheart?”

“no, i do,” you replied, though you weren’t entirely sure if that was true or not. “but what if it’s not what you’re expecting?”

jaemin chuckled, as if that was absurd. “baby, relax,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “you could never disappoint me.”

your eyes got a little wider, a little starrier, watching him as if he was your whole world. “are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure, baby,” he told you, pressing a final kiss to your lips. “goodnight, sweetheart.”

“goodnight,” you whispered, watching him slowly start to back away. “text me when you get home.”

jaemin bobbed his head in acknowledgment and started to walk back to his car.

you unlocked the front door of your house, hoping to god your mother wasn’t somewhere lounging around or smoking. your stepfather didn’t enjoy when she smoked inside the house, but he was gone for the weekend. which, to her, meant his rules didn’t matter.

there was no sight of your mother when you walked into the house. but you blinked in surprise when you saw your stepfather’s favorite coat hanging on the rack in the foyer. you didn’t know people actually had those until you moved in with him.

jaehyun was in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up halfway to his shoulders, drinking coffee out of a mug you’d designed for his birthday when you were roughly fourteen. it was stupid and kind of ugly, but the fact that he still drank from it, even after four years, warmed your heart.

“daddy?” you called, stunned. you weren’t expecting him to be here for another day. 

“hey, doll,” jaehyun greeted, setting down his mug for a second. “you look surprised.”

you nodded your head. compared to what you heard in endless amounts of fiction, jaehyun didn’t go on many business trips. one a month, usually, for less than three days. “i thought you were coming back tomorrow?”

“we were able to wrap things up early,” jaehyun explained briefly. he didn’t like to bore you with the details of his job, though you often asked him about it, which was somewhat endearing.

“oh,” you mumbled. you tried not to show how happy you were. most times when you were alone here with your mother, you tried to go out as much as you possibly could, which was the only reason you had agreed to hang out with jaemin and his friends tonight. 

“yeah.” jaehyun’s eyes flitted over your body, making you feel a little self-conscious. he would habitually remember to pick up his mug and wince at how hot his coffee was. “you look cute.”

you blinked. jaehyun always complimented the way you dressed, often reminding you how cute and beautiful you were. you wished your boyfriend was more like that. “thanks,” you replied, coming over to hug him.

jaehyun set his mug down again and threw his arms around you, gentle as ever. but he smelled something on you that he didn’t exactly love. “you went out with that boy again, didn’t you?”

“how did you know?”

“you smell like weed,” he answered bluntly. 

your cheeks burned. the smell had followed you home, clinging to you. you didn’t notice it on yourself, but you knew how much he hated it. “i didn’t smoke,” you told him. “i was just next to them.”

jaehyun chuckled. he knew that. you hated the mere smell of smoke, always scrunching up your face whenever it stuck to your mother or whatever spot she’d chosen to get high at. “you don’t need to explain yourself to me, doll. i know you.”

you nodded, even more embarrassed. reluctantly, you pulled away and sat on the barstool next to him. it was late and you were kind of sleepy, exhausted of having to try so hard, but you wanted to talk to him.

ironically, it was silent for a moment as jaehyun sipped his coffee and you tried to think of what to say. jaehyun spoke first, mentioning offhandedly, “i don’t like your boyfriend.”

you sighed, resting your head against the island. “i don’t really like him, either.”

that threw jaehyun off. “so why are you still dating him?”

“i don’t know,” you huffed.

jaehyun’s eyes were fixed on you, wanting to get to the bottom of it and willing to confront the issue that you weren’t. you had no business staying in a relationship you weren’t content with. “is he threatening you?” he asked.

your shot up, eyes widening. “no, he’s not making me date him.”

if anything, that only served to make jaehyun even more alarmed, and he pressed, “what is he making you do?”

“he’s not making me do anything,” you replied quietly, knowing that wasn’t the best way to put it. “it’s just that… he wants to have sex.”

“and you don’t?” jaehyun finished for you. the topic didn’t make him feel awkward or uncomfortable, even if you were, by law, his daughter. he was the one person in the world you could talk to about anything and everything without fear, and he took great pride in that.

you shrugged, repeating, “i don’t know.”

“well, you gotta know something, baby,” jaehyun teased. “do you, or do not you?”

ignoring the way the pet name made you feel, you tried to think about it, hard. “i mean, he’s cute. and he’s nice enough most of the time,” you murmured, engrossed in thought. “but i guess i don’t really trust him that much yet. and i don’t want to give my body to someone i don’t trust.”

jaehyun hummed in understanding. “you know that’s not a bad thing, right?”

you sighed, shoulders slumped. “i guess.”

jaehyun placed his hand on your cheek, his touch feather light, as if you had a fragile warning on your forehead. “you can do so much better than him,” he whispered. “i know you’re going to do whatever you want at the end of the day, but as your father, i’m going to look out for you.”

but could you do any better? jaemin was your first boyfriend in years. maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was better than all the failed talking stages you’d been through. if you held onto the good memories, the ones like only a moment ago where he held you tenderly and touched you with affection, you could bear the hurt.

but there was nothing like that with jaehyun. the way he touched you now, his hand on your face, was something you could always expect. “thank you for that.”

jaehyun shook his head. “you don’t need to thank me. it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

no, you have no obligation to do that, you thought to yourself, bemused. for nearly five years, he had been going above and beyond for you, treating you as if you were his very own daughter. you couldn’t understand it. 

but you appreciated it. you appreciated everything. the way he reminded you how beautiful you were, the way he spent time with you even when he was exhausted, the way he listened to your problems and told you everything was going to be okay. without him, you would be so much more broken. 

but you didn’t let your thoughts wander there. it was too much suppressed pain that you weren’t ready to uncover. “daddy, are you tired?”

jaehyun shrugged. “not really. i probably won’t go to sleep until around two. why?”

“do you want to watch a scary movie with me?” you asked, hopeful. yearnful. 

jaehyun could see it in your eyes. he had learned to become very good at reading you after so long, though you’d always worn your emotions on your face. especially when you were thinking. it was very hard for you to lie. chuckling at the thought, he replied, “why not?”

you smiled, removing his hand from your face to slip your fingers through his as you hopped off the barstool, and led him to the living room.

the two of you settled on a nightmare on elm street and you went on to complain about how much you disliked eighties horror, much to jaehyun’s amusement. he tried to remind you that the technology and equipment available decades ago wasn’t the same as in the current age, but you didn’t budge.

apparently, you found the movie so boring that you fell asleep watching young johnny depp get devoured by a mattress. your head was on jaehyun’s shoulder, the couch blanket draped over you as you snored softly.

when you woke up, you were in your bed, cocooned inside your comforter instead and surrounded by stuffed dolls as birds chirped outside your window and the morning breeze whistled through the air.

none of which you had time to enjoy or even perceive, because the thing that had jolted you awake was the sound of a fist banging against your bedroom door. you groaned and willed yourself to climb out of bed, grumbling something underneath your breath, and threw the door open exasperatedly.

your mother was standing there in her robe, eyes red. “why didn’t you wash dishes?” 

you fought a groan. that was the first thing to come out of her mouth? really? “wasn’t aware i was supposed to,” you said groggily.

clearly, that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. “i don’t want to wake up to a dirty kitchen. we’ve been over this.”

you could have rolled your eyes at that. then, clean it up yourself, you retorted in your head. it wasn’t like you had made the mess. “you cooked while i wasn’t here and i didn’t have any.” i didn’t think i needed to clean up after you.

“that doesn’t mean shit,” she snapped. “you don’t have a job, you don’t do anything around the house. you need to take some responsibility.”

with that, your mother turned and walked away. 

you closed the door and exhaled through your nose, trying to calm yourself. you had been awake for less than five minutes and she had already managed to piss you off.

and over the most ridiculous thing. it couldn’t have been that hard to clean up after herself instead of trying to make it your problem. maybe you didn’t have a job, but she didn’t either. and the only reason you apparently didn’t do anything around the house was because you never did anything to destroy it in the first place.

and because you very rarely left your room when your mother was there. something about her presence left you on edge. there were many times you went hungry just because you didn’t want to pass her in the living room on the way to the kitchen for a snack. for as long as you could remember, the familiar sound of her bracelets rattling and her sandals tapping the floor had made your heart race.

in the middle of trying to undo your frustration, you thought of something. you had woken up in bed, even though you’d most definitely fallen asleep on the couch with jaehyun, and you had no memory of making the journey upstairs. 

which meant he’d carried you.

your heart fluttered. something about that thought - the thought of a bigger, stronger man carrying you - did unspeakable damage to your brain. you knew he was your stepfather, knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help but picture what else he could do with all that strength. 

it was also worth mentioning that you were very vulnerable when you were just lying there innocently, asleep. he could have done anything to you if he wanted. if only he had wanted it.

almost the whole day had passed when, to your surprise, you had gotten a text from jaemin inviting you to hang out with him again. you had assumed he’d want time to himself after last night. but you wasted no time in getting ready, doing something different with your usually dolly makeup, and putting on a miniskirt to seem a little more mature.

you had been close to walking out of the front door, hurriedly walking past jaehyun and your mother who were sitting in the living room, until you heard your mother say, “come back. now.”

you slowly grinded to a halt, muttering annoyances to yourself, and forced a smile as you spun on your feet. “yes, mother dearest?”

“where the hell are you going at this time of night looking like a whore?” she asked, snappy.

you tried to take that in stride, but it was hard. she never failed to hurt your feelings.

your mother didn’t even give you the opportunity to respond before she demanded, “take that off.”

you stood your ground. “no.”

your mother looked at you like she wanted to lunge at you. ever since you had turned eighteen, which wasn’t even that long ago, you had gotten bolder. “if you leave wearing that, you’re just begging for it. don’t come crying to me if something happens.”

your eyes stung. how could she say something like that?

jaehyun made a face and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to stop her before she went too far. “doll,” he said to you, taking over. “i know you’re an adult now, but we still want you to be safe. i don’t know where you’re going, but i don’t trust this world enough to honor that wish. can you change, please? for me?”

switching on a dime, you replied meekly, “okay, daddy,” and went back upstairs to change your skirt.

your mother gawked in disbelief. then her expression flashed to anger. “why does she listen to you and not to me?”

“you called her a whore,” jaehyun replied, unsurprised. “i wouldn’t have listened, either.”

“i said she looked like one.”

jaehyun sighed. “that doesn’t make it any better. you know she’s sensitive. either way, you shouldn’t have said that.”

your mother said nothing, sulking. in her mind, it didn’t matter the delivery. she was your mother and she didn’t enjoy being disrespected.

the skirt you changed into was a little longer, at the least halfway down your thighs. you had been quick to change, grateful your bed was still littered in pile of skirts you’d handpicked (and would unfortunately have to clean later), and rushed outside to slide into the passenger seat of jaemin’s car.

the party he took you to tonight was better than the last one, at least. there were probably still people smoking and partying hard, but jaemin had you in the kitchen, where thankfully few people were.

jaemin handed you one of two red plastic cups with some kind of liquid in them. “here you go, baby.”

though you accepted the cup, you looked at it with scrunched brows, then back up at him. “what is this?”

“a mix of things,” jaemin replied with extreme vagueness. “just try it, sweetheart.”

you didn’t question him, just turning the cup up like it was juice, which you quickly realized couldn’t have been further from the truth. you grimaced, ears and throat burning, and put a hand on your chest. “what the fuck?”

jaemin furrowed his brows, feigning innocence. “you don’t like it?”

you shook your head. you’d had alcohol before, a few times when you were maybe fifteen and had sneakily took a shot of tequila from your mom’s pantry, but you had grown out of that. plus, you were still underaged in terms of drinking. “no, it burns,” you complained. “i’m not supposed to drink anyway.”

“you have such a stick up your ass,” jaemin teased, taking the cup from you and throwing back a gulp like it was nothing. he was only a year older than you, nineteen, and had no business drinking, either.

you shook your head in disapproval, though you knew it probably wasn’t much worse than him smoking.

“here,” he said, giving you the other cup he had been holding. this one was clear. “try this one. i think you’ll like it.”

you were reluctant, considering how much you disliked the first one he’d given you, but with how expectantly he was looking at you, you grabbed the cup and took a tentative taste. your eyes widened. it tasted like juice. 

jaemin chuckled at your reaction. “good, right?”

you nodded, taking another sip. which became another, and another, until your head started to feel a little woozy. by the time you started to recognize it, you were already more than tipsy.

jaemin hoisted you into his arms like it was nothing and sat you atop the counter, draping his hands over your exposed thighs. “you look so pretty today,” jaemin mused aloud, admiring your skirt. “you get all cute for me?”

“yeah,” you murmured, eyes fluttering. it was all you could do to keep them open and suddenly, you wanted to go to bed.

“sleepy drunk, aren’t you?” jaemin asked, moving his hands to your waist to keep you upright. “jeno’s room is upstairs. wanna go to bed, baby?”

you did, but certainly not here. you were drunk, not stupid. with you and him alone in a closed bedroom, there was no telling what all he would and wouldn’t do. and the fact that it belonged to jeno only strengthened your hesitation.

“no, it’s okay,” you told him, shaking your head softly. you gingerly pushed yourself off the counter and onto your feet. “i’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

jaemin grabbed your hand, not wanting to let you loose just yet. “let me help you.”

“it’s okay,” you repeated, brushing him off. your heart thudded, nervous. “stay here.”

jaemin begrudgingly let you go, watching you disappear in the crowd with his jaw set. you just always managed to evade him, didn’t you?

you stumbled a little at first, but found your balance, making your way through the flock of other drunk partygoers. you gripped the railing for dear life as you climbed up the stairs, searching for the bathroom.

it was by the grace of god that you were able to find it and lock yourself inside without walking in on a couple trying to touch and feel on each other. you sighed in relief, digging around your bag for your phone. you had to get out of here, now.

with two incorrect attempts, you were able to enter your password and immediately went to your contacts, dialing the one person you knew you needed at a time like this. the one person who you could trust would be there for you no matter what.

jaehyun picked up on the second ring, answering, “hello?”

“daddy?”

even if it was only one word, jaehyun could hear in your tone that something wasn’t right. “yes, doll? is something wrong?”

“i think i messed up,” you murmured, grabbing onto the sink counter to stabilize yourself.

jaehyun’s brows stitched with worry, even if you couldn’t see. “what did you do? are you okay? are you hurt?”

“i don’t feel so good right now,” you replied, feeling drowsy. “i drank and i shouldn’t have, and… can you just come pick me up? please.”

you heard shuffling in the background, like he was already moving. “send me your location.”

fifteen minutes later, give or take, jaehyun called you and told you that he was outside.

you grabbed your phone and unlocked the bathroom door, heading straight for the stairs and making a beeline for the front door, wanting to leave before jaemin could spot you and do more damage. the second you saw your stepfather’s car, you hurried over, nearly tripping over your own legs.

thankfully, you were able to get inside his car without any problems, shutting the door and dragging the seatbelt over you.

jaehyun glanced at you, relieved to see that you were in one piece, but still worried. “are you okay?”

you nodded your head, sighing in relief just as the seatbelt clicked. “i’m okay,” you said, quiet. “thank you.”

jaehyun knew he should have been scolding you for drinking when you were only eighteen, but he was more concerned about your wellbeing at the moment. “why were you drinking?” he asked softly.

you swallowed, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer, but you had to be honest. “jaemin gave me a cup and told me to try it.”

jaehyun exhaled, starting the car. if you were going to talk about jaemin, it was best that he was far, far away from wherever he was. “he’s no good for you, you know that?”

you turned away and looked out the window, eyes watering. 

jaehyun glanced over for a split second and reached out with his right hand, his left one gripping the wheel. “i don’t mean to make you cry, baby. but you know i’ll never lie to you.”

“i know,” you whispered, trying to fight the tears. god, you hated how you couldn’t control them, how they fell at any minor inconvenience and there was nothing you could do to stop them. 

he would never understand; no one could. the reason you went back to jaemin even though you knew in your heart of hearts that he was just another boy that would never love you. hell, you hardly understood yourself. it was fair, considering you couldn’t say that you loved him either, but you felt something. 

and it was this unidentified something that kept you tied to him like a knot rather than severing the bond. you didn’t love him, no, you hardly trusted him, but you liked him enough. he was your second best. 

though jaehyun’s eyes were on the road, he still had a tender hand on yours, squeezing it firmly. “why do you keep hurting yourself like this, doll? you’re too smart to be fooling around with boys like that.”

“he’s all i have,” you said, your voice feeble. 

jaehyun’s brows furrowed, confused. “that’s not true. you have me, you have your mom, and you have tons of friends and family that love you. what makes you feel like he’s all you have?”

family i feel disconnected from, friends i only show half of myself to, and an emotionally unavailable mother who wants to control my whole life, you thought with a resentment you had been nursing for years. 

you swallowed it down, even though it was bitter and lingered on your tongue, and answered softly, “because sometimes, when he’s not angry, when he’s not smoking or drinking or trying to hook up, when he’s listening to me and looking at me like i mean something to him, i get to feel like he loves me.”

jaehyun didn’t skip a beat. “and how many times is that, baby?”

that hit you like the ceiling crashing down on your chest. all your life, you had just wanted somebody to love you. you had just wanted to feel like you mattered to someone and you had gone through great lengths just to hear it from another person’s mouth. you had always tried.

the only person in the world you never had to try with was your stepfather. the man had gone out of his way, since you were thirteen years old, to treat you like his own. at first, you had wanted nothing to do with him - not to go to his and your mother’s wedding, not to move to his state, and most definitely not to live in his house. you had convinced yourself from a young age that all men were the same.

but jaehyun was nothing like the father that had abandoned you just when you needed him most and left you to deal with your mother who was incapable of expressing any affection to you in a normal, healthy manner. jaehyun was kind, sweet, loving. he was patient with you, spent quality time with you, spoiled you with gifts and listened to your problems. 

all things your father did when you were a little girl, when everything had been okay, once upon a time. 

it was only natural that you found yourself gravitating towards him more often than not, wanting to be around him, wanting to hear his voice, wanting to hold him and spend every waking moment with him. and it was only even more natural that eventually, your heart began to flutter around him. 

but you suppressed it, because you weren’t that dumb. you knew there were no chances of him reciprocating your feelings, not when he loved you with the love of a father. but the nipping void inside you was still there, and it had never felt more empty. 

you knew it would be a bad idea to look at jaehyun, so you kept your eyes fixed on the gleaming towers and lights shimmering on the water as he crossed a bridge. “i know it doesn’t make sense,” you willed yourself to respond. “it doesn’t make sense to me, either.”

for a moment, jaehyun was silent. he may not have understood, but he wanted to deliver his words in the right way. in the end, he chose compassion. “feelings don’t always make sense, especially not right away, and especially not when you’re young and experiencing them for the first time. but that doesn’t mean you have to let them control you.”

arms crossed, you grumbled, “easier said than done.”

“i know it is, doll,” jaehyun whispered. “i know it is.”

something in his tone made you finally turn to face him. your eyes glimmered and you begged, “please, don’t tell mom.”

jaehyun looked conflicted, like he was weighing his options, but he knew what the most effective choice would be. “i won’t, but you can’t keep doing stuff like this, kiddo. it worries me.”

if there was anything you hated, it was that pet name. “i’m not a kid. i’m eighteen.”

“and thirty days,” jaehyun added dryly.

he said that like it meant something. you retorted, “what, are you keeping track?”

“i’m just good at quick math.”

you scoffed. it was probably true, considering all the things you saw him calculating when it came to complicated business things you never understood, but that didn’t make it any better. “okay. how old are you?” you asked knowingly. 

“thirty-nine.”

“what��s thirty-nine minus eighteen?”

“twenty-one,” jaehyun answered without any forethought.

more than twice my age. you knew that. not that it was hard to figure out, but that wasn’t the point. at some point, you had become obsessed with those numbers, crafting a delicate list of reasons why it could never work with your stepfather. the age gap, the marriage, the this and the that. 

but on the other hand, none of those things really mattered to you. you may have still been young, but you were an adult now. a legal adult. 

“besides,” jaehyun continued, seemingly unaware of where your mind had wandered. “i’ll always worry about you, no matter how old you are.”

your heart did exactly what you didn’t want it to do, what you had been trying to fight against for god knows how long now; it soared. 

if you weren’t regretting your night enough already, you definitely were by the time you went inside the house, realizing everything you had to do before you dropped into bed. “god, i have to shower and take off my makeup,” you grumbled, walking with a stammer. 

jaehyun kicked his shoes off by the door and grabbed your hand, lest you fell and hurt yourself. “i’ll help you.”

your eyes flickered in surprise. “you don’t have to do that.”

“it’s okay,” jaehyun replied, already steering you upstairs. “you need some guidance.”

you didn’t know what he meant by that, or maybe you did and you were simply in denial, but you didn’t ask. 

sitting you atop the counter in your bathroom, jaehyun picked out the pack of makeup wipes that were already sitting there and gently began to wipe your face, pushing a stray braid behind your ear. he seemed focused, eyes squinting and his thicks brows furrowing.

you were focused too, watching him intently the entire time. it was difficult to ignore the way your heart raced when he got so close, the way your body seared with heat when he touched your cheek. it wasn’t necessarily even affectionately, which only served to make you more disappointed in yourself.

but sometimes, when you were staring hard enough, much like right now, you noticed more than just how handsome he was. you noticed the little scrunch of his brows when he was concentrating, you noticed the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed. when it was as quiet as it was right now, you could even hear his breathing almost as subtle as the faint scent of cologne on him that had worn throughout the day.

maybe it was somewhat obsessive, but you didn’t do it on purpose. jaehyun made it easy to tune the world out and ignore everything that wasn’t him.

after washing your face, jaehyun grabbed you something to wear and asked, “need anything else, doll?”

“no, daddy. i’ve got it,” you replied, grabbing a towel for your shower. the water was running behind the curtains. “thank you.”

jaehyun grinned softly and bent down to press his lips to your forehead in a tender kiss. “goodnight, baby,” he whispered.

“g’night, daddy.”

the door closed. you hated knowing that you were alone, that he wasn’t right there with you. at times, you got tempted to do things you used to do when you were younger, crawling into bed with him in the middle of the night, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. no matter how much you hated being separated.

you usually liked to milk time with him for all that it was worth, especially because he was always working. you stole the seat beside him at the dinner table, you watched him mend items in the house, and you spent a lot of time on the couch of his study when he was taking calls and doing paperwork. 

once you had gotten redressed after your shower, you slipped into bed with a sigh. there was always tomorrow.

the cereal boxes were pushed too far back again. 

you couldn’t reach them. even standing on your tippy toes, waving your hand aimlessly in hope of even scraping the damn corner of a box of cinnamon toast crunch, they were just too far. “ugh,” you whined, irritated.

jaehyun watched. his eyes were less on your challenging endeavor and more on the swell of your ass peeking from underneath your tiny nightgown as you rose off the heels of your feet onto your toes, noticing the way it jiggled when you stood normally again. there was a pang of guilt in his chest, watching you like that, but at the end of the day, jaehyun was just a man.

“i’ll get it,” jaehyun insisted, standing up from the bar to swing over without even having to ask which one you wanted. he routinely saw you only eat the same cereal.

you thanked him when he grabbed the box of cinnamon toast crunch and placed it securely into your hands. walking over to the counter where the milk and bowl were waiting, you noticed jaehyun come up behind you. at first, you thought he was just watching for whatever reason, so you ignored the thud in your chest at his proximity and poured the cereal. 

then, you carefully grabbed the milk, not wanting to spill it accidentally. you had been guilty of that before. without warning, his hands dropped below your waist and cupped your cheeks, making your eyes go wide. “daddy,” you gasped out, bemused. “what are you doing?”

jaehyun shushed you, giving your neck a fleeting kiss before he shifted his attention back downwards, pushing your nightgown up so that it would bunch around your hips. “quiet,” he whispered.

“daddy, the milk,” you whined, having lost control of your grip when he touched you, catching you by surprise. 

most of it had spilled out of its container, the bowl overflowing with streams of milk dripping off the counter that would stink if not cleaned soon enough. but some of it had splashed onto your face, chest and tummy. “shh,” jaehyun repeated. “don’t worry about it. you can milk something else.”

your face warmed in realization just as he began to press himself against you from behind, and the very big, very hard bulge in his pants made your mouth run dry.

or maybe it was the morning breath. because you woke up, sighing quietly at first, and turned to stretch your arm from underneath your blankets.

“what the fuck,” you grumbled a few minutes later when it dawned on you exactly what kind of dream you’d just had. 

sure, you’d had dreams about jaehyun before, but they were nothing to write home about; they were entirely random and didn’t make logical sense, or they were simple and mundane, and very often, you didn’t realize they were dreams at first because they were so realistic that they could have been memories.

that was definitely a dream. you couldn’t imagine jaehyun doing anything like that to you. well, you certainly could, but that wasn’t the point. it wasn’t realistic whatsoever, other than him extending himself to help you.

it made you horny to think about. everything about the dream had physically felt so real to you; jaehyun’s hands on your ass, his bulge pressing against you from behind, and his warmth radiating onto you hotly enough to make you melt.

part of you was tempted to go back to bed, ignoring the faint chirps of birds outside your window and the light reaching through white and pink curtains. if only you could have stayed asleep a little longer, just to see how it ended. if only jaehyun would have ever felt that way about you too, then maybe it could become true.

but he wouldn’t. and even if he somehow did, jaehyun was at work by now. so you did the one you never thought you would do. 

“hello?” jaemin said when he picked up the phone. 

your heart sped. you were about to propose something that you were none too sure about, but something had to be done about the festering ache between your legs. your fingers weren’t satisfying you anymore; they hadn’t in years. “jaemin,” you whispered. “hi.”

“hi,” jaemin repeated dryly, wondering what you wanted. you could hear in his tone that he still wasn’t particularly thrilled about last night.

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “i’m sorry for running away last night,” you murmured. “i didn’t want to abandon you like that. i was just… scared.”

jaemin made a noise, but it was so quiet and distorted that you couldn’t decide what to make of it. “you were scared,” he replied, echoing your words again.

you gave a deep, prolonged exhale. you knew that you were running out of time with him, that one day, he would grow sick of your excuses and your stalling. “i knew that… you were trying to have sex,” you explained. “and i didn’t… i didn’t feel comfortable. i was drunk. and then you said we were going to jeno’s room, and i got even more worried.”

“why?”

“i don’t like jeno,” you admitted, although you thought it would be obvious by now. “he looks at me weird.”

“baby,” jaemin sighed. you could hear how frustrated he was. “jeno’s not gonna hurt you. he just likes to have a little fun. but if it makes you feel better, i’ll try to keep him in line.”

you were only half relieved. “thank you.”

“now, is that why you called me? to tell me jeno makes you uncomfortable?” he asked. 

“no,” you stammered, playing with the hem of your shirt in attempt to distract yourself from your nerves. “there’s something else i wanted to tell you.”

“what is it, sweetheart?”

you blurted, “i think i’m ready.”

you could practically feel jaemin perk up. “like, seriously?” he asked, stunned. 

“yeah,” you replied, but it weak. there was a bit of regret in your chest when the word left your mouth, but you tried to swallow it down and keep it there. “i’m ready, jaemin. right now.”

jaemin was ruffling through something, probably his drawer. “shit,” he said, excited. you wondered if his heart was beating even half as fast as yours was. “where are you right now?”

“home.”

“can i come over?”

“yeah,” you muttered again. he lived far enough that you had time to wash up a little and get your mind together. “my dad is at work and my mom probably won’t be home until later. it’s just me.”

“i’m on the way,” jaemin said without missing a beat, quickly hanging up. 

you took a deep breath, trying to relax yourself. jaemin was your boyfriend. you were supposed to call him when you had needs; itches that needed scratching.

it was a conflict that had been warring in your mind for weeks, maybe subconsciously months. on the one hand, your lust was only centered around jaehyun and you were afraid of having sex with jaemin for more reasons than one. but on the other, the human desire for release had ran to a peak and now it was unignorable, your body begging to be satiated.

you knew what the most prudent choice would have been: dumping jaemin, getting over these unrational feelings for your stepfather, and no longer settling for men that treated you as less than what you deserved. but what did you look like being alone again, waiting for someone to decide they loved you, especially when your heart belonged to someone who could never be yours?

clearly, you were in no way in the position to make prudent choices. not when the need burning inside you outweighed the reason.

time went by faster than you thought, considering that jaemin didn’t particularly live nearby. you had spent the better half of that time in your own head, wondering what would happen, and the sound of the doorbell ringing jolted you out of your thoughts.

your heart was pounding with all its might as you made deliberately slow, steadys steps down the stairs and to the front door where you knew jaemin would be waiting. seeing his face when you opened the door only made you more anxious.

jaemin, on the other hand, beamed when he saw you. you weren’t sure if you had ever seen him smile at you like that before. “hey, baby,” he greeted, stepping inside.

“hi,” you murmured, shutting the door behind him.

jaemin coiled his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest. his alluring, familiar scent put you at ease a little more. “i missed you,” he whispered, fingers sliding underneath your shirt to draw patterns on your navel, almost as if he could sense your need for comfort. “you ran off on me last night.”

your smile was sheepish as you apologized again, “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. i know why you did it,” jaemin said, glancing around as you led him out of the foyer little by little. “i just realized i’ve never been inside your house.”

that was not only true, but intentional; for obvious reasons, you didn’t want to be in the house with jaemin by yourself, but you also didn’t want him around your parents, either. your mother would find some way to embarrass you and the few times jaehyun and jaemin had met, there was strange tension in the air.

based on your mother’s behavioral patterns and those interactions alone, you had made the unilateral decision that it would be better for everyone involved if you kept your relationship with jaemin outside. “yeah,” you said, happy to think about anything but what was to come. “it’s better that way, don’t you think?”

jaemin chuckled, nodding his head. when he saw the stairs, he instinctively started heading that way. “yeah. i don’t think your dad likes me very much.”

“he’s just protective,” you replied, although you remembered jaehyun telling you outright that he didn’t like your boyfriend. 

“you don’t need protecting from me,” jaemin told you, slipping his hand down from your navel to your hand as you started up the steps. “have you been telling him mean things about me?”

define mean, was what you answered in your head. if anything, you had probably described jaemin too kindly, too gently. he had never hurt you, at least in the sense that he had never put his hands on you, but he was aggressive in other, more hurtful ways. “no, i told him the truth.”

“and what’s the truth?”

“that i love you,” you lied. “and i want to do this with you.”

jaemin looked like the happiest man alive, and something told you that it was unusual for him to be more enthusiastic in this moment than almost any other moment he’d spent with just the two of you. but the fear that had kept you close to him for so long was the same fear that had held you apart, and it was the same fear telling you to be silent.

but when jaemin opened the door to your bedroom, his face fell. “what’s all this?” 

your brows furrowed. “…my bedroom?”

“yours?” jaemin echoed, apparently appalled as he scanned your bedroom from left to right. 

the main culprit, however, seemed to be the miscellaneous plushies thrown about your bed. “oh,” you whispered, confused. your mother had found it childish and voiced her unwanted opinion every now and then, but you never thought it was so bad. 

jaemin scoffed, “what are you, thirteen? i’m not fucking you on that.”

“but, jaemin,” you started, noticing him turning back around. your stomach churned. he was leaving. 

shaking his head, jaemin threw the door open and said, “you really have to grow up, baby.”

you followed him, frantic. you knew he could your footsteps as you trailed behind him down the stairs, but he didn’t bother turning around, as if he had already decided he didn’t want to see you anymore. “jaemin, please don’t go,” you begged.

he didn’t listen. he didn’t even look at you, not until he made it to the front door and said, “goodbye,” followed by your name. then, he walked out the door, passing your mother on his way out.

as if this afternoon couldn’t get any worse.

as soon your mother stepped through the door, looking like she had been awake for the past twelve hours doing god knows what, she went, “really? you turn eighteen and think you can just do whatever you want? why the hell are you bringing boys over?” 

you were already on the verge of tears and you didn’t have the strength to put up with her, so for the first time in your life, you chose to walk away. she called after you, demanding you to come back, but you ignored it and raced upstairs to your bedroom.

it hurt more than it should have, watching jaemin leave like that, watching him go despite your pleas. maybe because it felt all too familiar. your brain recognized the feeling belligerently attacking you and your heart weakly surrendered to it, still too broken.

maybe you were always too broken, maybe that was why they never stayed. this is what men do, you told yourself through hot, wet tears. they take what they want, and then when it becomes even a little too much for them, they leave. nothing will change that. they won’t change themselves.

sitting alone by yourself in your closed bedroom with only your stuffed toys to bear witness to your suffering, it still felt humiliating. you had already come to the conclusion that what you felt for jaemin was not love, at least not of a romantic nature. and yet for the life of you, you couldn’t wrap your head around why it still hurt so bad.

it was a dizzying, throbbing ache that only persisted the longer you sat on the carpeted floor, weeping. for a fleeting moment, you were twelve again, old enough to recognize your first heartbreak but not enough to put a name to it. you remembered like it was yesterday, watching your father’s back as he walked out of the door, hauling the last of what he would bring with him into his new life, and leaving you in the old chapter.

there was a certain shape of hopelessness that you’d molded into, the loud, petty arguments and traded hits culminating in the few seconds it took to realize that you didn’t mean as much as a toothbrush, a watch, a box of wrenches or an old, wrinkled tee. because if you had, maybe he would have taken you, too.

and maybe if you meant more to jaemin than what was between your legs, he would still be here now. denying him sex for so long made you feel powerful; he was wrapped around your finger at some point, submissive, so to speak, and willing to do anything with the hopes that you would give it up. you took advantage of that. you used him so that for once in your life, you could feel wanted and in control.

and as you had ultimately come to expect, your woeful thoughts soon wandered to the greatest manifestation of your desires so far: jaehyun. it only seemed just that the world would taunt and tantalize you with the most perfect man you’d ever known, the only one you could ever trust with your heart. 

the cards had been dealt so that you had just enough access to admire how much of a dream he was, but not enough to let you slip away; you could doze off, vaguely picturing what it would be like in a world where the steep heights and pitless hollows of your affection could be reciprocated, but every time, you would be jolted back awake.

the more you thought about it, there had to be a reason why you seemed to want things more after coming to find there was no feasible way you could make them yours - because you wanted control. 

control, particularly over your own life, was something you had long wanted yet long been denied. you wanted to be able to make decisions for yourself without having your circumstances be shaped around the decisions of others. you didn’t want to suffer the consequences of a choice you had no say in. you wanted to reap what was rightfully yours. 

seeing someone like jaehyun, someone that you knew you could never have, only made him attractive tenfold. until now, you never noticed how this manifested similarly in other parts of your life, like in your overwhelming urge to prove yourself. to be the adult it seemed like everyone doubted you could be.

that’s why it’s so hard for me to accept denial and handle rejection, you rationalized as you peeled yourself off the floor and onto your bed, having finally stopped sobbing. because i’ve been denied simple pleasures my whole life, and yet people try to deny me even more.

thinking back to the little girl you once were, the one that was full of life and imagination, the one that foolishly had hoped her mother and father would stay together, the one that was innocent and naive, and knew nothing about how brutal reality truly was, you couldn’t help but burst into tears all over again.

because that little girl didn’t deserve to have to grow up so quickly. if you could have undone it all, if you could have spared that little girl the trauma of crying herself to sleep as she heard her parents arguing down the hall, if you could have stopped her dad from leaving for years, if you could have stopped her mom from inviting man to man into her life, you would have done it in a heartbeat.

and then there was the part of you that had always craved romance, the part of you that remained unfulfilled. combining this lifelong grapple with control with an unattainable lover, it was no secret why you wanted to prove the stars wrong. 

just this once, you wanted to know that you deserved good things too.

after a long moment of drifting between the sickness in your mind that had been infecting  your thoughts, you eventually cried yourself to sleep. it was something you hadn’t done in years, but when you woke up, you almost felt better.

you dragged yourself out of bed and slipped on your house shoes, trudging downstairs while mumbling prayers about how you hoped you wouldn’t bump into your mother. you knew she would give you an earful about earlier. 

to your surprise, rather than your mother, jaehyun was in the kitchen. he turned when he heard your heavy footsteps. “hey, doll,” he said, shutting the refrigerator.

you grumbled a response and waved weakly, moving past the island so that you could join him near the refrigerator. you would have opened it yourself, but jaehyun beat you to it, handing you a water.

when your eyes widened a little in surprise, jaehyun snickered and asked, “what else do you drink?”

he had a good point there. it was rare you drank anything but water in the house, not that you had a specific reason for it. it was just a habit you hadn’t broken. “and what if i was hungry?” you asked playfully, accepting the water from his hands.

“you wouldn’t have touched the refrigerator, because you always get everything delivered.”

you gasped in mock offense. “hey, i cook sometimes!”

jaehyun chuckled. “yes, you do, doll. but i know not to expect you to cook anything if you look like you just crawled out of bed.”

you hummed, sitting down at the island and twisting the cap off the water. you didn’t realize how long you had been asleep, but it had to have been a while if jaehyun was home. 

jaehyun followed you, sitting beside you. he didn’t say anything for a minute, wanting to carefully think over his words so that they came out as intended. “i went up to your room earlier to talk to you about something, but you were sleeping, so i left you alone.”

you glanced over at him, finishing your swig before you asked, “talk about what?”

“your mother wants me to address your… disobedience, as she puts it,” jaehyun started levelly. 

you sighed, slamming your head against the counter. of course, she did. “i guess she told you jaemin was here earlier?”

“she did.”

you were almost certain that that woman just didn’t want you to breathe. she had been able to control you less and less over the years, and the more you resisted, the more determined she seemed. like mother, like daughter. “well, it’s your house. if you don’t want me to have boys over, then fine, i respect that. but she doesn’t have the right to police me.”

“it’s not just the boy,” jaehyun replied, although he had his own set of grievances about that. “she feels like you’re becoming rebellious in general.”

you almost rolled your eyes. “and why couldn’t she tell me that herself?”

sighing, jaehyun said, “because she pointed out that you only seem to listen to me, not her.”

“yeah, because it’s surprising i’m more inclined to obey someone who knows how to have an actual conversation than someone who just wants to yell and doesn’t care to hear me,” you retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “daddy, she’s been trying to control my life since forever. i’m sick of it.”

“i know how you feel, doll, but you haven’t exactly been making smart choices lately, either,” jaehyun answered gently, resting a hand on your knee. “like your boyfriend, for example.”

“i told you, i don’t like him.”

jaehyun didn’t skip a beat. “and i asked you, why are you dating him, then?”

“god, you just don’t get it,” you grumbled, opening your water bottle to take another large gulp.  

“then, explain it to me,” jaehyun said gently, eyes meeting yours with a reservoir of adoration. “make me get it. i’m here to listen to you, baby girl. i want to understand you, but i can’t do that if you don’t let me in.”

but you couldn’t let him in, not that far, because then he would see something that startled him. it was easier to break your own heart over and over than it was to risk his opinion of you changing, all for some closure. “i don’t want to talk about it.”

jaehyun heaved a breath. he absolutely despised when you froze him out. he wasn’t stupid; he noticed that you were only this less forthcoming when it came to the topic of your boyfriend that he couldn’t understand for the life of him why you kept seeing. every time he thought he’d had a productive conversation with you about him, jaehyun heard something else about that boy.

something more infuriating than the last.

you stood up from the barstool, an idle box of cereal on top of the refrigerator catching your eye as you did, and you remembered the dream you’d had about him that inspired everything to happen today. “i love you, daddy,” you whispered, throwing your arms around him. “thank you for trying.”

“i’ll always try,” jaehyun told you, voice featherlight.

you believed him, you truly did, but it hurt to think that he was the only man that would ever say that to you and mean it. “i know.”

jaehyun placed a hand on his shoulder before you could leave, hoping to get one more sentence in. “i know it’s not easy for you, doll, but can you try to appease your mother every now and then? for me?”

you stifled a sigh, nodding your head. “i’ll do whatever you want me to do, daddy,” you murmured.

jaehyun smiled softly and pat your shoulder.

for the next couple of days, you pathetically waited by your phone, hoping to hear from jaemin again. normally, he would text you the day or two after an unresolved argument, apologizing profusely until you gave him a satisfactory answer.

or in other words, until you forgave him. but on the third day, you knew something was wrong. you hadn’t even argued, and yet he was ignoring your existence as if you had committed the most unjustifiable crime against humanity ever recorded.

this is really it, you thought fretfully, heart swelling with dread. he doesn’t want me anymore.

you tried to act like it didn’t hurt, like he didn’t wield this immense power over you, but you knew you were lying to yourself. and that jaemin had lied to you. he had said that you could never disappoint him, after all, but you were fairly certain that ship had sailed.

it was half past noon when you noticed a notification on your phone from one of your friends, an attachment with a text that read, hey, did you break up with jaemin? just asking because someone sent me a photo of him kissing another girl yesterday night.

surely enough, the attached image was of jaemin swallowing some other girl’s face, blurry in quality, but you knew your boyfriend’s face when you saw it. he had his hands round her waist, holding her close exactly like how he’d held you, only it seemed like it’d been so long since he’d touched you like that.

only one minute ago, you had been convinced that you had no more tears left to cry. staring at the image, pieces of your wounded heart dropping heavily to your stomach, you didn’t realize you were crying until the phone went black by itself and you faintly saw your reflection in its screen, mirroring you.

whatever had happened between you and jaemin the other day, you didn’t consider it a breakup. it was your understanding that you were still together, given that he hadn’t necessarily said something to indicate the opposite. maybe you were mistaken, but that didn’t make it feel like anything less of a betrayal.

but to call it a betrayal implied some level of trust, a level deeper than you thought you had possessed. your feelings for jaemin were complicated, but you knew that you had trusted him not to stab you in the back the second it was turned. you had trusted him to take care of you, to protect you. you had trusted him not to hurt you.

now that you thought about it, you weren’t sure why. the past couple of weeks alone had been hell, his advances becoming more frequent than ever now that you had turned eighteen, and he had always shown signs of wavering. but you ignored them. you were desperate to fill the void left behind by every man you’d ever loved.

torn from head to toe with the sting of emotion, you pushed open your bedroom door and went straight for your parents room. fortunately, it was empty, neither of them home to watch you sulk; the last thing you wanted was for your stepfather to see you sobbing over a boy he hated, and for your mother to say that she told she so.

the first place you touched was the closet, where you knew jaehyun kept his hoodies. you missed him. you missed him in ways you’d never genuinely known him, or felt him, or possessed him. perhaps it would have made more sense to say that you longed for him, but in your heart, those moments you’d dreamt of felt real sometimes.

taking one of his cozy, black hoodies down from where they hung, you hurriedly threw it on, quickly engulfed by its size. it was comforting. the smell was, too. if you closed your eyes, you could pretend that jaehyun was there, holding you in his arms and whispering in your ear that everything would be okay in the end.

you pinched the loose material of the hoodie that was dropping around your body as you sat on the floor and held it to your nose, eyes fluttering closed. he had been wearing it around the house a lot lately. you were very fond of the way he smelled. it was heavenly and masculine, but also safe and familiar.

it was uniquely his own, and, breathing in the scent of jaehyun, you exhaled calmly, pretending that he could want you.

his scent had another effect on you, too. it made you feral, to say the least. though you were mostly used to it, when you saw him for the first time after a while, it made you feel like a ferocious animal, hungry with lust and ready to pounce.

for a moment, you tried to be stronger. you tried to pull yourself together and remind yourself that this man was your stepfather, the man who was married to your mother. but the shame could only contend with the gravity of want for so long until one finally emerged triumphant.

you pulled the hoodie over your head and stared at it for a second, like you were giving yourself one final chance to not do something you’d regret, but lust prevailed over reason.

with nothing to hold you back, you wiggled out of your favorite pair of tiny house shorts, temporarily tossing them aside. you grabbed a hold of the hoodie and bunched it into shape between your thighs, slowly rocking your hips into it.

your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to think of something that would help get you off, every thought you were capable of developing revolving around your stepfather. what most of them had in common, however, was the vivid picture of jaehyun on top of you, weight crushing you hard as he rutted into you nice and deep.

it was too arousing to think about, what he would feel like buried so many inches deep inside you, face tensing as he fucked you with total abandon. you wanted him to lose self restraint, to whisper in your ear that he loved you, that he wanted you, that he needed you. and only you.

your needy hips moved faster. the muscles in your thighs were spasming, your whole body alive with the sparks of desire that were killing you slowly. breathy pants escaped your mouth, your jaw slacking as your body worked harder to exhale. you couldn’t breathe through the thick, muddled haze of your uncontrollable hunger.

how could you? the mere sight of jaehyun made your heart hammer sometimes, because it knew what it wanted. your entire body, at this point, knew what it wanted, but more importantly, it knew what it needed. you couldn’t shake the idea that jaehyun was good for you. that he was meant for you.

maybe thinking of jaehyun as some exquisite gift sent from the gods as a reward for enduring so much in so little time, rather than a titillating manifestation of everything you wanted but could never have, was merely an extreme sign of desperate coping, but you couldn’t help yourself. you deserved him, more than your mother ever would.

you could make him feel so good, if he only gave you the chance. if he only let loose for a moment and let himself indulge in the wonders between your legs that called out for him and sang his name. you didn’t know what you were thinking, almost letting another man claim what was so surely his, even if he didn’t know it yet.

one of your hands pushed up your skirt and you squeezed your breasts, imagining it was jaehyun’s bigger, stronger hand instead. your hips were now moving with a mind of their own, rough pants getting louder, and you thought of jaehyun touching you with just as much fervor and need. it felt more like you were hoping.

the heat in your core finally reached its peak and you orgasmed with a shaky moan, trying to milk the high for all it was worth, but the relief disappeared just as quickly as it had come. you sighed, hole throbbing emptily, and you inspected the hoodie for any signs of your arousal leaking through your underwear.

you pushed it aside and lied down on the floor, catching your breath as you tried to shake the guilt. you hated how much of a slave you were to this insatiable need, sinning in return for only a fleeting second of relief. but more than that, you hated settling. if you had it your way, jaehyun would have been fucking you every night.

the thought made your thighs clench against each other. sometimes, you foolishly hoped jaehyun would come into your room at night and ravage you in your sleep, fucking you awake. you knew he was so tired when he came home from work. he deserved to come home to a young, tight hole. and he deserved to use it whenever he wanted, however he wanted.

knees kicking up, your eyes shifted underneath your parents’ bed, and you noticed something hidden underneath. your curiosity got the better of you and you reached out to grab it. a tiny box came into your hands, and for a moment, you just looked at it, wondering what was inside.

there was no better way to find out than having a look yourself. you figured it was jaehyun’s, given that it was on his side of the bed, and that knowledge only made you want to open it more; you were itching to know everything about him.

your brows furrowed when you opened the box. the first thing you saw was a picture of a teenaged girl, maybe about thirteen or fourteen. you were confused about why he had it, but there were more pictures stacked beneath. the more you glanced through them, the more you realized she looked a little too much like jaehyun.

those cute, deep dimples, his deep, honey eyes, and his peachy, plump lips. you gasped, coming to only one reasonable conclusion: this was his daughter. but if true, why had you never seen her, or heard him speak about her?

you had to assume that he loved her. for one, he was keeping pictures and belongings of her beneath his bed. other than the photos, you saw a necklace with an initial that wasn’t his own, a charm bracelet, a bottle of feminine perfume and other items. a part of you felt like this was something you weren’t supposed to see, and out of respect, you put everything back just as you had found it and slid the box underneath the bed.

it felt like a violation of privacy and there was a pang of regret in your chest, but you couldn’t help but have questions. though jaehyun would be coming home later than usual tonight, so even if you somehow mustered the courage to ask him, it would be a while before you got the opportunity.

you reached out to grab your shorts and put them back on. the only thing left for you to take care of was jaehyun’s hoodie, which you weren’t sure what to do with. you could have put it back as if nothing had ever happened, but you would have felt bad if you didn’t wash it.

so, you did. mostly everything you did from that point on was to distract yourself from thinking about jaehyun. every now and then, you remembered what had happened with jaemin and there was a throbbing ache in your chest, but you pushed the thoughts away. 

it was easier to think about jaehyun, to wonder how many things you really knew about him, this man that had taken on the role of father for the past five years of your life. after all, it was never him coming to you for advice on life, but you supposed that made sense. he was older than you, had gone through many of the things you were experiencing for the first time, and had the benefit of hindsight.

still, you were curious about him and the many years that had shaped him into the person he was now. were they kind? every person had their fair share of hardships and encounters with adversity, at least in some fashion, but you hoped he’d had it relatively easy. you knew what it was like to suffer and you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy, much less him.

the efforts to distract yourself went on for so long that you even ended up making dinner, considering that your mother wasn’t home for whatever reason and you figured jaehyun would be hungry when he came back; you were hungry, and you hadn’t even done anything but think about him excessively.

like clockwork, jaehyun came in through the foyer and went to the kitchen, spotting you putting the finishing touches on dinner. “you’re cooking?”

you laughed at his surprise and nodded your head, turning off the stove. “i’m basically finished now,” you chirped, donning oven mittens. “i told you, i cook sometimes.”

jaehyun leaned against the counter, watching you take a pan out of the oven. “smells good,” he commented, humming in approval. “is your mother home?”

“nope,” you replied, setting the pan down on the stove. you had no idea where she was, nor did you care as long as she was safe.

“mm.”

you turned around to face jaehyun, taking a deeper look at him. he looked tired, exhausted even. you knew he would always deny how bad it was, though. “hungry?”

jaehyun bobbed his head and set a hand on his stomach. “starving.”

you and jaehyun sat down at the table beside each other and ate dinner, talking in between bites. your heart warmed to see how delighted he was while eating, the smile on his face at the first spoonful putting one on yours. your relationship with your mother had always been strained, but you had to thank her for teaching you how to cook.

while you had contemplated bringing up what you had seen earlier during dinner, every time you tried willing yourself to mention it to jaehyun, you got nervous and didn’t follow through. it wasn’t like it was something you were supposed to know about and you knew that by mentioning it, you would be telling on yourself.

not only that, but you didn’t know how jaehyun would feel about telling you about it, or if he would even want to talk about it. the last thing you wanted to do was overstep your boundaries, which was something you probably had already done the second you went into his bedroom and pried into his personal belongings.

after the dishes were washed, something jaehyun volunteered to help you take care of, you followed him into the living room where he usually went to relax after work. you managed to stay quiet for all of fifteen minutes before the guilt overwhelmed you and you apologized, “i’m sorry.”

jaehyun turned his attention way from the television to look at you, brows furrowing. “for what?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. you could have gotten away with it, but it didn’t feel right not to mention. “i went into your room today.”

jaehyun didn’t mind you being in his bedroom, but it was unusual that you were there when you had your own. “why?”

you smiled anxiously, fidgeting with your hands. that was the important part. you left out what you had done with the hoodie, deciding he didn’t need to know that. “i just did,” you replied, your voice quiet. “but that’s not the part i’m apologizing for. i saw something under your bed. and, i looked through it.”

jaehyun’s face changed, something more melancholy tensing his features. “oh.”

“i’m sorry,” you repeated, faint. the look on his face made you feel even more guilty than you already had.

jaehyun pat the top of your head, as if he knew that you needed the reassurance. “it’s okay,” he said, smiling thinly. “i guess you have questions now, don’t you?”

you nodded reluctantly. those questions were essentially all you had thought about it since you discovered that box underneath his bed. “i do, but… you don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“it’s alright,” jaehyun replied, exhaling. that shroud of melancholy was still hanging over him. “she was my daughter.”

your heart stopped. “…was?”

for a moment, jaehyun was silent and he didn’t immediately respond. you wondered if you had said the wrong thing, overthinking everything you were doing. he exhaled yet another breath and replied, “she passed away six years ago. car accident.”

that explained everything, but now you felt worse than you had before and it was killing you. “daddy…”

it looked like it pained him to talk about it, but he did it anyway. “i was married before i met your mother,” he explained. “everything was good. we had a few problems, but hey, no marriage is completely perfect. my ex-wife took our daughter out and they were coming back home when they got into a car accident. she wasn’t paying attention. she lived; our daughter didn’t.”

you were silent. you didn’t know what to say.

tensing a little, jaehyun continued, “we had a divorce because i blamed her, and i couldn’t stand to be around her anymore. i don’t think i can ever forgive her for being so reckless.”

“i wish that never happened to you, daddy. you didn’t deserve that,” you said compassionately.

“you lost someone, too.”

the thought of your father left a sour taste, and to be frank, you never wanted to think about him again. “yeah, my dad left me, but at least the bastard’s still alive. if i wanted to talk to him, i could. but you don’t have that option.”

jaehyun’s eyes flitted over you and he reached out to push your hair out of your face. “that’s why i want to protect you, doll. you mean more to me than you will ever know.”

there your heart went again, acting a fool at the smallest words and actions. “you mean a lot to me, too.”

after much internal wavering, jaehyun reluctantly confessed, “i was never going to tell you this, but when i met your mother, part of what i liked about her was that she had a daughter. just a year younger than my daughter would be. and i wanted her back. i wanted her back so badly. so to me, it felt like god was giving me a second chance.”

your eyes flickered. you had always wondered what it was he liked about your mother in the first place. they made a strange pair; he seemed so different from her type, and his personality was much softer than hers. “really?”

“that’s why i tried so hard in the beginning to grow on you. even though it couldn’t have been more obvious that you didn’t want anything to do with me,” he told you lightheartedly. 

you giggled, remembering how much you had been against your mother getting married to this man you barely knew. “you’re a great father,” you whispered. “thank you for not giving up halfway.”

“i’ll never give up on you.”

you were beaming. “i know.”

this conversation had taken a different direction than you had initially expected, but ultimately, you were happy with it. you had been so afraid of him getting upset with you, and though it would have been justified, you knew rationally that it just wasn’t in his nature.

at least, not when it came to you. you had noticed the anger bristling within him when he spoke of the mother of his child; it made you angry on his behalf. but even then, jaehyun’s anger was nothing like the kind you had grown up surrounded with. it wasn’t loud, aggressive, or dangerous. it was quiet, composed, restrained. 

much like the rest of him.

in the time that you had spent thinking about jaehyun’s life and all the secrets it contained, you had figured something out about yourself. “i’m going to break up with jaemin,” you announced.

though he didn’t expect the topic change, jaehyun couldn’t hide his relief. “what took you so long?”

you chuckled, because that was a good question, to be fair. “well, for one, at least to my knowledge, he hadn’t cheated on me until now,” you retorted.

the anger was back, only this time, you swore it had a more hostile air to it than ever. “he did what?” jaehyun exclaimed.

you shrugged your shoulders. it wasn’t that it didn’t bother you, because it did. come to think about it, it mostly hurt because you would have never done the same thing to him, no matter how much you lusted after your stepfather. 

taking a deep, frustrated breath, you explained, “yeah. long story short, when he came over the other day, it was because i had agreed to have sex with him. but when he saw my room for the first time, he basically called me childish and said he wasn’t doing it there. then he marched out.”

jaehyun shook his head, but he wasn’t surprised. at least you had enough self-respect to end it now. he was starting to become afraid that he would need to shake some sense into you.

jaemin had served a purpose. he was unbelievably handsome, undoubtedly smart, and told you everything that you wanted to hear. he distracted you from what you were really after, and in return, you ignored what he was really after.

there was a large part of you that felt ashamed for lying to yourself for so long. but now you were being honest. you owed yourself that much. “i was so stupid. part of the reason i didn’t want to have sex with him was because i wanted him to stay, and i wasn’t sure if he would still choose me afterwards. i was scared he would get what he wanted and leave. but the reason i agreed to have sex with him was because i could feel him getting bored and pulling away. and in the end, he left me anyway.”

you had already decided you weren’t going to hold it against him, because you were both guilty of something. you had lied to each other, taken advantage of each other, and bled dry each other. both of you had tried to force something that was never really there. you would never forgive him for cheating, but you could understand him leaving.

jaehyun listened intently, watching your face as you talked about your relationship and what went wrong. he picked out his words, not wanting to be blinded by his lack of disappointment. “you’re not stupid for wanting someone to like you.”

your eyes met his. i want you to like me, you thought to yourself, wishful. “am i stupid for staying even though i knew deep down that it wasn’t really me that he liked?”

“no, doll,” jaehyun replied gently, bracing a hand on your knee. “you’re just disillusioned.”

you chuckled. “you sure you’re not just saying that?”

jaehyun squeezed your knee, giving you comfort that he knew you needed. it would be complicated, you already knew, coping with your feelings for him now that you wouldn’t have jaemin’s shenanigans to distract you. not that they really ever helped. “you’re young. even your mind has a mind of its own. i think it’s only stupid if you make the same mistake twice.”

you hummed, knowing that that probably wouldn’t be happening. you weren’t the type of person to jump from relationship to relationship. you were too afraid of abandonment for that. you could only handle so many of them before you snapped.

as jaehyun looked at you, he couldn’t help but feel guilty, thinking maybe he should have done more to keep you safe from a boy like that. but you were an adult now, and he was trying to give you the space to take care of yourself on your own. “did you ever really like jaemin?” he asked after a pause. 

“i think i just liked feeling wanted,” you murmured, ashamed of your own stupidity.

jaehyun let that sink in. he knew you had been dealing with certain insecurities for years, and the thought that he still had yet been able to help you made him feel worthless. “what kind of boyfriend do you want?”

there was a lull of silence as you thought about it thoroughly. you had liked jaemin because you thought he could be everything you should have wanted, but he wasn’t necessarily your type. “someone who’s tender,” you decided, something jaemin selectively was. “someone who’s assertive, protective, and takes care of me.”

“mm.”

your heart was racing, but somehow you found the courage to add, “someone like you.”

jaehyun tried to rationalize that, he truly did. in his mind, the idea of wanting someone who embodied the traits of a strong father figure was a perfectly normal desire. but he wasn’t an idiot, and he could hear everything you didn’t say, and recognize the sudden change in your body language.

because you didn’t want a boyfriend; you wanted a father.

sighing, jaehyun relaxes his eyes for a second before he opens them again, taking in how fragile you appear and feel beneath his heavy hands. “doll, you’re my daughter.”

“stepdaughter,” you corrected in a heartbeat.

jaehyun ignored you, continuing, “and you’re so young.”

“i’m eighteen,” you replied, heart thudding so fast you couldn’t stay still. “i’m an adult.”

jaehyun didn’t seem pleased, or convinced for that matter. it was as you feared; he would always see you as this little girl that needed saving. “you may legally be an adult,” jaehyun started, quiet. “but mentally, you are still a little girl.”

that stung. you never knew jaehyun was capable of it until now, but he had really burned you with such few words. your eyes even burned with the threat of tears. “if that’s how you feel,” you murmured, standing up from the sofa.

jaehyun softened, immediately regretting having ever said anything. “doll, wait.”

you didn’t, making a beeline straight for the stairs. you weren’t sure what you were expecting. he thought of himself as your father and he was married to your mother. why would he see you like that?

why did you see him like that?

to make matters worse, jaehyun didn’t follow you. you didn’t turn around, but the lack of footsteps behind you wasn’t lost on your ears. pretending it didn’t bother you, you went to your bedroom, shut the door, and dropped on your bed.

maybe you should have been grateful that your biggest problem in life was unreciprocated feelings. you knew there were all too many things you had to be grateful for, especially things jaehyun provided for you, like education and a nice home and fatherly love. there was no good reason to expect more than that from him. maybe you were just greedy.

or maybe you were needy. at worst, you were a little bit of both, but that wasn’t completely your fault. when bred from incompetence and instability, no one could rationally expect anything but insanity. if no one had ever given you a fair chance at normalcy, then no one could expect you to know how to reinvent yourself into something ordinary.

it was just so exhausting to be continuously rejected, because you were too this or not enough of that. you never knew how to be what anyone wanted. you never knew how to make anyone stay. just once, you wanted someone to care for you the same way you cared about them, and nothing less.

just when you were beginning to accept that you were hopeless, there was a knock on your door. wiping at your eyes, you reluctantly called out, “it’s open.”

jaehyun came in, shutting the door behind him, heart clenching in his chest when he noticed your reddening eyes. “calm down yet?” he asked.

you shrugged your shoulders, but murmured, “i don’t know if i’ll ever calm down.”

he could tell that you didn’t just mean the exchange downstairs; no, whatever storm was raging and rushing within you unbeknownst to him, it was only festering. “i try not to say the wrong things,” jaehyun said, slowly coming to sit beside you on the edge of your bed.

you knew that. it was something you had come to like about him. he was careful, loving. it was never his intention to hurt anyone. but he was only human, and humans made mistakes and had lapses in judgment. “maybe you weren’t wrong. maybe i’m just immature.”

“maybe a little bit,” jaehyun told you, frank, but lighthearted. “but i could have said it a little better.”

you rolled your eyes, almost feeling better already. but the faint echo in your heart had yet to cease. “you don’t need to sugarcoat everything for me all the time, you know.”

jaehyun hummed. you were saying that, but he knew that he could break you into pieces if he wanted. tinier, more insignificant pieces than the ones you already were broken into. but he wouldn’t. he was realizing the full scope of power he wielded over you, and now that he knew, he wanted to be cautious. “i think i understand you now.”

your eyes leapt up to his face, almost like you were begging for that to be true. “what do you mean?”

“why you do the things you do,” jaehyun continued, dabbing at a tear that had fallen down your cheeks. “you don’t want a boyfriend. you want a father.”

saying nothing, you fidgeted with your thumbs and held your breath. you weren’t used to having your heart laid flat on the table.

jaehyun stopped you, setting his palm on the back of your hand. “you want me,” he said, making you wish you could disappear. “and that’s why you kept saying that you didn’t really want jaemin, but never explained to me why you kept dating.”

you leaned your head on his shoulder. “i love you so much, daddy.”

jaehyun’s heart was pounding in ways it hadn’t in a long time. “i know you do, baby girl. but you know that this isn’t right.”

“i don’t care.”

jaehyun sighed. “i’ve known you since you were thirteen, doll.”

“so? am i thirteen right now?”

“no, but you’re barely legal.”

“i’m legal. you don’t need to put unnecessary adverbs in front of it. i’m not some kid, daddy.”

there was no doubt that jaehyun was trying to change your mind, hoping to say something that would make you realize how foolish this was. too bad for him, you were too far gone. “your mother…,” he started. 

“i don’t care,” you repeated a little harsher. “you told me yourself, you basically married her for me. and all she does is leech off you. i know it and you know it. we don’t even know where she is right now. say that you love her more than you love me, say it!”

“i don’t like your tone right now, doll,” jaehyun told you, stern, but level. 

obeying the silent command in his voice, you quietened, murmuring, “i’m sorry, daddy.”

jaehyun sighed, stuck between a rock and a hard place. he put a hand on your thigh. “but you’re right. i do love you more.”

“then, prove it,” you whispered, inviting him. daring him. prove that you love me. prove that you’re just as sick as i am. prove to me that i have you in every way, that i’m not alone.

jaehyun knew that he shouldn’t. he was considering everything you had failed to acknowledge - your mother, his marriage, proper morality, and the fate of his relationship with you. but where he had been ignorant to your fermenting feelings, he hadn’t failed to notice exactly how much you had grown up.

the way your body had matured. the way you’d began coordinating your signature scents into something that was indisputably yours. the way your taste in fashion had changed from fluffy, pink skirts to short ones that were one wrong move away from flashing your plush cheeks and the cute, thin fabric of your underwear clinging tightly onto your cunt it just hardly concealed.

jaehyun had, too, noticed, and been rather fond of, how you were usually the meekest thing in the world only for him. with enough conditioning, in a world that was darker, he could put a gun in your hand and turn you into his little obedient vixen. you just wanted to heal him, please him, satisfy him.

but it would be wrong. and jaehyun had once prided himself on the fact that he did everything right. he got the most compelling grades in school to prove that he had genuine smarts to pair with his wealth, he went to a top university and worked hard, he got a job straight after graduation, met who he thought was the perfect woman, married her, bought a opulent house with her, and had a beautiful daughter with her.

so what if he still had to repeat a couple of steps, and so what if he had messed up on a few? at least he didn’t mess up on you. the only thing he regretted when it came to you was not completely noticing, not doing more to keep you from struggling.

you were more than just a reclaim of what he had lost. jaehyun didn’t think of his first daughter when he thought of you, not anymore. with you getting older and growing into your own person, your own way of life, it was difficult to see her in you. so, he accepted you as your own person, and in turn, he let go.

but that fact didn’t make him feel any less guilty or conflicted. you were still his stepdaughter, and you trusted him to protect you. your mother trusted him to protect you. everybody trusted him to guide you, steer you, lead you.

looking into his brown, troubled eyes, you instantly knew what it meant. he needed some persuasion, something to hinder his overthinking.

“please,” you pleaded, resting a hand on his lower abdomen just as gingerly as the way he handled you in mind and in body. he was still in his work shirt, broad shoulders catching your eye as you succumbed to the urge to rub your smooth palms over them. 

look at you, begging him to fuck you. gazing up at him with those big, hopeful eyes with a shimmer that was so sweetly sparkling he almost mistook it as innocent. but he knew better. those were eyes that hoped for corruption, that sought comfort in destruction, and that were molded into the puppet of pain.

you lowered your hand again, stopping just shy of his crotch hidden by his work pants. fumbling with the fly, you looked into his eyes, searching for something. any indication that he was resisting. but you only saw him watching like even he didn’t know what he wanted.

it was surprising. you had been half expecting him to put his hand over yours and stop you, to remind you again that this was wrong and he didn’t see you how you saw him, but he just kept his eyes focused on you as if he was trying to see just how far you would go.

testing the waters, you undid his pants and went straight for his cock, the sound of a strained grunt making your cunt clench around emptiness. it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. you had imagined pulling those sounds out of jaehyun, closed your eyes and immersed yourself in a resewn fabric of another reality, but nothing measured up to hearing it for yourself.

jaehyun knew that things were rapidly approaching the point of no return and he groaned, “doll…”

“make me stop,” you whispered, gently wrapping your fingers around him and moving your hand in a relaxed motion. “make me stop, daddy.”

it wasn’t for lack of trying. jaehyun closed his eyes, wanting to will himself to be the rational person in the room since you had forwent reason entirely, but the second your small, supple hands tightened around his shaft, he knew he had failed.

he didn’t want you to stop. and you you didn’t want to stop, either.

you beamed victoriously, his silence being a telltale sign that he had succumbed to the same infectious wanting that had long plagued you. you moved your hand only a little faster, endeavoring to stroke him hard. it seemed that with every touch and movement of your wrist, his breathing was growing louder, more labored.

when he was fully hard, you had to suck in a gasp. you weren’t sure how you were going to fit every inch of him inside you, and the only thing that seemed clear was that you had your work cut out for you. nevertheless, you still wanted to make him feel good, so you glanced up at him and said sweetly, “tell me what to do. teach me, daddy.”

you caught a quiet, “fuck,” from underneath jaehyun’s breath as he heard what you had said, on the verge of losing his mind altogether, and it was doing unmistakable damage to his psyche. doing the right thing was no longer an option. all that was left was ache and need. without it, you didn’t know who you were.

releasing a shaky breath, jaehyun brushed his thumb against your bottom lip with affection and whispered, “take it in your mouth. go slow and gentle.”

you nodded your head obediently, opening your mouth just wide enough to fit his girth between your parted lips. the first inch was fine; the second inch had its complications, given that you hadn’t adjusted to the pressure of his cock in your mouth and breathing through your nose. by the third, you folded, withdrawing.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, feeling like you should have at least been able to do that much.

jaehyun shook his head, smiling, and smoothed a hand through your hair. “that’s okay, baby,” he said, understanding. “try again.”

you sucked him into your mouth again, right between your lips, cheeks hollowed and everything, but for some odd reason, you couldn’t relax. you already felt like you were about to gag and it was only the first couple of inches. when you tried to take another, you had to pull back again.

there was a faint burning in the back of your throat. you didn’t even notice that a few tears had fallen from one of your eyes until you pulled your mouth off. you frowned, unable to shake the fear that you would disappoint him somehow if you couldn’t do it.

“you’re okay,” jaehyun reassured you, patting your head. “you’re okay, doll. i promise.”

with another nod, you decided to give it one more go, determined. not only because you wanted to prove yourself, but because you wanted to make him feel good. you couldn’t think of anyone that deserved it more than he did.

this time, jaehyun held your hair comfortably behind your head and caressed the strands as you tried to pleasure him once more, accepting what you could into your mouth bit by bit. you were less tense than before and it enabled you to concentrate on breathing and not overwhelming yourself too quickly.

afraid that you would gag again if you tried to take another inch, you decided to use your hand to take care of the remaining amount that wouldn’t fit. fortunately, it seemed to work; your mouth kept one part of him company, and your hands moved to prevent the other from becoming too neglected.

jaehyun moaned, curses falling here and there. you could feel the wetness soiling your underwear and he hadn’t even done anything yet. his voice was low and deep, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. minute by minute, you became more and more aware of how aroused you were, and your mind, friend and foe, tempted you with pictures of what it would be like to finally have jaehyun inside.

to your surprise, jaehyun cautiously pried you off his cock, making you look up at him and wonder if you had done something wrong, but all he said was, “i don’t want to come yet.”

your thighs squeezed together in excitement. if not now, then later. and if not in your mouth, then hopefully deep, deep inside.

“daddy,” you called out, somewhat timid. “are you gonna fuck me?”

jaehyun was maybe a few seconds away from short-circuiting and it was admirable that he hadn’t done so already, all things considered. he didn’t reply immediately, having to catch his breath. “do you want me to?”

“yes,” you replied in a heartbeat. 

the room felt hot, and jaehyun couldn’t tell if it was real or it was in his head. “say it.”

it was a little awkward for you to say it so bluntly, but given that you had come this far, you might as well. “i want you to fuck me, daddy.”

jaehyun grunted and said something that sounded like, “come here,” as he gingerly pulled you off your knees and back onto your mattress. before you even blinked, he was pressing his lips to yours, enveloping them in a sweet, fiery kiss. 

it felt like a daydream. maybe because you had dreamed of him before and this captured the exact floaty, cloudlike feeling of his arms cushioning your body in a dream, only the speeding thud in your heart making it undeniably real.

you couldn’t liken it to any kiss that you and jaemin had shared. while you would admit that jaemin was objectively a good kisser, almost everything you did together lacked passion; there was no spark behind even the most tender of touches. and yet somehow just being this close to jaehyun made your whole body scorch with the fever of suppressed want.

jaehyun slowly forced himself away and began to descend down your body, tugging your shorts down your thighs. heat filled your cheeks when his fingers hooked under your underwear next, but you raised your hips so that he could pull them off. what caught you by surprise, however, was when his tongue flicked over your sensitive flesh.

you gasped, a jolt making your body snap. “wait, daddy, you don’t need to. i’m already wet enough.”

that you were. jaehyun could see plain as day how your wet folds glistened with an arousal that had been building longer than he could ever imagine, gone ignored and neglected no longer. “i know,” he grunted out. “i want to.”

then without another word, jaehyun went to town. he started slow, gentle; his larger hands were firm on your plush thighs as he held them apart, almost as if he expected you to eventually resist him. for now, though, there was no need; he was tasting your devotion on his tongue, in no apparent hurry to let this moment end.

your breaths were becoming increasingly heavy, and a part of you still couldn’t believe that this was really happening - jaehyun was in between your legs, prepared to make you seen every star that hung in the night sky. you did what you could to commit the sight to memory, refusing to let it get away.

jaehyun wanted to see you unravel. you nearly died when he pressed his tongue deep inside you, abruptly tearing a sweet cry out of your mouth. the muscle wandered over your walls, savoring what he would feel soon enough. but for now, he was more than content to gather every bit of your arousal on the very tip of his tongue and make you feel sensations unimagined.

“god, you taste so good, baby,” jaehyun groaned, hands clamping tightly around your thighs. “so goddamn good.”

it was from that moment forward he lost control; his self-restraint broke; he was consumed with abandon. jaehyun licked and sucked at your bundle of nerves, drawing out more noises than before. your hips jerked as you laid sprawled out before him, entirely at his mercy. 

just the way you always wanted.

“does that feel good, baby?” jaehyun pulled away for the shortest second to ask. “do you want me to slow down?”

you shook your head, hands desperately fisting the sheets. “no, please. don’t slow down. down stop,” you begged. 

hearing you say that only made jaehyun harder, but he was still a man with some inhibitions if it meant drawing out the pleasure you felt at his hands. “just tell me if you need me to switch things up, okay?”

then he went back to work. this time he steadily worked two fingers into you, and you knew without a shred of doubt that you were positively ruined. they were long and thick, much more compared to yours; you would probably feel his cock for days to come.

you could feel yourself devolving into pure madness. jaehyun’s fingers were working you open at the same time his tongue flicked over your clit, and you could hardly keep still, your body convulsing every which way. if not for how tight his hands were around your trembling thighs, you wouldn’t have been able to keep them spread for him.

“daddy, please don’t stop. i think i’m gonna come,” you said between quick pants. 

“i know, baby girl. just relax for me.”

with every nerve in your body going haywire, you felt anything but relaxed. between your thudding heartbeat and the ecstasy shooting its way through your spine, your body was bursting at the seams with fervor. but you tried for him. you couldn’t think, at least. there was too much physical stimulation to allow for passing thoughts.

jaehyun only had only goal in mind and that was to make you feel nothing short of the absolute peak of pleasure. he could see what things your body was responding to best and he took advantage of every reaction you had to offer, twisting his tongue the way you so clearly loved.

you couldn’t handle it anymore, and something within you snapped; you cried out, back arching off your fluffy pink bed, jaemin and the stupid stuffed toys the furthest thing on your mind as warmth fluttered in your stomach.

“that’s it, doll,” jaehyun crooned. “you’re okay, baby. i promise. just let go.”

all the while, his fingers didn’t stop as he spoke. they kept moving as he assured you between gentle kisses to your thighs, almost as restless as your entire body was. “daddy,” you whimpered, thoroughly wrecked.

“i know,” jaehyun whispered, lips flush against your skin. “you did so good, doll. so good for me.”

jaehyun got up from his knees and draped himself over your body, leaning down to kiss you breathless. though you tried to ignore it, you could feel his hard cock pressing against you and just the feeling itself was mouthwatering.

“so perfect,” jaehyun murmured, pulling back to pepper kisses down your jaw. “did you really think daddy wasn’t gonna make sure his doll was taken care of?”

you had nothing to say, so you just watched him begin to peel off what was left of both of your clothes, piece by piece. when you completely naked, you noticed jaehyun’s unbudging eyes stuck to your figure. “do you think i’m pretty, daddy?” you asked with a smile. 

“pretty?” he murmured, brows stitched in amazement. “you’re… you’re beautiful, doll. don’t you forget it.”

you wanted to hear him say that a thousand times over.

even as jaehyun moved to reposition himself between your legs, you could hardly believe that this was actually - genuinely - happening. but every touch of his body had felt so real, and you’d dreamed of moments like this enough to know the difference. giving you one last chance to back out, jaehyun asked, “are you sure you want to do this, baby?”

“please,” you begged. the brushing of his tip against your slick folds made your mouth run dry. “i need it. i need you.”

that was all it took for jaehyun to push inside you, slow and steady as ever. you sucked in a breath, your hands already clenching the sheets again as he coaxed the head of his cock deeper inside your sticky cunt.

“oh my god,” you gasped out. 

jaehyun chuckled. “i’m barely inside you, baby.”

you knew that, but the feeling of him inside you even this far was enough to make your mind unravel. you’d imagined that it would be a tight fit, but despite him preparing you to take him, that seemed like an understatement. though you were nothing if not purely determined. you would take all of him, no matter how long it took.

jaehyun’s brows furrowed the deeper he sunk into you, his jaw slacked. “god, you’re so tight,” he murmured. to jaehyun, this was the moment that cemented everything into reality, the moment that made everything true. the tight, wet feel of you stretching around his cock as he moved deeper and deeper was too insane to be imagined even if he tried. and he had tried.

your chest and core fluttered at the compliment. you enjoyed the praise. knowing that you were satisfying him, that you were pleasuring him the way he was pleasuring you, was something that filled you with an immense sense of accomplishment. there was nothing you wanted more than to serve him, than to be his girl.

jaehyun took his time, still hardly moving. every time he heard you abruptly suck in a gasp, his hips ground to a stop, wanting to give you time to adjust. he knew better than anyone that he wasn’t lacking in the size category, and the last thing he wanted was to make his sweet girl’s first time uncomfortable. for the right reasons, he wanted to give you a time to remember.

“do you need a minute, doll?” he asked, one brow lifted as he glanced down at you.

you shook your head. “no, it’s okay. you can keep going.”

“you sure?” he pressed. it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t dying to move even deeper, but not at your expense.

not to mention that your mother probably wouldn’t return until after midnight, but that was another conversation.

“i’m sure, daddy,” you replied, reaching out to cradle his face in your hands. you didn’t want him to look away. “don’t stop.”

“fuck,” jaehyun groaned. you watched his lips part with the noise and felt his cock become buried further inside your cunt, working you open for him. he was taking his sweet time, because you both knew that if he was going to destroy you, he was going to make every second of it count.

“daddy, are you almost done?” you asked quietly. 

“halfway, babe,” jaehyun told you.

you gawked. “halfway?”

jaehyun shushed you with a kiss, pushing himself yet another inch within your heat. he couldn’t wrap his mind around how perfect you felt around his cock and he wasn’t even fully seated inside you yet. you tried to focus on the way his lips moved against yours, but not even that could distract you from how he was stretching you out beyond belief.

“daddy, you’re so big,” you whined. 

“i know, baby girl,” jaehyun replied softly, a hint of guilt on his face. “almost there, i promise. does it hurt?”

“a little bit,” you admitted. “but i can take it.”

jaehyun swept his finger over your bottom lip. “you sure, baby?”

you nodded your head. for him, you were convinced that you could do anything. and on top of that, there were no bounds to the things that you would do for him.

when jaehyun’s length had finally penetrated you to the very end, he stilled again, giving you a moment to recover before he started. it felt like an eternity before he actually moved, but when you gave him a nod of approval, he slowly drew back and penetrated you again. you were at a lost for words. nothing had ever been inside you that deeply. there were your fingers and maybe a hair brush, but neither rivaled the depth of your stepfather’s thick cock as he began to take you like you were his. 

because you were.

“jesus christ,” jaehyun hissed. “you feel so good, doll. do you know that?”

“you feel good too,” you stammered out.

jaehyun took that as a sign that he was doing everything right, which was more than enough for him to relax. his mind was reeling. the mere wet sound of your skin meeting was making him lose control, and that was to say nothing of your pretty moans. the way you desperately called out for him was almost too much to bear.

you reciprocated his feelings. with every deep, guttural grunt that escaped jaehyun’s mouth, your body was less and less yours. he owned you, head to toe, inside out. you were more than prepared to surrender everything to him, to let him claim all that you were. because you relied on him. you needed him. and little did you know, in some twisted way, he needed you even more.

jaehyun’s hands were balled at your sides, clenching the sheets fiercely. he dreaded hurting you, but imagine his surprise when you grabbed a hold of his hands and redirected them to your perfect hips. “you can hold me, daddy,” you reassured him. “please. i won’t break.”

and even if you did, you were willing to let him put you back together. jaehyun could feel whatever remained of his restraint crumbling into pieces, and he held your hips in his palms tightly, his eyes boring into yours. his gaze, as relentless as it was, wasn’t challenging; it was piercing, loving, understanding. he saw you, he knew you, because you were familiar. you were what kept him whole.

something made jaehyun hold you even tighter. there was a thought that struck him. you needed him to take care of you, to depend upon, to guide you. and he needed you to bring back a purpose which was unfairly stolen from him. he knew it was wrong, that it was sick, but it couldn’t be helped. you had become everything to him, and there was no way in hell he was going to let that go.

“i need you,” he panted, his hips keeping a comfortable pace that you seemed to enjoy, judging from how you continued to throb and moan. “i need you so much, doll. you don’t understand.”

you shook your head, arms wrapped around his neck. you wanted to be inseparably close. “i do understand, daddy,” you insisted. “i need you too.”

jaehyun felt heat surging through his stomach. he said your name. “i love you.”

your lips curled into a smile. your body shook with rapture, so much that you thought you could cry. “i love you too, daddy. i love you so much. i’d let you have me whenever. i’m yours and i wanna take care of you.”

“mine?” jaehyun repeated, so quietly it could have gone unheard if not for how close his face was to yours.

you nodded your head. 

jaehyun prodded, “all mine? and not that stupid little boy you call a boyfriend?”

the mere mention of jaemin made you feel disgust and you knew that you were over him, for good. “won’t see him anymore, daddy. i promise. i never wanted him. i always really just wanted you.”

jaehyun didn’t even bother willing himself to keep calm after he heard you say that. he was insane about you and he didn’t care to hide it anymore. “always?” he repeated.

you hummed. “the first time i came was on that bunny rabbit right there.” you turned your head to gesture towards the stuffed animal.

jaehyun saw it and his eyes darkened as he pictured you mounting the poor bunny, grinding your hips against it as you wished and hoped and prayed it’d soon enough be him bringing you pleasure. he wondered exactly how many times you had used it. how many times you had thought of him.

you cried out as his hips began slap against yours faster, but you took it. jaehyun wasn’t particularly rough, but each thrust drove you closer to insanity than the last. wrapping your legs around your waist, you drew him closer, your arms around his neck and his big hands firm at your hips. “fuck,” you stammered.

“you think about me a lot?” jaehyun asked. 

you nodded your head eagerly. “yes, all the time!”

jaehyun was unrelenting. he lowered his head, sucking your nipple into his mouth, before he let it fall and pressed, “how much do you think about me?”

“every day,” you told him honestly. “there’s not one day… where i don’t.”

“every day?” jaehyun repeated. “you think about me fucking you every day?”

“sometimes i dream about it,” you confessed.

jaehyun groaned. he had dreamed of you too. he had constantly tried not to think about you in that light, but he couldn’t help what he dreamed of. “i dream about you too,” he whispered. “of making love to you and fucking you full of my cum. will you let me, doll?”

“yes,” you answered him without a second of hesitation. “please, daddy. come inside me!”

jaehyun almost came just from hearing those words, but he couldn’t yet. not before he felt you tighten around his cock with climax. removing his hand from his hip, he began to toy with your sensitive clit, eager and desperate to make you come, to see you come, to feel you come.

your body arched into his hand, knowing who its owner was and willing to submit to his every whim. it felt like your mind was floating somewhere between earth and heaven, lost in space where there was no life, no time. only infinity.

it wasn’t long before your vision brightened white and you swore you could see every star. your legs tightened their grip around his waist as you shuddered with ecstasy, and your mouth hung open as you moaned.

“that’s it,” jaehyun crooned. “good girl. you’re amazing, doll.”

you stilled after a moment, sated. 

the sensation of your cunt gushing tightly around him as you orgasmed made jaehyun moan himself, and you listened to the sounds of your heat kneading his cock as he used your cunt to push himself to the end. it had felt so good to you too; having something to grip on as you came made the experience all that much better.

“come for me, daddy,” you said, trying to coax the orgasm out of him. “come inside your doll… i need it.”

that did it. hearing you referring to yourself as his doll sent him completely over the edge and you gasped out loud when you felt jaehyun dumping his thick, sticky hot load into your cunt with the deepest grunt of your name. it was so good, so warm. you held eye contact with him the entire time, not once daring to look away even as his hips slowed to a stop.

for a long moment, you both simply lay there in each other’s arms, neither of you wanting to move when you were this close. but you did pull him in for another heated kiss, because you couldn’t think of another way to somehow bring yourself even closer. jaehyun kissed you back passionately, holding your body against his protectively, almost as if he was afraid you’d be taken from him too.

you thought nothing could ruin the moment. then, out of the blue, your phone rang. you and jaehyun both let out a collective sigh of exasperation and you withdrew to peak at your phone on your nightstand, wholeheartedly expecting it to be your mother.

your eyes went wide when you saw that it was jaemin.

and you wouldn’t have answered it, but you needed to call it quits anyway. though you initially planned to meet him in person, in that moment, you decided he didn’t deserve to see you again in his life. “hello?” you answered.

“baby, you picked up,” jaemin said, sounding amazed. “listen to me, baby. i’m so sorry i haven’t been answering your calls. i just needed some space, you understand that, right?”

before he could utter another word, the phone was abruptly snatched from your hands. “don’t call my daughter again, or i swear to god, i will find you, and then i will fuck you up,” jaehyun hissed. 

he hung up without another word and tossed the phone to the side.

you gawked at his words, but you both felt the way you’d throbbed. “daddy!”

“quiet,” jaehyun said, withdrawing from inside you. “now show me what you did to the bunny.”

[tokiiwonz]

three’s a crowd, four’s a party

content — sub!male reader, dom markminhyuck, group play, possessiveness, manhandling, face-fucking, fingering, spit, messy blowjob, choking (hand on jaw), praise & degradation, overstim, body worship-ish?, sharing, soft mean!mark, mean mean!jaemin, brat!haechan

ive really got nothing fancy to say about this picture. i feel soooo

jaemin lets out a low whistle from where he’s stretched out against the headboard, palm sliding lazy over his cock where it lays heavy on his stomach. his thumb swipes the leaking tip once, then circles it like he’s not even trying to be subtle.

“look at him,” he mutters. “already clenching around mark's fingers like he’s gonna cum. no one’s even fucked him yet.”

you don’t answer. can’t, really. not when mark's still got you spread open across the bed, fingers curling inside you nice and slow. he’s gentle, as always. taking his time, like he’s trying to memorize every twitch in your thighs, every breath you catch on.

you barely get a second to breathe before haechan flops beside you. he’s grinning already, hand settling warm on your thigh, fingers pressing in tight enough to bruise. his mouth hovers close like he’s about to say something sweet—but it’s never sweet with him.

“god, baby,” mark says. “you love getting passed around, huh?”

mark laughs softly under his breath, still curling his fingers inside you just right. “he’s soaked,” he murmurs. “feels like he’s already halfway gone.”

your legs twitch again, hips rolling down to chase mark's hand even though it’s already so deep. you’re whining without even realizing it, and that’s when jaemin shifts forward and grabs you by the jaw.

his hand’s just there, holding your face like he owns it. not squeezing—yet. just resting. then his cock slaps wet across your cheek and you flinch. your shoulders jerk up, breath stuttering out before you can stop it. there’s a split second where you don’t even look at him, too focused on the way it stings, the way your skin stung from the contact. but his hand moves fast. he grabs your face, thumb pressing into your jaw, not hard—yet, but it’s threatening, like he wants to bruise it. as if he’s daring you to pull away. 

jaemin drags your face toward him. he was far from being gentle, his cock still wet where it kissed your cheek. it’s still hard, heavier now somehow, and y’know he’s waiting for something—and you can feel his breath right against your lips, hot and mean.

he stares. not saying anything yet. just watching you flinch, shiver, and trying to keep still under his grip. “so noisy already,” he mutters. it was low enough to make you freeze. “you were whining backstage, remember that? what were you begging for?”

“nnh—didn’t say anything—” your voice breaks halfway through, head tipping back when mark hits that spot again and your whole body jumps.

“you didn’t have to,” haechan chimes in, still stroking your cock teasingly. “your legs were shaking before mark even touched you.”

mark presses a kiss to your thigh, fingers dragging out slow before easing back in deep. “you like that, sweetheart? like being spread open while they watch?”

you nod without even thinking. “mhm—”

“use your words.”

“i like it, mark hyung—m’so full—”

“you’ve taken two fingers,” jaemin cuts in, blank-faced. “don’t act like you’re split on cock already.”

“feels so big though,” you gasp, as mark pushes in a third. it burns a little—thick and all the way in—and you sob when he starts to curl them. “fuck—m’not used to this much—” :((

“nah,” haechan coos, still jerking your cock, treating it like the most precious thing he's ever held. “you want more, don’t you? bet if nana told you to open your mouth right now, you’d drool for it.”

“won’t be necessary,” jaemin huffs as his grip slides into your hair and tugs your head toward his leaking cock. “show me, baby. show me how pretty boys suck dick.”

your jaw drops without thinking. you’re already shaking, barely holding it together; still though, you let him slide in. he’s thick, mean about it, pushing all the way until your lips are flush to his base. you gag once, then breathe around it.

he stays there. makes you sit with it. one hand gripping your hair, the other bracing the back of your neck as he pushed himself deeper.

“breathe through it,” haechan murmurs, “you’ve done this before, baby. you got it.”

you moan around it, eyes tearing up. mark's still fucking you gently with his fingers, whispering something into your thigh, but you can’t hear him, not really. your cock jerks in haechan's hand and your hips twitch every time jaemin moves, just barely.

“fuck,” jaemin mutters. “you were made for this.”

“he loves crying,” mark says quietly, kissing the inside of your thighs. “don’t you, baby? love when we wreck you like this?”

you try to nod again, but you’re too full. cock in your throat, fingers inside you, precum dripping down your dick. your body’s not even yours anymore. it belongs to them and you’re just barely holding on :((

“bet your brain’s already leaking out your ears,” haechan grinned, whispering. “you want us to fuck it right out of you, huh? ruin our baby until he can’t even remember his name.”

jaemin pulls out just enough to let you breathe. you suck in air, loud and messy, lips slick with spit. “i’m—i’m already yours—”

“fuck he said it,” mark groans. well, that did something to him. his fingers are still deep. your hole’s clenching down like it knows something’s coming.

“say it again for me, baby,” jaemin breathes. “c’mon. say it.”

“yours. m’yours—please—”

jaemin kisses you. hard. wet. tongue pushing in like he owns the space, trying to taste the words you just said.

and then mark pulls his fingers out, just as haechan slides his in.

you gasp loud, back arching off the bed. it’s too much—haechan's slick and fast, fingers twisting in deeper than you were ready for.

“fuck—fuck, that’s—” you’re trembling. your whole body’s tight, stuffed full again. “c-can’t—”

“yes you can,” haechan growls at your throat, mouthing along your jaw while his fingers stretch you open. “you’re our fucktoy, right? our good little boy?”

jaemin's thumb presses your tongue flat again. “gonna make you cum so hard, you’ll see stars.”

your body’s jerking, hips stuttering into haechan's hand where he’s still stroking your cock. you’re leaking all over his fingers, your hole fluttering around him wanting—no. needing something deeper.

“m’gonna—gonna cum—” you choke out, right on the edge, can’t stop it—

“do it,” mark says, soft as ever, his eyes saying i love you. “go ahead, baby. let go.”

“we’ll fuck you for real after,” haechan grins, lips brushing your cheek. “gotta make you cum first so you’ll open up real nice.”

[haechaninmyheart]

his jersey ♡ yuta

summary: footballer!yuta fucks the nerd in the library and gifts her his jersey because he feels ‘bad’ for ripping her shirt.

warnings: public sex (library), swearing, choking and unprotected sex

MDNI/18+ CONTENT AHEAD

yuta’s grip is tight on your hips as he pistons in and out of you like a machine and you muffle your moans with your arm, staining you shirt with your own drool. 

you can’t believe the captain of your college’s football team is fucking you in the college library. this was wrong on so many levels and if you two got caught, you two would get kick out. you even risking the possibility of losing your scholarship and well yuta? most likely his beloved position on the football team.

“fuck.” he mouth against your clothed shoulder and you could feel his lips against your skin. he then proceeds to grabs both your wrist, holding them in his left hand behind your back and straightens you up by seizing you by your throat. 

you swallow what you would assume was going to be an embarrassing loud moan as yuta moves his hand to the front of your neck so that he is able to wrap it around your throat more securely. you couldn’t be loud. the last thing you wanted was to attract attention in a quiet library and currently you were struggling to do that. 

“leg up.” he groans right into your ear, the hand that was wrapped around your neck now pushing you leg up onto he table were prior to this whole thing that would most likely have you expelled, you had been tutoring him for an upcoming maths assessment. “leg up. up on the table.”

in this position, he’s able to reach into you deeper than before and now you’re definitely struggling to keep your moans quiet. as if he understood and empathised with your struggle, he moves his right hand up to tilt your head so he could kissed you. 

you clench around him, kissing him right back in an equally as hunger manner and that pushes him closer to his orgasm. his right hand drops to your shirt, cupping one of your breasts before he decides ‘fuck it’ and practically rips the first five, or six buttons to fondle them over your bra. 

if he hadn’t been kissing you, you would have let out a loud gasp and the librarian would’ve walked over to witness the sex scene that was unfolding in the back of her own library but thankful that does not happen. 

“’m close.” he mumbles, pushing you back down onto the table and your hands plants themselves over the open math textbooks that were laying on the table. your eyes glancing over the questions you had been working through with him but right now you’re too focused on reaching your orgasm so you close your eyes for a moment. you’re focused on how yuta’s length drags in and out of your walls, his hand pushing you down and the other guiding you back every time he thrusting inside of you. 

when he comes, he pushes himself deep inside of, he’s not concerned about getting you pregnant, his climax being the only thing that was on his mind and as if on queue, your orgasm comes crushing down on you too.

“okay, fuck that was hot.” yuta breathes out, pulling out of you and shoving his dick inside his boxers and zipping up his jeans before collapsing on his chair. he watches you as you try you best to stand up from laying against the table, fixing your skirt before glancing down at your top. your bra is a pastel purple and if you were to leave like that, the librarian would surely catch only so he tosses you his football jersey. “sorry about that.” 

“uh, don’t worry about it. it was old anyways.” you shrug off, gladly accepting his item of clothing and you try to conceal your smile as you put it on, zipping it up so that no one could see the state of your top underneath. 

people are so going to think there’s going on something in between you two-

“hey, excuse me, you two. i’m afraid you’re going to have to leave if you can’t keep it down.” the librarian appears once the two of you have sorted yourselves out and not look like as if you had gotten your brain fucked out by the college’s football captain. 

“sorry.” yuta whispers and she turns around walking back to her desk.

“that was so close.” you comment once she’s far enough and yuta exhales a soft laugh, clearly tired. 

“can we continue back at my dorm? i can’t really concentrate here.” he straight up asks and you immediately know he’s not talking about those maths questions.

© haechaninmyheart, 2025 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarise, translate, or share my work on other platforms.

previously posted on jaesspresso but i lost access to that url.

[sincerelyneo]

cursing the daylight | l.hc

“you got me calling at all times”

📀now playing: daylight by harry styles

❯ summary: Long-distance relationships suck. Hyuck spends his days wishing time would hurry up just so he can talk to you all night. But hey—at least he gets to have filthy phone sex with you once a week. Imagination is good for the brain.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, phone sex, male/female masturbation, explicit and descriptive sexual fantasies, dirty talk, slight fluff, pet names, literally just hyuck coaxing you through orgasm

The worst thing about Hyuck’s job—besides the long hours and occasional nagging from choreographers—is that for a quarter of the year, he has to do long-distance with you. He hates it. Viscerally. 

If he could quit and retire tomorrow, he would. No questions. He could afford to, actually. But you work just as much—if not more—across time zones, on red-eye flights, covering countless cities. You love it. You're brilliant at it. And he’d never dare ask you to slow down.

You wouldn’t let him, anyway. You don’t rely on men. Not even him. So that’s another twenty-five per cent of your relationship, spent apart.

And during that fifty per cent—the half of your lives lived out of sync—he used to get one call a day. That was the routine. No matter how tired, how loud the rehearsal room or late the flight, there’d be one call. A tether.

But now, after years of this—missed connections, dropped signals, and love stretched thin across continents and telephone wires—it’s more like one call a week. A text a day, if he’s lucky.

It has him wishing the days away. Counting down to night, or early morning, or whatever brief sliver of time you can spare. Just to hear your voice.

He thinks the boys are starting to resent him for it. The way he lingers by his phone like it’s stuck to him. The way he drags his feet when they try to pull him out to explore the cities they’ve landed in on tour—because God forbid he’s up on some rooftop taking thirst traps of Renjun for Instagram when your name finally lights up his screen.

Like right now—they’re all out at some fancy restaurant Chenle hasn’t shut up about since they landed. Mood lighting, velvet seats, overpriced wine. And he’s here. In his hotel bed, phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling. Waiting for the clock to hit 8 p.m. his time. Because that’s the time you scheduled.

And he doesn’t mind. Not even slightly.

He scrolls through his camera roll while he waits, thumb moving slow, as he takes in each pixel. A blurry photo of you in his hoodie, making a dumb face at him from across his kitchen counter. A candid you didn’t know he took, where you're reading with your legs tangled in his, sunlight streaking across your face. A video—his favourite—where you’re laughing so hard you snort, and then immediately hide your face in his chest, mortified.

God, he loves you. Like, embarrassingly so.

He thinks about the other fifty per cent of this relationship—the part where you’re home, or he is, or maybe neither of you are, but you’re in the same place at the same time, and that’s all that matters. The mornings when your cold feet find him under the covers. The way you hum when you’re brushing your teeth. How you started putting honey in your coffee because he does, even though you once called it disgusting. 

The way you kiss him. 

He is helpless. Hopeless. So gone for you, it’s borderline pathetic.

So much so, he doesn’t notice the clock turn 8:01. Doesn’t register your name lighting up the screen because he’s too engrossed in the memories he misses making. Still—his thumb moves. Manages to answer before the last ring finishes curling through the room.

“Hey, baby,” he mumbles, voice all honey and static from his end of the line.

On your end, you sound wrecked. Tired and stretched thin, as you sigh out a soft: “Hi.”

His brows knit together instantly. “You okay? You sound tired, baby. What time is it there?”

“It’s midnight,” you murmur. “Long day. But I didn’t want to sleep.”

He exhales through his nose, rubs a hand down his chest. Guilt blooms in his ribcage like rot. “You didn’t stay up for me, did you? Babe, I would’ve waited. I could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

And he means it. He’d wait forever if you asked him to. He still will. He’ll bury the ache, pretend the distance isn’t currently crushing him nightly, just for you to get a few more hours of rest if you want. Because hearing you sound like this—exhausted and frayed—hurts him more than going without you ever could.

But then you hum. “No. I just... I couldn’t sleep without speaking to you.”

His breath catches. He shifts on the bed, rolling fully onto his back, heart racing in that stupid, boyish way it always does when you say shit like that. When you remind him, he’s not the only one losing sleep because of the other.

“Seriously, baby,” he says, voice dipped now. “Is everything okay? What’s going on in that head of yours? Why can’t you sleep?”

There’s a pause. A heartbeat.

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” You say on barely a breath. “I’ve missed you. Missed us.”

He closes his eyes, head tilted back into the pillows, because fuck—he’s missed you too.

He swallows hard. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

And suddenly the distance feels unbearable. Because he can’t crawl through the phone. Can’t cup your jaw in his hand and kiss you until the missing parts stop hurting. All he can do is listen. And wait. And want you.

“I’ve missed you too,” he offers.

You shake your head where it rests on the pillow—not that he can see, but he hears it. Hears it in the tiny, frustrated whimper you let slip.

“No,” you breathe, voice all silky. He’s certain that if he were there beside you, you’d have that bratty pout on your lips he loves. “I’ve missed you. Missed you, Hyuckie.”

Hyuckie.

God help him.

He knows that voice. Knows what that nickname means when it spills out like that, sweet and drawn and ruined.

You only call him that when you’re horny and want something. When your skin is hot and your thoughts are messy and your legs won’t stay still under the sheets. He can tell you’re turned on right now. Your voice is dipping into that breathless, desperate place—and fuck, it lights him up.

He shifts slightly, letting his free hand drift lower, just over the waistband of his sweats, eyes fluttering shut. Because he can feel it now. The arousal. The irritation. Because now he’s hard and there’s too much distance between the two of you for him to have you beneath him. 

He misses the way you sound when you fall apart for him. Misses your little gasps, the way your breath catches when he tells you how pretty or naughty you are. He misses your noises. Your pouty mouth. Your wet eyes. Your pussy. All of you.

“I want you right now, Hyuckie,” you whisper. “I’m wet and needy and I miss you and I can’t sleep.”

Fuck.

His jaw clenches. His stomach twists. There’s a growl of something primal at the back of his throat before he exhales slowly. He keeps his head pressed to the pillows, eyes burning holes into the ceiling, the grip on his phone tightening.

“Mmm. That sounds awful, baby,” he says, voice low and thick with sleep. The kind of thick that drips. “You want me to help you take care of it?”

“Mhm,” you hum, all soft and breathy and a little whiny—just the way he likes you. “Only if you’re not too tired?”

His lips twitch at the edges. His sweet, delusional girl—like he wouldn’t peel his eyelids open with toothpicks if it meant he got even the tiniest, fleeting sliver of hearing you get yourself off. Helping you get yourself off. He wants nothing more.

“Don’t be silly, baby. I’d do anything for you.” A pause. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“A t-shirt,” you murmur, and he can hear the smile curling around your mouth. “Your t-shirt.”

He groans. “Yeah? What else?”

You go quiet. Barely a pause, but it’s enough to drive him crazy. He needs to know.

“Nothing else,” you say finally. “Told you I was wet and needy.”

His eyes screw shut. Like tightly. Like he’s in pain. “Y/N,” he says, all breathless and wrecked, “put me on video now.”

“I can’t.” You sound almost apologetic. Almost. “My co-worker’s asleep across the room. We have to be quiet. I just want your voice in my ear. Want you to talk me through it.”

He laughs. Sort of. It’s more like a broken sound clawing its way out of his throat. “Jesus fuck, baby. You’re so desperate, you’re getting off to my voice with someone in the room?”

Another beat.

“You’re so fucking naughty,” he says. He’s not even teasing anymore—just undone. Horny and helpless. “Are you in bed right now?”

“Mhm.”

“Door locked?”

“Mm-hmm.” That tiny, swallowed breath feels loud in his ear. “I wish you were here with me,” you whisper.

“Me too, baby. You have no fucking idea,” he groans, rolling to his side, pressing the phone tighter to his ear like it’ll somehow pull you closer. “Now put those pretty little fingers on our pussy and pretend they’re mine.”

You make this low, humming noise in your throat—halfway between shy and shameless—and it goes straight to his spine.

“Slide your hand down,” he commands. “Open your legs. Slip your fingers between them—nice and slow.

Hyuck waits. Listens for your obedience. It's torture—the good kind, the kind that drags across his nerves and settles somewhere low and unbearable on his skin. All he gets are the faint sounds: rustling sheets, a breath you don’t mean to let go of. He imagines it all. Has to. Because he can’t see you. Can’t touch you.

So instead, he reaches down and touches himself. Palm dragging along his length, over his sweatpants, gentle and testing. He’s hard already. Of course he is.

Then—you breathe in. And he knows. Yeah. You’re doing it too.

“Remind me how wet you are right now?” 

You whimper. “Dripping.”

“Fuck. Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking himself over the fabric. “Now rub slow circles over your clit. Just how you like it. Let it feel good, baby. Let it feel like me.”

You moan softly—entirely for him. Because you know he loves it. And he does. Loves it so much it actually hurts.

“You sound so pretty, Y/N. Keep doing that.”

“Are you touching yourself, too?”

Hyuck glances down, finding his cock already bulging beneath his sweats—obvious, obscene. He’s solid. Already leaking. He’s allowed himself the tease, sure. But not the payoff. Not yet. Because you called. Because you needed him.  He wants this to be about you. Always about you.

“Would you be disappointed if I said no?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Touch yourself with me, Hyuck. Please.

He chuckles as he pushes his sweatpants down, hips lifting off the bed to free himself. His cock springs forward, flushed and heavy, already twitching in his hand.

“Trust me, babe,” he groans, giving himself one slow stroke. “There’s not a world where you’d have to beg me to get off with you.”

You laugh, this soft little thing on the other end of the line. 

He strokes his cock in one long slide. Palm moving up and down his shaft, slow and mean. The head’s already swollen, veins angry and raised, leaking just from the sound of your voice. From the image of you on the other end, legs spread, fingers between them, thinking about him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, breath catching. “I wish I were there right now.”

“And what would you do if you were?” you ask. 

He smirks. “Do you really want to do this?” he murmurs. “Last I checked, you’ve got company. You sure you want my mouth?”

“Yes. Always want your mouth,” you breathe. “Don’t be shy, Hyuckie—I know how awfully good you are at making me cum over the phone. I know it’s been a while with our schedules. Do you still remember how?”

His chest tightens at that. At the way you say it. The way you test him.

You’re grinning, probably—he can see it. Can feel it. You’re definitely lying there smug and sweet, knowing exactly what you’re doing. Knowing you’ve lit a match of a challenge beneath him. Knowing the minute he caves and starts painting a picture of all the filthy things running through his mind, he won’t be able to stop. 

“Do I remember how,” he echoes, but it’s not a question. It’s a scoff. He’s laughing low, under his breath. He pumps himself again—firmer this time, chasing the pressure, the heat, you. “Are you still touching yourself, Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” A pause. “You wanna know what I’d do if I were there right now?”

“Please tell me, Hyuck.”

“If I were there,” he murmurs, eyes flitting shut as he pictures it, “I’d rest behind you, wrap an arm around your waist, and pull you back against my chest. I’d let you feel how hard my cock is for you, while it slides against your perfect ass—let you grind on it a little. Tease us both a bit.”

You let out another whimper that he wants to bottle. Frame. Tattoo on his fucking brain.

“Then I’d replace your fingers with mine. And I’d make you look down between your legs—make you watch what my hands can do to you. How well I know your body.”

“Hyuck…”

“I’d rub tight little circles on your clit,” he says, voice dropping, “just like you’re doing right now. You’re doing that, right?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Exactly like that.”

“I’d play with you just like I always do. Get you right to the edge and then tip you over it. Make you cum on my fingers, over and over, until I’m ready to throw you on your back and devour you. Bury my face between your thighs and taste you.”

Your breath quickens. “You’re obsessed with giving head.”

“No, baby,” he groans. “I’m obsessed with giving you head. I fucking love eating your pussy. Only you.”

You moan. “Fuck.”

Hyuck feels his muscles coiling at the sound of you cursing, a delicious heat licking under his skin. His pace on his cock moves faster, grip tightening, chasing the edge of the fantasy he’s playing out in his head. 

“I’d suck on your clit until you were twitching—until you were begging me to stop. And then I’d pin your legs to the mattress and make you cum again. Tongue deep. Slow and filthy. And while your pussy was still cumming, I’d slide my fingers inside you. Just so I could feel how insanely tight you’d be when I finally gave you my cock.”

“Hyuck, I need you inside me again.”

His jaw clenches. His whole body stills for half a second, then he’s fucking into his hand with a curse.

“Yeah?” he grits out.

You whimper. “I wish you were fucking me right now. Miss your cock so much.”

Running a hand over his shaft, Hyuck grips his cock so tight it’s almost brutal. “Keep rubbing your pussy, baby. Pretend your fingers are mine.”

“I wish they were,” you breathe.

And God, he wishes that too.

His hips move in rhythm, meeting his fist like he’s fucking you, not air.

“I’d open your legs even wider,” he pants, “and slowly climb over you. So slow, you’d feel me every fucking where.”

“Mmhmm,” you breathe, already gone.

“It’s been so long since I got to touch you, baby,” he groans. “Missed your legs wrapped around me. You feel like fucking heaven under me.”

Your breathing is quick, short, and shaky. “Miss having you close, Hyuck. Need to touch you. Feel you. Haven’t had you inside me in so long.”

“I know,” he grits. “Fuck.”

His hand jerks himself faster now, rougher. Desperate. Chest heaving. 

“I think about it all the time. Think about you all the time. My pretty fucking girl.”

“I need to cum so badly, Hyuck.”

“Fuck, baby. Me too. You have no idea.”

“Then do it,” you whisper. 

His eyes screw shut. And suddenly he’s there—sees you in his mind, back arched, legs spread, that swollen, perfect pussy slick and ready just for him. He’s hanging by a fucking thread.

“I’d suck on your neck,” he growls. “I’d kiss you so deep, my tongue slips into your mouth, and you taste yourself. See how this pretty cunt tastes like honey. My favourite. I’m fucking addicted to you, Y/N.”

“Hyuck,” you exhale. “I’m so close.”

“I’d slide my cock over your clit, slow,” he pants. “I’d make sure I was covered in you, your pussy would be so wet I’d be soaked. And while you squirmed underneath me, begging me to just hurry up and fuck you, I’d purposefully draw it out. Torture you with it. Make you understand how fucking painful it is to want something and not have it because we’re always miles apart.”

You cry out, completely undone. “Fuck, Hyuck. I’m sorry. I want it. I want you.”

A smirk ticks on his lips.

“So fucking predictable,” he muses, chuckling. “And then—when you’re desperate, like right now—I’d press the head of my cock right against you and just slide inside your perfect fucking body.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes. Please. I want it.”

His hand works in quick, short strokes now, no patience left in him. Just need.

“And you’d be warm. So wet. So fucking tight. Like always. Like you were made for me.” His voice breaks a little. “You take me so well, baby. Don’t you?”

“Mhm,” you breathe.

“I’d fuck you deep,” he says. “I’d fuck you into the fucking mattress while holding your hand. Because I love you. I love you so much, Y/N.”

“Love you too, Hyuck,” you whisper. And he feels it. In his chest. Down his spine. Straight to his cock.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?”

You whimper, unable to fill your lungs with air. And that tells him everything he needs to know. That you’re right fucking there.

“Be a good girl and cum for me, Y/N. Please. I need it. You’re doing so good. You always do so good for me. If you cum, I’ll cum. You know that, right?”

“I want you to cum inside me,” you beg, voice crumbling. “Please, Hyuck. Please.”

“Fuck—”

Your moans tear through the line—small, breathless cries of his name like it’s the only word left in your vocabulary. And then he hears it: the raw, unfiltered sound of you falling apart mixed with the sound of you rustling against the mattress. It pushes him over the fucking edge.

He cums with a curse and your name in his mouth, body curling in on itself. It's blinding. Like being ripped open and put back together in the same second. In his mind, he sees it—the way you’d pull him deeper, thighs trembling, your fingers sinking into his back as he cums inside you. Your body soft, sated, spent, whispering quiet ‘love yous’.

His orgasm drags out—messy and hot and so much—painting his abdomen in thick streaks of cum. He pants, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. From your end of the phone, you breathe in. Shaky. Like your lungs have finally remembered how to work. He mirrors you. Completely fucking wrecked.

“Christ, baby,” he breathes, running a forearm across his forehead.

You giggle. “That was fun.”

He glances down at the thick mess on his stomach and groans. “I’m covered.”

You laugh again. Then, quieter, “I miss you, Hyuck.”

His eyes flutter closed again. “I miss you more.” 

“You might not have to feel that way for long. My boss is thinking of offering me a permanent base back home in the new year.”

If this were Hyuck a year ago, he would’ve beamed. Would’ve already filed to terminate his own contract. But two years into this long-distance purgatory, he knows better than to let hope bite too hard.

You’re always almost coming home. Always nearly unpacking for good. Always close. But then the deal falls through. A paper doesn’t sign. A higher-up changes their mind. And he’s left again—wide awake at four in the morning, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a phone call from you, wherever you are in the world that week. 

He stands from the bed, takes his naked, spent body to the sink, and wets a washcloth, wiping himself off with one hand while keeping the phone pressed to his ear with the other. He makes his voice sound light.

“That’s great news, babe,” he says. “Are you feeling better now?”

He hears the smile in your voice before you even answer. “You know I am. Maybe I’ll actually sleep now.”

Chuckling, he tugs his sweatpants back up and collapses onto the mattress. But the thought of hanging up makes his throat close.

He wants more. Always wants more. Wants to fall asleep to the sound of you breathing. Wants to wake up with the call still going. Wants your voice, your snores, your silence. Wants the illusion of closeness, even if it's just a tiny echo through the speaker.

“I don’t want you to sleep,” he blurts out, too fast. “I mean, if you’re not too tired, obviously. Do you want to stay on the phone for a while?”

You giggle. “Of course I do. As much as I love having phone sex with you,” you tease, “I do actually like talking to you, you know. Boyfriend.”

He smiles, big and stupid, and tosses the comforter over himself again. He switches to speaker, sets the phone beside his head on the pillow, and settles beside it like you’re next to him in bed again. 

“Good,” he says. “Now tell me all about this long day you’ve had, baby.”

[eliasoir]

୭౿ PICK ME UP ⠀── L. MINHYUNG !

【 𝖨𝖭 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 】 ⏖ 𝒽𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 . . .

⏜💬. 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 ﹙ 𝖬𝖣𝖭𝖨 𝟣𝟪+ ﹚ ⠀◞ ◟ 𝗯𝗳!𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝘅 𝓯!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ! 𓂃 𝖻𝖾𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 ／ 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗆. 𝗋𝖾𝖼 , 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝖽𝗈𝗆!𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 , 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 , 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 . 1.1𝗄𝘄𝓬

★ 𝓑𝖫𝖮𝖶𝖠𝗞𝗶𝗦𝗦 !

the red light above the recording booth clicks on once again. “ready when you are,” the staff says over the intercom into the booth, already distracted with his phone.

when mark doesn’t make the effort to start, the staff looks back up to him.

“you good in there?” the staff calls lazily over the intercom. he’s hunched in his seat, sipping iced coffee, and fiddling with buttons.

mark presses the talkback button. “yeah, just give me a second.” the staff shrugs and leaves the studio to give him a small break. they had been at it for quite some time now, and it wasn’t hard to see the frustration written all over mark’s face.

you on the other hand, were still seated on the worn couch outside the booth, feet crossed, heart racing. you watch through the glass as the staff member leaves giving you a polite but passing smile as he walks out.

he knows you’re not supposed to be in there. but mark’s already waving you in with a flick of his fingers, mouthing, ‘come here.’ your mouth immediately goes dry.

he’s taking off his headphones, hanging them on the mic with a little more force than he intended. his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, black rimmed glasses perched perfectly on his nose. they made him look calm. focused. but you know better.

mark had been off all day. a little short with the other members, quiet during practice, distracted when the manager gave him pointers. and now, even as he was (supposed to be) testing levels and recording his parts, he was bothered. his eyes hardly left you, boring into you through the glass of the room.

you sit up slowly, smoothing down your skirt. and as you walk to the booth, his gaze sharpens and takes in your full body in front of him.

“you look tense,” you murmur, stepping up beside him.

he huffs. “been tense all fucking day.”

you tilt your head. “how can i help?”

mark doesn’t say anything at first. but his hand comes up, fingers grazing your chin before gripping it firmly. “you wanna help, baby?” and his voice, low and tight, sends heat straight to your core. “then get on your knees.”

you slowly drop to your knees as your hands slide in and down his thighs, feeling the tension in every muscle. he breathes in through his nose deeply, and pulls himself free, tip red and angry, already slick with precum. your mouth waters at the sight alone.

“open your mouth.” you do.

“tongue out.”

you obey again, moaning softly as he taps the head of his dick against your tongue, and smears precum over your lips, your saliva mixing with it. “fuck, you look good like this,” he mutters, hand wrapping tighter around the base of himself.

you press a soft kiss to the flushed tip of his dick, letting your lips linger enough to make him twitch.

you kiss it softly a few more times then light little kitten licks follow. soft swipes across the slit, down the side, lazy circles over the sensitive underside. you moan like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

mark’s jaw clenches holding back a moan. both hands curl into fists at his sides.

“you like that?” you smirk against him, licking a slow stripe up his length. “you’re already twitching so much…”

he hisses through his teeth when you close your lips around just the head and suck. only delicate and teasing, your eyes locked on his through your lashes.

“don’t play with me,” he grunts, voice tight with need. “you came in here to help, no?”

you blink up at him innocently, still kissing along his tip. “i am helping…”

he grabs a fistful of your hair, making you gasp. “then open that damn mouth and stop acting like you don’t know what i need.”

and you do. slowly, lips parted, breath hot.

your lips wrap around him, tight and wet, your tongue flattening as you suck harder. he hisses, hips jerking forward. you moan, cheeks hollowing.

“yeah?” his voice drops at your moan, teasing and breathless. “you like this? my dick down your throat?”

you gag around him as he thrusts deeper, spit already dribbling down your chin. he doesn’t stop or slow. just grips the back of your head and uses your mouth like he owns it. like it was the only thing it was made for.

“good fucking girl,” he practically growls, eyes locked on the way your mouth takes him in.

your nails dig into his thighs, knees starting to ache against the floor. but the way he looks down at you, eyes all half-lidded behind those glasses, lips parted, cock glistening with spit. it’s enough to make your pussy clench around nothing.

soon, you try to pull back for air and he doesn’t let you, shoving you back down until your nose is flush against his abdomen.

“breathe through your nose, baby. you can take it.”

your eyes begin tear up as he fucks your throat deeper, rougher, groaning with every wet, squelching sound you make. the messy gags, the slick noises, your soft choking, it was all driving him insane.

“look at you,” he pants. “so pretty.”

your throat tightens, spit bubbling out past your lips, dripping onto your chest. it’s disgusting. and you love it.

“gonna come down your throat,” he gasps, pace stuttering. “and you’re swallow, right?”

you try to nod around him, only making yourself gag more, desperately full of him.

he groans out loudly, voice breaking, hips jerking as he releases down your throat in thick, hot pulses. you swallow it all, messily and wanting, sucking through it until he was wincing.

“fuck—baby,” he mutters, pulling out of your mouth gently, breath still ragged. “shit.”

your lips are swollen, a dark shade of pink that nearly matched the color of your flushed cheeks. your chin slick with spit, and you’re still panting on your knees.

he reaches down, wiping your mouth with his thumb, smearing it across your cheek as he exhales. “you okay?”

you nod, eyes almost dazed. “yeah.”

“too good at that shit,” he mutters, eyes still dark behind the glasses. “fuck.”

you smile, soft and wrecked. “seemed like you needed a little pick-me-up.” his gaze flicks down to your thighs. “yeah, well…”

you blink, eyes catching the way his dick slowly grew straight and firm again. “you’re hard again?”

he licks his lips, not bothering to hide his grin. “stand up, and turn around. wanna fuck you bending over the soundboard.”

you didn’t need any more motivation, slowly rising to your feet. you knew better than to try to tease him about getting hard again so fast, especially with the way you were throbbing and dripping your your own soaked panties.

© ELIASOIR ⠀──all rights reserved.

[suunani]

can’t stop moving [ mark lee ]

mark breaks down and shows you how much he’s wanted this all along.

❛ content 4.1k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, bottom! male reader, desperate loser! mark, voice kink, big dick! mark implied, begging, masturbation, mark is so down bad, unprotected sex (p in a), praise kink, creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, edging, overstimulation, aftercare.

━━ ( part one )

mark barely had time to clean himself up before the doorbell rang.

his hand was still shaky as he tossed the tissues in the trash. his thighs were trembling. cum was drying sticky against his skin, and he hadn’t even caught his breath, much less come down from the high of what just happened : you’d caught him.

you knew he was jerking off to your voice, and instead of getting weird about it, you’d asked if you could come over. the second your words hit his ears — “can i come over?” — he’d said yes. without hesitation nor shame. just yes, yes, please, because mark didn’t care anymore.

he’d wanted you for too long.

and now you were here. for him.

he opened the door and you were standing there, slightly flushed from the heat, wearing a hoodie you always wore when you came over to hang, casual like this was any other night. except it wasn’t. you weren’t looking at him like his best friend anymore.

you looked at him like you wanted him.

mark inhaled hardly. his heart was racing again like he hadn’t already blown his load ten minutes ago.

“hey,” you said, voice just a little too low, like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

mark backed up to let you in, suddenly hyper-aware of how messy his hair looked, how red his ears probably were. he could still feel the throb in his cock, the need that hadn’t gone away.

you stepped in, shut the door behind you, and gave him a look that made his knees nearly buckle.

“you—uh—” he start, his voice cracking embarrassingly. mark scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting to yours. “you’re actually here.”

you raised a brow, stepping into his space like it was nothing. “you didn’t think i’d come?”

mark laughed nervously. his throat was dry.

“i thought—i don’t know. you heard me—”

“i did,” you said. your voice dropped again. that voice. mark felt it in his spine. “and you sounded so hot.”

his breath caught.

you reached up and touched his jaw, gentle but so deliberate it completely short-circuited his brain.

“mark,” you murmured, tilting your head a little. “was that the first time you touched yourself to me?”

mark froze.

his ears went bright red. he couldn’t lie. not to you. not when you were this close, looking at him like that.

“…no.”

your hand slid into his hair. “thought so.”

mark made a sound. it was somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. “you’re evil.”

you leaned in, letting your lips ghost over his ear.

“you wanna fuck me, mark?”

mark audibly gasped.

his whole body tensed. his cock twitched painfully in his sweats — already half-hard again and it hadn’t even been fifteen minutes.

“y-yeah,” he coaxed, like it physically hurt him to admit it. “fuck, i want to. i—have for so long. you have no idea.”

you smiled against his cheek. “then show me.”

mark forgot how to breathe.

something cracked open in his chest — every wall, every single dumb little fear he’d held onto all these years spend with you — it just crumbled the second you said that. like you were inviting him to do what he’d only ever dreamed about with his hand wrapped around his cock and your name deep in his throat.

his fingers twitched. his breath hitched. and then, finally, he kissed you.

it was hard and desperate.

he kissed you like he needed you to breathe.

mark’s hands flew to your face, pulling you into him with a guttural sound, as if something primal had taken over. his lips molded to yours in an instant — open-mouthed, breathless, full of hunger. he tilted his head and groaned when you kissed him back, deep and slow, your tongue meeting his like you’d done this a thousand times.

it was unreal how good you tasted, how naturally you moved with him — like your mouths were made to find each other. tongues sliding, lips parting. wet, hot, and so perfect. mark felt drunk on it.

you cupped the back of his neck, dragging your fingers into his hair, and he let out a soft cry against your lips. like some kind of pent-up loser finally getting touched. but mark couldn’t help it. your hands were on him. your voice was in his ear. he was already hard again, straining in his pants, so sensitive it was almost unbearable.

he pulled you back with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

“fuck, you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“i think i do,” you whispered, your fingers trailing under his shirt. “you’re burning up.”

mark clenched his jaw, eyes instantly fluttering shut. his skin was buzzing. you dragged your palms over his chest and stomach, slow and teasing — learning him. you’d barely even touched him properly and he already felt like he was gonna snap.

your voice, low and calm, cut through the haze.

“show me.”

mark blinked. “what?”

you stepped back just a little, just enough to look him in the eye. “what you do when i’m not here. when you think about me. i wanna see.”

his whole body shuddered.

the embarrassment was instant, but so was the heat. his throat closed, and mark looked at you like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said to him, then he glanced down at himself — already tenting his sweats again, already leaking, already so pathetic.

“you’re serious,” he breathed, voice cracking.

you nodded, sitting slowly on the edge of his bed.

“i want to see what gets you off when you’re thinking about me. everything. don’t hide anything.”

mark’s knees nearly gave out.

he’d imagined this. god, he’d imagined this — but this wasn’t a fantasy anymore. you were right here. watching him. wanting him. mark inhaled hard, backing up until the backs of his legs hit his desk chair.

his palms were sweating.

“you’re gonna watch me?” he whispered.

“i’m not gonna stop watching,” you said, voice thick, steady. “now take it off. let me see you.”

mark let out a shaky breath. he couldn’t believe all of this was really happening. his hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and he pulled it over his head, dropping it carelessly. then his sweats — slowly, his fingers dragging down the waistband until they pooled around his ankles. his cock sprang up, flushed red, already wet at the tip and sensitive as hell.

he heard you exhale. a quiet curse under your breath.

mark’s chest heaved. he looked down at himself, then back at you. his voice was barely a whisper.

“…you always make me this hard.”

you didn’t say anything. you just looked at him as if he was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

so he sat. slowly. on the chair. kegs spread.

and mark started touching himself — just like he did when you weren’t around.

he spat into his palm, wrapped it around his cock, and let out the softest, neediest moan. “fuck—”

it was too much already. his fingers glided over the head, teasing it the way he always did, using the slick from his tip to stroke slowly and tightly. he was sensitive — so sensitive from cumming not long ago — and the way you were watching him made every nerve light up.

“this is what i think about,” he murmured. his hips jerked up into his own fist. “your voice—fuck—i always start with your voice…”

you shifted on the bed, visibly hard too now, breathing shallow. mark dragged his thumb under the head and whined loudly.

“i think about you saying my name. all soft. all fucking pretty. like you did on the phone.”

he looked at you then — eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth open. he looked wrecked already.

“want me to talk you through it?” you said, voice hoarse, hand moving to your own lap.

he groaned. “please…”

you got up slow, too slow, and crossed the room like you were trying to kill him with every step.

mark couldn’t stop staring at you. your face. your mouth. your hand where it pressed against your pants, stroking yourself through the fabric. you sat on his lap — not on the chair, on him — one knee sliding to either side of his thighs, your weight grounding him completely. his breath hitched. his cock pulsed against your stomach where it was caught between your bodies.

you leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“just like that,” you whispered. “don’t stop touching yourself. i wanna hear how you sound.”

mark choked on a moan.

he was already panting, fist slick on his cock as he jerked himself off under you. your warmth, your voice — it was like pouring gasoline on fire. his body was trembling, too sensitive, too close.

and then… then you touched him.

your fingers brushed his wrist, guiding his hand just a little tighter. then you slipped lower. past his hand. you ran your fingers down the length of his cock (his whole body jolted) then cupped his balls gently, like you already knew what he liked. mark gasped, his head falling back against the chair, neck arched, mouth wide open.

“f–fuck—fuck, don’t—don’t stop,” he whimpered, so loud it didn’t sound like him.

your mouth was right against his ear now. “you sound so fucking hot when you moan like that, mark. you ever jerk off that loud when you’re alone? huh?”

he groaned, hips jerking up into his own fist. “no—fuck, no—only when i’m thinking about you—only when i’m pretending you’re here—”

“good,” you whispered. “because i want all of it now. wanna see how much you want me.”

mark was falling apart.

he didn’t even care anymore how much noise he was making. his moans spilled out of him like they had a mind of their own — high, choked, desperate sounds every time your fingers slid up and teased the underside of his shaft, or when your other hand brushed over his nipples, barely, just enough to make him jolt again.

mark was leaking like crazy, his cock flushed red and throbbing, veins thick, twitching in his grip. it felt so fucking good — but it wasn’t enough. he needed more. he needed you.

he looked at you, eyes glassy,m and lips wet.

“i—fuck—i can’t—”

you kissed him.

hot and open-mouthed, swallowing every noise, licking into him as if you wanted to taste his begging. oh, and mark completely lost it. he broke the kiss with a gasp, hips grinding up into your stomach now, frantic and uncontrollable.

“please,” he panted, eyes wide, devastated. “i need to be inside you—i need it—i can’t—i wanna fuck you so bad—please let me—let me—please—”

you dragged your thumb up the head of his cock. he sobbed out.

“then fuck me,” you breathed, eyes dark. “i’m not gonna stop you.”

mark almost came right then and there.

his whole body stuttered forward.

as if his brain stopped working and his body just moved, his hands fumbled at your waistband as he kissed you again. rougher this time, messier. your mouth parted for him like it belonged to him, and he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. teeth clashing, tongues sliding, lips swollen from how hard he wanted you.

you let him strip you, let him really see you, and mark couldn’t even look away.

his hands were shaking as he took off the few rest of his clothes, cock already flushed and leaking, curved thick toward his stomach. you stared at it. at him. you reached down and brushed your fingers up the underside, gentle and slow, and mark almost folded.

“fuck,” he gasped, clutching your wrist. “don’t—fuck, don’t do that—i’ll cum, i swear to god—”

you just smirked, teasing. “you’re so sensitive.”

“i’ve been hard for an hour,” he said, voice cracking. “and you’re just—you’re here—i can’t—i can’t think straight—”

he pushed your legs open with his trembling hands, mouth parted as he stared down at your hole. he’d dreamed about this. every night, every time he jerked off alone in this room — it was always this. you, splayed out under him. letting him have you.

he lined himself up, rubbing his cockhead over you first, spreading the slick. your breath hitched. he looked up at you, pupils blown, lips wet.

“you sure?” he asked, barely a whisper.

you nodded, voice just as soft. “i want all of it.”

that broke him.

mark slowly pushed in, inch by inch, and the second he breached you, everything left his body in a single moan.

“oh my god—” he choked, eyes rolling back. “fuck, you’re tight—you’re so fucking tight—”

your hands gripped his biceps, grounding you as he buried himself deeper. your walls clung to him like you didn’t want to let go of him. mark couldn’t breathe. couldn’t move for a second — just stayed there, fully inside, jaw clenched and whole body shaking.

his voice was already a mess. “you feel—fuck—you feel insane, i can’t—”

“move,” you murmured, breathless. “please, mark. i want you to.”

no sooner said than done.

mark pulled out a little and snapped deeply back in. you gasped, your head tilting back, and mark watched every second of it. the way your mouth dropped open, the way your back arched slightly. he memorized it.

and then he started fucking you.

he lost his rhythm almost immediately — way too overwhelmed, too full of it — but god, it felt so fucking good. every time he thrust in, your body squeezed him tighter, like you didn’t want him to stop. the slick sounds of skin against skin, your breathing, the way you moaned his name. it pushed him over the edge.

“you feel—fuck—you feel like you were made only for me,” he babbled, thrusting faster now, voice raw. “i can’t—i can’t stop—don’t want to stop—please don’t tell me to stop—”

you weren’t saying anything. you were just moaning, wrecked and flushed and gripping his shoulders hardly, whispering things like 'mark, yes' and 'just like that' and it made him go feral. he leaned down, pressing his chest to yours, forehead to your temple.

his cock was throbbing deep inside you. he could feel your heartbeat in your walls, feel the way you clenched every time he moaned too loud.

“your voice,” he gasped. “say something—say anything, please—i’ll cum, just say something—”

you grabbed his face, pulled him in close, and whispered against his lips :

“you’re fucking me so good, mark.”

mark let out a soft plea.

a broken, high sound that cracked out of him like a sob. his thrusts turned frantic — sloppy, deep, and fast — hips slamming into you as his body chased that edge he’d been hovering on for so long.

“you’re so deep,” you moaned, legs locking around him. “i can feel you everywhere. you’re perfect—so big, so good—fuck, mark—”

his body locked. everything tensed, his breath hitched — and finally he begged.

“can i—fuck, please, can i cum inside? please—please let me—wanna fill you up—need to—”

your answer was instant. “y-yes. do it. give it to me.”

mark snapped.

he let out a sound that didn’t even sound human — half cry, half moan — and slammed into you one final time. his cock pulsed, deep and hard, and he came so hard he couldn’t breathe. warmth spilled inside you in thick, desperate pulses. he kept grinding through it, kept whimpering against your neck.

“fuck, fuck, i love you—fuck, i love your voice—i love your body—i can’t stop—can’t—” he panted, still moving, overstimulated and desperate to stay inside you.

you kissed his cheek, your own breath catching, body twitching from how deep he still was.

mark was shaking.

his thighs trembled. his fingers dug into your skin. his cock was still buried deep inside you, softening slowly, but it wasn’t quite enough. he still felt like he needed more. he couldn’t stop kissing you — jaw, lips, throat, shoulder — anything he could reach. he wanted to live inside this moment forever.

but his body wouldn’t let him rest.

mark was still moving — barely so — just little, slow grinds of his hips against you. his cock had softened inside you, but not for long. not when you were still warm, still gripping him, still making the softest sounds under your breath every time he shifted just right. he couldn’t pull out. he wouldn’t.

“i’m still—fuck, i’m still hard,” he whispered, voice raw, forehead pressed to your cheek. “i don’t even—how is that possible—”

you laughed tiredly, quiet and breathless, hands dragging over his damp back. “maybe because you’ve been edging for so long.”

mark let out a sound like a broken sigh, hips twitching again. “don’t even joke—you have no idea how many times i’ve—thought about this—about you—your voice—your mouth—”

he shifted again, and his cock — sticky and slick with your mixed release — dragged against your walls, half-hard but growing fast. he gasped.

“fuck—you’re still so tight, i can’t—” he kissed you again, messy, uncoordinated, and so desperate. “let me stay inside. please. i’ll be good. i’ll go slow. i just need—i need you, please—”

you cupped his face, guiding his eyes to meet yours.

“mark.”

his heart stuttered.

“you’re still inside me,” you said, gentle, voice low and steady. “and i don’t want you to pull out either.”

he nearly melted on the spot.

“oh my god,” he breathed, biting down on a moan. his hips bucked once, involuntary. “say more. i beg you. i need you to keep talking—need to hear your voice—your voice makes me so fucking hard—”

you leaned in, your mouth brushing his ear, and said :

“then fuck me again. if you need it so bad, show me.”

he shivered — a full-body twitch — his cock jerking back to life inside you, already thickening again.

“oh fuck, okay—okay—i can do it, i can—” he stammered, voice so high and needy it barely sounded like him anymore. “just let me, just—please—”

he started thrusting again. slowly and carefully. like he was scared he’d break something in you if he went too fast — but still so deep. his cock was oversensitive, every nerve fried, every push into you making him moan just a little louder than before.

he couldn’t stop praising you.

“you’re perfect—fuck, you’re so perfect—i don’t even deserve you, i don’t—why are you letting me—why do you feel so good—”

you tightened your arms around his back. “because i want you, mark.”

he whimpered — an actual whimper — and buried his face in your neck.

“i’m gonna cum again,” he said, almost crying. “already—fuck, i can’t help it—i wanna fill you up again—please, let me—don’t kick me out—”

you rocked your hips up into him, slow andtorturous.

“you’re not going anywhere, mark. you’re staying inside me ‘til you’ve got nothing left.”

oh, that destroyed him.

he thrust harder, faster now, voice caught between gasping and sobbing.

“don’t say that—i’ll never stop—fuck, i’ll cum again—right now—i swear i will—”

“do it,” you moaned. “i want you to. inside me, again.”

and then he did. mark lost it.

again.

his whole body jerked forward, his hands gripping your sides like you were the only thing keeping him tethered. he moaned — a loud, broken moan — right into your mouth as he kissed you, sloppy and wet and desperate. his cock pulsed deep inside you, twitching violently as he came again, so much for someone who’d already cum just before.

it spilled hot into you, and you gasped beneath him, your own body seizing up, overstimulated and trembling.

mark didn’t stop kissing you.

his lips pressed to yours again and again, moaning loudly into each one, his breath catching, body twitching with aftershocks. he was gasping through it — every nerve frayed, hips stuttering forward as if he couldn’t stop even if he tried to.

“fuck, you’re amazing,” he babbled, half-sobbing into your mouth. “you’re so warm—so good—i never felt anything like this—i can’t—i love the way you feel, i swear to god i’m gonna die—”

you were panting too, hands gripping his shoulders like you needed to hold on for dear life. your legs were trembling around his waist, and he could feel how raw your body was under his.

and still, he stayed inside you.

he couldn’t stop.

“did i—fuck—did i do good?” he whispered, breathless, barely coherent. “please tell me i did good, please—please, i just wanted—i wanted to be good for you—”

you grabbed his face with both hands, pulled him down into a kiss, slower this time — messy but full of heat. mark melted into it. moaned again. whined.

“you did so good, mark,” you say into his lips. “you fucked me so good.”

mark exhaled a trembling moan.

“i love your voice,” he said, barely a whisper, his forehead pressed to yours. “i think i’m in love with you—i swear—fuck, i’d do anything for you. uou could ruin me.”

you chuckled, still breathless, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “i think i already did.”

mark quivered — hips giving one last twitch before he collapsed fully against your chest, cock still inside you, still leaking, overstimulated and clinging to you like he never wanted to let go.

“i’m never pulling out,” he mumbled, dazed.

“you are gonna have to move eventually,” you murmured, lips in his hair.

“not yet,” he whispered. “just… please. just stay.”

and, of course, you did.

mark didn’t move for a long time.

your heartbeat was steady under his ear, your arms loose around his shoulders. everything was hot and sticky and still — your bodies tangled together in the low light of his room, chest to chest, skin damp with sweat, cum slowly dripping from between your legs.

he breathed you in.

slow, deep breaths that barely helped. he was still shaking. not from arousal this time — at least, not just that. it was the crash. the sheer emotional weight of what just happened. he’d wanted you for so long and now — god. now you were here. you’d let him inside. you’d touched him like you meant it. said his name like you felt it.

mark blinked hard against your skin. he still hadn’t pulled out. he couldn’t.

“…you okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse and soft, barely above a breath.

your hum rumbled through your chest.

“yeah. just… tired.”

mark lifted his head, just enough to look at you. your eyes were half-lidded, your lashes damp. you looked completely blissed out — ruined in the best way — and so beautiful it made his chest ache.

“was it too much?” he asked, quietly, his brows drawn with worry. “i didn’t mean to—i got carried away, and—fuck, i should’ve gone slower, i’m so—”

you reached up and brushed his hair back, fingers light against his temple.

“mark,” you said gently, “you were perfect.”

his breath caught.

you didn’t even say it with that teasing lilt you always used. it was real and sincere. you were telling the truth.

mark looked like he might cry.

“…okay,” he whispered, nodding too fast. “okay. just… wanted to take care of you. i still—i can…”

he slowly eased himself out, careful not to hurt you. he winced when he saw the mess — his cum leaking from you, still thick and warm, smeared between your thighs.

“fuck, sorry—sorry, that’s so—i’ll clean you up, just stay there—don’t move—”

he scrambled off the bed on wobbly legs, tugging his hoodie back on halfway, not even realizing it was inside out. he disappeared into the bathroom, and you could hear the rush of water, the frantic shuffle of him tearing paper towels off the roll, then muttering :

“idiot—no, get the cloth, soft, soft, soft—”

he came back with warm water and the softest towel he could find.

“can i?” he asked, eyes flicking to yours, hand hovering over your thigh.

you nodded.

he was so gentle. ridiculously gentle. like you’d break in his hands if he wiped too hard. he cleaned you carefully, barely touching where you were most sore, his face flushed red and eyes focused like it was the most important task in the world.

“you’re still leaking,” he mumbled, more to himself than you. “sorry. i… i came so much.”

“you really did,” you said, smirking a little.

his ears turned bright pink.

you touched his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “hey. you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

mark leaned into your palm.

“i’m not. i just…” his voice dropped to a whisper. “i’ve never felt that much. with anyone. ever.”

your fingers slipped into his hair.

“me neither.”

he looked at you like you’d just given him the entire world in his hands.

you tugged at his hoodie gently. “come back in bed?”

he nodded. too fast. as if he was scared you’d change your mind. he tossed the towel aside and crawled in next to you, pulling the covers over both your bodies, wrapping himself around you instantly.

mark kissed your shoulder. then your neck. then your cheek. you sighed into him, content.

“you’re shaking,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

“sorry,” he whispered. “don’t think my body knows how to calm down yet.”

you nudged your nose against his.

“you can calm down now.”

he nodded again, slower this time. his hand found yours under the blanket, and he laced your fingers together like it was instinct.

“i’m so in love with you,” he said, voice so quiet it barely registered.

you squeezed his hand.

“good,” you breathed, drifting. “because you’re not getting rid of me.”

mark smiled into your skin.

“never wanted to.”

[nebularsung]

⭑ sometimes chenle handle your daughter well

it was his first full day off in weeks.

no calls, no rehearsals, no meetings. just chenle, the house, and the promise he made when he kissed you goodbye that morning—“go have the best mommy’s day ever. we’ll be just fine.”

and at first, everything felt easy.

he’d gotten up early, earlier than usual. the sky was still soft and pale outside the window, and the air inside the house smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you always used. he padded sleepily into the kitchen, hair a mess, yawning behind his hand. and then, just because it made him smile, he tied your pink apron around his waist—twice, since the strings weren’t really meant for him—and whispered, “chef chenle is in.”

he even tried cracking an egg one-handed. disastrously. shell bits flew, yolk dripped onto the counter, but he grinned through it. she’ll laugh, he thought. she always laughs at my disasters.

the sound of tiny feet against hardwood made him look up.

meimei came toddling in—hair everywhere, sleep still clinging to her in the way she blinked slow, one sock missing, dragging her beloved bunny by the ear.

“where’s mommy?” she asked, voice still rough from sleep.

“mommy’s having a special day today,” chenlesaid, crouching down to meet her sleepy eyes, brushing her wild bangs back with gentle fingers. “but you’ve got me. and i’ve got pancakes.”

“do they have sprinkles?” she asked suspiciously.

“they can... if you say the magic word.”

she paused. then, seriously: “waffles.”

he blinked. “that’s... not quite the word i was thinking of, but okay.”

later, when he finally set the pancakes in front of her, she gave them a look. poked one with the edge of her fork. then peered up at him, deadpan.

“these taste like the color beige.”

he spluttered. “you don’t even know what beige tastes like.”

“i do now.”

chenle laughed so hard he had to put the syrup bottle down or risk spraying it across the counter.

“alright,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “waffles it is.”

what followed was not cooking so much as a full-blown food war.

flour floated in the air like fairy dust. chenle had syrup on his jaw, a rogue sprinkle stuck stubbornly to his collarbone, and butter on the tip of his nose. she wore his old baseball cap backward and declared herself the “mixing queen.” he was demoted to “assistant stirrer.”

but the waffles came out golden, warm, and perfect—by some miracle. and when he placed them in front of her, she clapped like it was the best magic trick she’d ever seen.

“you’re really good at this,” she said, mouth full.

“at what?”

“being a mommy.”

he blinked. then chuckled. “...that might be the best compliment someone ever gave me.”

after breakfast came fort-building.

the living room turned into a construction site—cushions stacked haphazardly, blankets hanging like sails. chenle tried to make it structurally sound, but every time he turned his back, she changed the theme.

“now it’s an ice cream truck!”

“now it’s a castle!”

“now it’s a rocket to the moon!”

he just nodded and kept tying sheets tighter, crawling inside the maze when she called him.

“you be the dragon, daddy!”

he roared. she shrieked. bunny went flying, landed near the couch, and was promptly knighted with a ruler as “sir hop-a-lot.”

around noon, bath time began with soft lullabies and warm water and ended in complete mayhem. bubbles overflowed. the duck army revolted. chenle, now drenched, wore her pink shower cap like a crown.

“i’m a mermaid!” meimei shouted, standing proudly in the tub.

“and i’m your very wet, very tired assistant,” he mumbled, laughing as he used a towel to shield himself from the next tidal wave.

they got dressed again in pajamas—matching ones, pink with little moons. lunch was grilled cheese and baby carrots on a picnic blanket in the living room. she insisted on wearing her princess dress over her pj top. he didn’t argue.

they read books until his voice went hoarse. played the same board game until she started bending the rules in her favor. and when she danced to the same song on loop for the fifth time, spinning until she tumbled to the floor, she whispered with dramatic flair:

“daddy... i need... a nap.”

“me too,” he sighed, already reaching for the closest blanket.

they curled up together on the bed, soft afternoon light pouring through the curtains, golden and gentle. her body was warm and squirmy as she settled into the crook of his arm, her bunny hugged tightly to her chest.

she blinked up at him, fighting sleep.

“will you still be here when i wake up?”

he smiled softly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “always.”

her lashes fluttered once, then stilled. breath slowed. little hand curling into the fabric of his shirt like she never wanted to let go.

you came home a few hours later.

the house looked like it had been touched by a storm of love—chaotic and glowing in its own lived-in warmth. flour dusted the counter. a crayon trail meandered down the hallway. a towel clung to a light fixture. how it got there, you didn’t want to know.

but the bedroom—

the bedroom was soft. untouched. quiet.

sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, and there they were—your whole heart, tangled in the middle of the bed, a nest of limbs and blankets and soft breath.

chenle lay on his side, mouth slightly open in sleep, one arm protectively resting across your daughter’s back. her tiny hand was curled tightly in his shirt, bunny tucked beneath her chin.

your chest ached in the gentlest, most overwhelming way.

“you did good,” you whispered into the hush, barely louder than the breeze through the window.

chenle stirred. eyelids fluttered open, and a sleepy smile slowly pulled at his lips. “you’re home,” he breathed.

you nodded, stepping closer on careful feet, kissing his forehead. “how was your day?”

he stretched a little, blinked again, and immediately curled back around her. “chaotic. beautiful. exhausting. perfect.”

“you know, meimei called me just to say your pancakes were awful.”

he groaned. “she’s savage.”

you giggled, climbing into bed beside them. your fingers found his under the blanket, and he laced them with yours without hesitation.

“you’re the best dad,” you said softly.

he turned his head, eyes shining despite his sleep. kissed your knuckles. “i just wanted her to feel loved.”

“she does,” you whispered. “she will. always.”

and you lay there, the three of you—warm and tangled and still.

the day had been wild and messy, nothing close to perfect.

but this—this moment, this home, this love—it was everything.

ps. cherries please, if you wanna be tagged in my posts, check the taglist form on my pinned post for me to update (and organise my life) the list!

[vad-hander]

LET'S NOT LOVE EACH OTHER | Snippet

pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader

genre: strangers to lovers, angsty themes (them having to separate for college in a few months ), smut, fluff, school!au, coming of age!au, Jaehyun basketball player!au, denial of feelings

warnings: cursing, mentions of harassment (no graphic description, a pinch and a hug by a stranger), physical fight (Jaehyun with strangers, no graphic description), jail scene, police involvement, Jaehyun's mom is manipulative against reader, nickname 'babe' for reader, first time sex (m)

words: 13k

full story comes out August 8th, lmk if you'd like to be tagged :)

“We have to promise not to love each other. Promise that we won’t involve our hearts into this.” Jaehyun moved your body up his thigh a little more. 

“Just spending our evenings together, kissing each other, but not crossing the line, not going for more?” Your fingers trailed lines over the skin of Jaehyun’s cheek.  "If we feel anything, we have to stop."

“Yes, nothing more. We can’t get too attached.” Jaehyun moved his hand up your spine, to match his words with his actions. 

“We can’t.” You nodded and leaned into Jaehyun more. “I won’t come to your games, seeing you play would mean I truly care for you.”

“Sounds good. I won’t come see you between classes, that would mean I can’t stop thinking about you during school.” He focused his gaze on your lips. 

“No, you have to come see me.” You brushed your mouth against Jaehyun’s, feeling his arms lock on your back once again. 

“Really?” Jaehyun lifted you up, wordlessly hinting for you to sit on his lap properly. 

“Yes, I would want to see you and talk to you. Just don’t do physical contact. If we’re not serious about this, there’s no point in letting people know.” You moved your face back, Jaehyun breathing out of his mouth heavily. You found his shoulders with your palms, pressing on them to lay him down. You leaned into his chest and kissed him once again. Jaehyun pulled you back, looking into your eyes. 

“I will come see you as many times as you’ll want me to.”

“And then in hundred and ten days you’ll be gone.” You couldn’t hold back a pout. "Won't even remember my name after a month in Japan."

[domjaehyun]

What is the patreon puss fiend about bc I’m really tempted to pay 😭 is it something cute? Either way I’d wanna read it 😭

CONTENTS. oral (receiving), fingering, slight overstimulation, mating press, breeding kink, slight pregnancy kink (mentioned. she’s not pregnant), breast play, nipple sucking, dirty talk

WORD COUNT. 5.1k 

SUMMARY. you’re giving Haechan the cold shoulder. he’s not doing well. chaos ensues. Snippet below!

It’s been a week of you not talking to Haechan, and you think he might be starting to crash out.

“Baby, are you ever gonna talk to me again?” Haechan whines, flopping onto the couch on his back and clumsily navigating his head into your lap, pleading brown eyes gazing up at you. You look down at him impassively, and he frowns deeply. “I said I was sorry, like, twelve million times!”

You sigh and shake your head down at Haechan in disapproval before returning your attention to your phone.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you, baby, I swear! I just got really caught up in the game for a bit—”

“Not ‘for a bit,’ Haechan.” you interrupt, and he falls silent instantly, eyes wide as he watches you speak. “‘A bit’ would be like a couple of hours, or two days at most. You went radio silent for seven days. A week! So, clearly, you hate me and my stupid guts.”

“I could never hate you,” Haechan promises, sitting up in a hurry. “Or your sexy, smart guts.” he adds, nodding emphatically to support his point. “Guts that, by the way, I haven’t been all up in for two weeks.”

Link to this full bonus scene: here!

[kpopsexstories]

A Summary of Quick Fix Dirty K-pop Imagines Season 6

This week's SKZ Han Jisung story was the 8th and final story of Season 6 of my Quick Fix series, with very short x female reader smut. Here's a summary of the stories from this season:

BTS Suga Dominant Doggy Style (wild & hot)

SKZ Hyunjin Horny Flirting Game (sweet & funny)

NCT Muscle Hunk Jeno Fucks You After Work (hot)

TXT Yeonjun Ggum Hip Action (hot & funny)

NCT Taeyong Muscle Appreciation (hot)

BTS V-live Gone Wrong – Taehyung’s Girlfriend in Bed (plot)

NCT Doyoung Eating Pussy (hot & plot-based)

SKZ Han Jisung Fucks You From Behind (wild, hot & funny)

I'm working on Season 7. You can check the status of how that's going – and some of the stories that will be in the season – here.

Now tell me...

Get in touch with me (comment, private message) to let me know why you voted as you did – so I can give you more of what you like the most in future seasons! 😄

[starryhyuck]

camera help. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: camboy!johnny x afab!reader

words: 4k+

summary: your quest to adopt a dog lands you in front of a camera, begging to be stuffed full of a stranger’s cum.

genre: smut

warnings: bigdick!johnny, daddy kink, rough sex, spitting, spanking, breeding kink, fingering, squirting, creampie, degradation, multiple orgasms

this fic is exclusive to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

“Come on! Maybe we’ll find one that looks like you!”

Jungwoo whines like a child and stomps his foot, longingly looking towards the line building outside the popular dessert shop around the corner.

“You promised you would buy me an ice cream.”

You roll your eyes at him when he’s not looking. You would swear your best friend is five-years-old instead of approaching his late twenties.

“I’ll get you one after! You promised you would help me find a new dog today.”

Jungwoo gives in with one last pitiful look thrown towards his precious ice cream. You tug open the door to the dog adoption shop, your heart growing three sizes when the sound of happy barking greets you.

But then your one track mind is drawn towards the extremely handsome worker standing over the puppy playpen, speaking to a couple with a gentle smile.

“Oh no,” Jungwoo groans when he recognizes the dazed look on your face. “We’re here for a puppy. Not to get ass.”

You ignore him, striding over to the beautiful man once the couple leaves. He plasters on his customer service smile at you.

“Hi, welcome to Park’s Puppy Playtime,” he greets. “My name is Johnny. Can I introduce you to any of our lovely pups today?”

You’re too busy flashing heart eyes to formulate a coherent response. Jungwoo comes to your rescue, chuckling awkwardly as he approaches your side.

“She’s actually looking to adopt a puppy, preferably the runt of the litter. She has a big heart like that,” Jungwoo says, acting as your wingman without you needing to ask.

Johnny laughs, and you swear it’s the most melodious sound you’ve ever heard. “I think I know exactly who you’re looking for. Follow me.”

As he leads you further into the store, you murmur to Jungwoo quietly, “I want him to bend me over and do unspeakable things to me.”

He retorts, “Don’t forget about my ice cream.”

Johnny guides the two of you towards a small playpen in the back with a handful of shy puppies pushing themselves into corners. “These are our runt of the litters, you could say,” he introduces, squatting down to pick one up. “They’re on the timid side, but they’re very gentle once they warm up to you. We separated them from the rowdy bunch so they weren’t jerked around.”

“They’re adorable,” you coo, briefly distracted from wanting to jump on Johnny in favor of directing your attention towards the puppies in front of you. You kneel down and extend your hand forward, and a few of them flock towards you slowly. “How old are they?”

Jungwoo’s done you a favor by wandering to a different part of the store. One of the female workers seems to be under the same strain of lovestruck behavior as you, eagerly moving to help your friend and answer any of his questions.

“All of our puppies are under three months old. We’re lucky enough that they get adopted fairly quickly. All of them are born completely ethically as well. Our owner sources them from other dog parents that have litters but no means to keep every single one of them. We take them off their hands and give them good homes,” Johnny shares with you.

You can tell the puppies are already fond of him by the way their tails swish giddily when he reaches out his palm to pet them. The domesticity of him is seriously driving you insane. You never thought you could get turned on in the middle of a puppy playground.

Johnny leaves you briefly to acquaint yourself with the dogs. Jungwoo rejoins you when he notices you’re alone.

“Jesus, that woman was about to climb me like a skyscraper. Please tell me you already climbed yours.”

“I’m getting there,” you lie, glancing over your shoulder. “Can you get a good read on him? What does he think?”

“Well, he smiled at you, which is a good sign. The bad sign is that he seems to be doing that with everybody,” he replies, and the two of you look over to catch him speaking to another married couple with the same smile he flashed at you.

You groan, which shifts into a giggle when one of the puppies scratches at the playpen, asking for you to hold them. You scoop them up in your arms, stroking its fur until you completely fall for the tiny animal in your lap.

Jungwoo is the one who has to break your glorious moment of connection.

“That looks like a wet rat.”

You glare at him before holding up the puppy near his face. “I actually think it looks just like you.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“How are we doing over here?” Johnny asks, strolling back over to you.

“What’s this one’s name?” You question, gushing over the puppy nuzzling into the fabric of your sweater.

“Biscuit,” he says, and it seals your decision. “He’s a hard little guy to get close to. You’re the chosen one.”

“Biscuit,” you repeat, kissing his golden fur. “You’re just the sweetest boy, aren’t you?”

You would like to imagine his barking reply is a resounding yes. You look up at Johnny, grinning with a sparkle in your eyes. He returns your smile, and you hope that this is another good sign in Jungwoo’s book.

“I’ll take him.”

“Thank God,” Jungwoo mumbles under his breath, but you pretend not to hear him.

You slip your friend some cash so he can run off and get the dessert he’s always wanted. He leaves you without any hesitation, and you take the opportunity to question Johnny on what else you should be aware of when adopting a puppy.

You obviously did your research before coming into the store today, but hearing it come from Johnny’s lips is miles better than the search engine on your phone.

“It’ll take some patience to get him fully housebroken. He’s a scared fella, so words of affirmation and positive reinforcement will go a long way with him. As long as he can trust you, you won’t have an issue worming your way into his heart.”

You’d love to worm your way into this man’s bed.

Johnny helps you fill out the adoption papers, providing you sources for local veterinarians in the city and where to look for the best pet food. You perk up when he tells you that the shop is invested in ensuring the owners are all set up, scheduling monthly visits until they feel the pet parents have their feet off the ground.

“And you’d be the person doing these checkups?”

He laughs at your shamelessness. “Sometimes. I’m usually assigned to the pups who bonded with me the most out of all the workers.”

You raise Biscuit up to him. “He looks pretty bonded to you, if you ask me.”

He smirks. “I guess I’ll have to agree.” He slides a paper over to you, circling the bottom section. “Write your address down here. I’ll check up on you and Biscuit in a few weeks.”

When you meet Jungwoo at the dessert shop with Biscuit clutched close to your chest, he huffs at you. He’s scarfing down the largest sundae you’ve ever seen with no care in the world.

“Got the ass?”

“Locked and secured.”

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[haechaninmyheart]

kun + cockwarming

MDNI/18+ CONTENT AHEAD

“Stop it, y/n.” You hear Kun growl into your ear. 

“Stop what?” You repeat the action, earning yet another growl from him as he buries his face into your neck and squeezes the skin of your hips. A shake breath makes its way past his lips and when you clench around him another time, he speaks up again in a low tone. 

“y/n. Stop.” 

And this time, you actually comply, readjusted the pillow you had laid your head on. “I’m tired.” You state bluntly, changing the subject and a moment later Kun pulls the duvet up to your shoulders. The soft item draped over you as you snuggled into his arms, he felt warm and comforting.

However, just when you are about to actually fall asleep, Kun pulls out his length before ramming the whole thing back in and you moan aloud, hands quick to cover your mouth. You were not expecting him to suddenly thrust into you like that and at such an unexpected pace that had you curled up a little and closer to the edge of the bed. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, mirroring your teasing tone earlier and you whimper, clenching around him.

You move to your hand, turning back to look at him. “Please.”

“Please what?” You feel him remove his cock from you, rubbing your slit with his tip up and down, before inching his length back in. “I thought you wanted this baby?”

You whine, pushing your ass back and Kun squeezes your hips.

“Sleep, baby.”

And so you do. Well, you try actually but the man has other plans.

Just as you’re about to doze off, Kun begins to gently thrust and just enough that at least half his length remains inside of you but when he moans into your ear, his hands slipping down to your clit. Oh god. You clench around him, moving one leg so that he could easily access your cunt.

“Feels good?” He questions, lips pressing against your neck and shoulders.

“Y-yes.” You stutter as he picks up the pace, both with his thrusting and his finger movements. “Kun. Kun, please don’t stop.” You squeal as he pushes you onto your stomach, your hands planted in the pillows as the man lifted your hips, assisting you into the doggy position.

“What, what made you think I was…planning on stopping?”