like-supercute - Tumblr blog

like-supercute · 15 days ago

Text

01; spaces between us | l.jn

pairing: dad!lee jeno x f!reader (ft. na jaemin)

genre: angst, slight fluff

synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.

a/n: hey lovelies~ was not expecting the pilot draft to do so well omg i had to start on the series asap!!!! this chapter was hitting the core :"))) please enjoy and stay tuned for chapter 2!!!! also made some minor changes from the pilot for the plot huehuehue

chapter music: you're losing me - taylor swift

sbu m.list | pilot draft | next chapter

you weren't sure how you had reached this point where cup noodles had become your weekend ritual, where your eyes constantly darted between the wall clock above the television and the hazel-colored door, constantly awaiting for someone to show up. but this was your life now, a reality you always seemed to struggle to grasp even three years after the end of your marriage.

you know the sound of his keys before it hits the lock. sunday, 6:48 pm, three minutes later than usual because traffic on fifth street backs up after six-thirty. you've memorised these details without meaning to, the way you once memorised his coffee order and the exact spot on his shoulder where he carries tension.

"mummy!" jun's backpack hits the floor with the thud of too many library books as he wriggled out of jeno’s arms and launched himself into your legs. "junnie!" you beamed, , crouching down to scoop him up. "did you have a good time with daddy?" you cooed excitedly, nuzzling your nose into his neck as he lets out a burst of giggles that instantly tugged at something deep in both your and jeno’s chests.

"mhm! daddy got me a new pokémon pack!" jun announced proudly, pulling out his binder and flipping it open to reveal the latest additions, carefully tucked into the sleeves you and jeno had filled together since his third birthday.

"ah, junnie... sshh," jeno gently tapped his son’s shoulder, trying not to smile too widely. jun’s eyes widened as if remembering something crucial. "oh right... secret," he whispered, bringing a finger to his lips with an exaggerated hush, sealing the silent deal he and his father clearly had.

jeno scratches the back of his head, smiling at you sheepishly as he braced himself for the usual lecture about spoiling jun. instead, you just shoot him a knowing smile, pretending not to have noticed the secret exchange between father and son. “okay, junnie. go unpack your bag first.”

you watch as jun runs off, his backpack bouncing behind him. jeno lingers for a second before following you into the kitchen instead of settling into the living room like he usually does and your heart does this stupid fluttering thing you thought you'd trained out of it.

"coffee?" you asked, already reaching for his mug. the blue one with the chip on the handle that he never throws away.

"if you're making some anyway," he says, leaning against the counter in that familiar way. close enough that you catch his cologne—the same one he's worn for years, the one that used to linger on your pillow.

you shouldn't notice these things anymore. the way he automatically opens the cabinet to grab the sugar. how he still knows which drawer holds the spoons. the fact that he washes his mug without being asked, like this is still his kitchen too.

"jun's been asking about the camping trip again," you say, handing him the coffee. your fingers brush when he takes it, brief and probably accidental, but your skin remembers the way it used to burn with every touch.

"memorial day weekend?" jeno chimed. " ah i was thinking we could do han river. remember that spot we found when he was four?"

we. the word hangs between you, heavy with history. you do remember—jun's first successful s'more, jeno teaching him to fish while you read on the blanket, the way the three of you felt like a unit that weekend instead of two people trying to figure out how to be parents together.

"he'd love that," you say — and you mean it.

jeno’s eyes drift to the half-eaten cup of noodles tucked in the corner of your desk. he exhales, a quiet sigh that carries more concern than judgment, and without a word, he gets up.

you watch him curiously as he disappears into the living room, only to return moments later with a styrofoam box in his hand — the dinner he’d brought earlier and quietly left on your sofa.

"you really need to cut down on these," he says, nodding at the noodles as he tosses the cup into the trash. "it’s not good for you, y/n."

his voice is soft, almost too gentle for a scolding — like he’s trying not to overstep, but can’t help caring anyway. you blink at him, caught off guard by the gesture and unsure how to respond to the quiet care in his actions. for a moment, you can’t find the right words. you wish it didn’t still affect you. the way he notices, the way he always has.

but it does. and you hate how, after everything, that old, familiar ache of love still manages to stir in your chest.

jeno lingers after jun shows him every single pokemon card twice. lingers while jun brushes his teeth. lingers by the door after hugs goodbye, keys in his hand but feet planted firmly on your doormat.

"you okay?" he asks, and there's something in his voice you can't quite name. concern, maybe. or something deeper.

"yeah, just tired."" you lie, because you're not okay—you're hopeful, which feels infinitely more dangerous.

he nods, remaining still as he studies your face like he's looking for something specific. "you know you can call me, right? if you need anything. even if it's not about jun."

the words settled in your chest like a promise. like maybe he's been thinking about more than just co-parenting too. like maybe the careful distance you've built around each other is finally cracking in all the right places.

"i know," you whisper.

he almost says something else. you can see it in the way his mouth opens slightly, the way his eyes search yours. but then jun calls goodnight from his room, and the moment dissolves.

"see you next week," jeno says, and you watched him walk to his car, wondering if he looks back. wondering if he feels it too—this pull toward something that might be possible again.

that night, you fell asleep thinking about han river. about the way jeno looked at you when he said "we." about the camping trip and coffee in matching mugs and all the small ways you've been building towards something without naming it.

and maybe that was naive of you.

"someone you're seeing?" the words come out strangled, like your throat forgot how to work. jun is in his room packing his overnight bag, humming the pokemon theme song, blissfully unaware that his parents' carefully constructed peace is crumbling in the kitchen.

jeno shifts his weight, suddenly looking anywhere but at you. "her name's soomin. we've been... it's been a few months now."

a few months. while you've been reading meaning into coffee rituals and shared glances, he's been building something real with someone else. while you've been hoping the way he said "we" about camping trips meant something, he's been saying "we" about someone entirely different.

"a few months," you repeat, testing how the words taste. bitter. they taste bitter.

"i wanted to tell you sooner, but..." he trails off, running his hand through his hair the way he does when he's nervous. "things are getting serious. she's important to me."

important. the way you used to be important, before work deadlines became more pressing than date nights, before his silence became louder than your attempts at conversation, before you both stopped trying to find each other in the space between exhaustion and resentment. "i didn't know you were dating again." you bit your lips.

“i don’t see where i’m wrong here! i’ve been showing up for jun!” jeno’s voice cracks with frustration as he throws his arms up, glaring at you like you’re the problem — like he resents you. and in that split second, it felt like he hates you.

not just angry, but hates you.

and you can’t explain the way it broke you. how your chest caved in like something vital had just collapsed. how your lungs forgot how to breathe. how suddenly, standing in front of him, you feel like something shameful.

something unwanted.

“for me, jeno! me!” your voice breaks in the middle of the word, like your chest can’t hold the weight anymore. you hit your palm against your chest with each syllable like you’re trying to make him feel it — your absence in his life, your slow disappearance in the marriage you tried so hard to save.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch. he just stared at you — tired, distant, like something in him left the room before his body did.

“i'm not just the mother of your child. i'm your wife.”

jeno looks at you, and for a second, you almost see a flicker of the old him — the one who used to trace hearts on your wrist during coffee shop dates, who whispered promises into your hair on tired mornings. but it’s gone before you can hold onto it.

“i can't do this,” he says. quiet. not even angry anymore — just empty. “i can't keep pretending like we’re still in love.”

your breath catches. “so you’ve just... stopped trying?”

he closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s trying to find the strength to be honest. “i stopped trying when it felt like everything i did pushed you further away.”

“you wouldn’t even go to therapy with me,” you whisper, the betrayal cracking out of your voice. “you shut me out, jeno. you barely spoke to me. you let me do all the emotional heavy lifting while you poured everything into work and came home just to be jun’s dad — not my husband. not my person.”

he opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. because deep down, he knows it’s true. he made the choice — slowly, quietly — to retreat. and now he’s standing in the wreckage of it.

“i thought having a family would fix it,” he admits finally. “that if i worked hard enough, loved our son enough... it would make up for not knowing how to love you the way you needed.”

your voice is small now, broken down to its rawest pieces. “and you only realised that after we were married? after we had a child?”

jeno nods. ashamed.

there’s a long silence between you. jun’s toys are scattered across the hallway. the faint hum of the fridge is the only sound in the room now.

it was then jeno finally looked up, eyes glossy and jaw clenched.

“i think we need to end this,” he says.

and even though you knew this would come— even though your body had been bracing for this for months — the words still hit like ice water down your spine.

“does jun know?” you ask quietly, your voice barely holding itself together.

the thought of your son — your little boy — interacting with jeno’s new lover sends a hollow ache through your chest. it twists in your gut, sharp and mean, fed by a fear you’re too ashamed to name: that maybe, somehow, she’ll be better. that jun might love her more. that you’re not enough.

you swallow hard, the words catching like glass in your throat. the fear of being replaced — not by jeno, but by someone who could take your place in your son's world — gnaws at you slowly, cruelly.

"no. i wanted to talk to you first. make sure you're okay with it."

okay with it. as if there was a choice. as if you could say "no, your heart isn't ready for this, please keep pretending we might find our way back to each other". as if you have any right to his future when you couldn't figure out how to share his present.

“and if i said no?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “would you hate me for it?” he exhales slowly. there’s something in his eyes — regret, maybe. or even guilt. “never,” he says. “but i’d ask you to reconsider. for jun… and for the love we used to have.”

"i'll think about it." you hear yourself saying. jeno's shoulders relaxed, and you realise he was braced for a fight. the kind you used to have, when you'd pick apart his choices and he'd shut down until you were both bleeding from words that couldn't be taken back. but you're different people now. better at this. better at putting jun first.

"thank you," he says, and the relief in his voice makes you want to scream.

jun appears in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, pokemon cards clutched in his free hand. "ready, daddy?"

"ready, buddy." jeno's whole face transforms when he looks at jun, soft and open in a way that used to be reserved for you too. "we'll see you sunday, yeah?"

you nod, not trusting your voice as you watched them walked to jeno's car with jun chattering about something that happened at school and jeno listening with the patience you always admired. they drove away, and you're left standing in your suddenly too-quiet kitchen with just enough sound to remind you that he’s gone — again.

the silence that follows feels heavier than his words.

she’s important to me.for jun. for what we used to have.

you lose jun somewhere between the pasta sauce and the frozen vegetables.

one minute he’s weighing the merits of sphagetti and fusilli — a deeply serious seven-year-old debate — and the next, you’re standing alone in aisle twelve, heart thudding, dread curling in your stomach.

“jun?” you called, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. “junnie, where are you?”

you retraced your steps, glancing behind shelves and around carts, the quiet anxiety growing louder with every passing second because he’s way too small, too curious and despite all your talks about stranger danger, still too trusting for his own good.

you find him in the cereal aisle, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a stranger, surrounded by a battlefield of pokémon cards spread across the linoleum like it’s a sanctioned trade summit. a wave of relief washing over you when you see that he's okay.

"and this one," jun is saying, holding up a holographic card that catches the fluorescent lights, "is charizard. he's like, the best one ever. daddy says he's worth a million dollars but mommy says daddy exaggerates about everything."

the man beside him laughs. a warm, familiar kind of sound that you don’t register why it makes your chest tighten. though you can't see his face properly from this angle. his dark hair falls across his forehead as he leans over the cards, and there's something familiar about the way he moves, but you're too focused on jun's safety to process it.

"your daddy sounds like he knows good pokémon when he sees them," the man says, his voice jogging something loose in your memory.

“jun,” you say, relief overtaking annoyance as you rush over. “what have i told you about wandering off? and talking to strangers?” you grabbed him by his shoulders, though still careful enough to not hurt him.

"but mommy," jun protests, scrambling to his feet, "he isn't a stranger anymore. we're friends now. he has the whole first generation set!"

the man stands up too, brushing off his jeans, and you're about to thank him for keeping jun safe when he looks directly at you and everything stops.

"...l/n y/n?"

and just like that, it clicks.

na jaemin.

your old academic rival. the one who made every constitutional law class feel like a boxing match. the one who challenged your arguments until you dreamed in rebuttals. the one you couldn’t stand because he was too smart, too smooth, and made everything look effortless while you drowned in outlines and caffeine.

a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “well, well. if it isn’t the future supreme court justice herself.”

you feel heat rush to your face. the nickname stings in a different way now — laced with everything you never became. “jaemin. hi.”

jun tugs at your sleeve. “mommy, you know uncle?”

jaemin’s gaze drops to your cart full of juice boxes and goldfish crackers, then to jun still clutching his pokémon binder, and you feel the weight of his attention settle on your shoulders.

"you're a mom," he says, and there's something in his voice you can't quite place. surprise, definitely. but also something else. something that makes you want to straighten your shoulders and defend choices you're not even sure you made consciously.

"yeah, this is jun. jun, say hi to uncle jaemin properly."

jun waves, suddenly shy now that introductions are being made official.

"is he jeno's?" jaemin asks, because of course he remembers. everyone remembers your college relationship, how you and jeno were practically attached at the hip from the first year of university onwards.

"yeah," you confirm, watching his face for... what? judgment? surprise? "he's jeno's."

jaemin glances around the store like he's expecting your ex-husband to appear from behind the cheerios display. "where is jeno? parking the car?"

and there it was. the question that makes everything real in a way that divorce papers and custody schedules somehow don't.

"we're divorced, actually."

the words hang in the air between you. jun, oblivious to the weight of adult conversations, has gone back to organising his pokémon cards by type.

you hate how much the word still weighs in your mouth.

jaemin blinks, brows rising. “really? you two always seemed so… settled.”

settled. the word tastes wrong in your mouth, but you can't argue with it. you were settled. safe. predictable. everything jaemin wasn't.

"life happens," you say, which is your standard response to questions about the divorce. noncommittal. true enough.

but jaemin is looking at you with an expression you can't quite read. there's something almost calculating in his eyes, like he's reassessing everything he thought he knew about you.

"so no supreme court then?" he asks, and there's a challenge in his voice that you recognize from law school. the same tone he used when he was about to dismantle your argument piece by piece. "no changing the world one constitutional interpretation at a time?"

jun tugs on your sleeve. "mommy, what's supreme court?"

"it's where the most important judges work," you tell him, then look back at jaemin. "and no. turns out life had other plans."

"what are you doing now?" jaemin asks, and there's something in his voice that makes you stand a little straighter. curiosity, maybe. or that old competitive edge that used to drive you both crazy.

"community legal aid," you say, trying not to sound defensive. "helping people navigate the system who can't afford big law firms."

now jaemin looks genuinely interested. he leans forward slightly, the way he used to when a professor posed a particularly challenging hypothetical.

"community legal aid," he repeats slowly, amused. "cool."

"it's not exactly the supreme court," you say, but there's less bitterness in your voice than you expected.

"no, but it's real. it's making a difference for actual people instead of just writing opinions that other lawyers argue about." jaemin pauses, studying your face. "no wonder i haven't seen you around. i even did environment law for awhile in hopes to see you." he chuckles.

"what about you?" you ask, deflecting.

jaemin grins, and it's the same cocky smile that used to make you want to argue with him just to wipe it off his face. "corporate law. making rich people richer, mostly. not nearly as noble as what you're doing."

jun, who has been listening with the selective attention of a seven-year-old, pipes up: "are you a lawyer too, jaemin?"

"i am, buddy. your mom and i used to study together."

"study together" is a generous way to describe the way you and jaemin used to go head-to-head in every class, turning study groups into intellectual bloodbaths and making everyone else uncomfortable with your barely concealed competitiveness.

"you should give mommy your number," jun says with the casual confidence of a child who hasn't learned that adult relationships are complicated. "then you can study together again."

you laugh nervously, ready to wave it off, but jaemin is already pulling out his phone. "that's not a bad idea, actually. i'd love to catch up properly. maybe over coffee instead of in the cereal aisle?"

you hesitate.

coffee feels… dangerous. not in a thrilling way — in a past-life-kind of way. like sitting down with jaemin might open up a version of yourself you’ve carefully folded away.

you’re not sure who you’d be across that table anymore. and worse, you’re not sure he’d still respect her.

but there’s something warm in his eyes. something not just nostalgic, but curious.

you glance at jun, who’s back to sorting cards. and then at jaemin, who’s waiting without pushing.

“…okay,” you say finally. “sure. coffee.”

“still the same number?”

you shake your head. “new number. new everything.”

you exchange phones. it feels surreal to see na jaemin slide into your contacts between jun’s pediatrician and grocery rewards hotline.

“i’ll text you,” he says, and you just nod.

“it was good to see you,” he adds. “really.”

// to be continued

#cr #and asshole-lawyer!jaemin? INJECT ITTTTTT #jeno. see me in my office.#🫧 7dream

327 notes · View notes

like-supercute · 16 days ago

Text

'haechan as your jealous boyfriend'

haechan has some grievances to share // you're that couple that hate each other with no context but are actually so in love it causes major upset and the whole world likes to test him

warnings : slight nsfw themes. could read as toxic but its just jokes all round - only love.

#had me cackling the Entire time 😭😭#🫧 7dream #🪽ilichil

365 notes · View notes

like-supercute · 16 days ago

Text

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.”

#good LORD #pathetic!mark is the only mark to exist actually #🫧 7dream #🪽ilichil

2K notes · View notes

like-supercute · 1 month ago

Text

mads’ most memorable (aka my faves) (ao3 edition)

જ⁀➴ nct (neo culture technology) vers. (a to z)

disclaimer: currently i don’t gravitate towards many wayv or wish centered works but that’s not to say i won’t be reading them in the future! last updated: 8.21.25

🫧 7dream

drop a heart break a name (nahyuck) by cyupids (m | please check tags before reading!) ☆

folie a deux (nahyuck) by cyupids (m | please check tags before reading!) ☆

he’s the woman (nahyuck) by mapiestory

lambskin (markmin) by astroblemish (m | please check tags before reading!) ☆

like a dog with a bone (nahyuck) by mntsnflrs

special affair (nahyuck) by prplematter (m | please check tags before reading!) ☆ (latest!)

tailwhip (nahyuck) by chanelbodybag (m) ☆

when the sun goes down (jenle) by jenodo (m)

#finally made a list 4 my ao3 reads yayyyy :3 #🫧 7dream #🪽ilichil #nct dream yaoi #nct dream fic recs

1 note · View note

like-supercute · 1 month ago

Text

don’t stop talking [ mark lee ]

mark jerks off to his best friend’s voice during a late-night call.

❛ content 1.7k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, male reader, best friend! mark, phone sex (mark’s side), voice kink, masturbation, reader is oblivious at first.

mark’s hand was already slick.

it was shameful — he knew that — but by now, the thrill of shame was a part of the arousal.

mark sat hunched in bed, legs spread wide, phone pressed to one ear, breath shallow and uneven. the room was dim. just the soft blue glow of his laptop screen lighting his face, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile, bare thighs tense and trembling.

the call had barely even rung when you picked up, voice soft and just a little rough like you’d been napping.

“hey,” you said. “what’s up?”

mark’s stomach turned over. the second he heard your voice, his grip tightened, his rhythm stumbling on instinct. he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“yo,” he rasped. his voice cracked. “you, uh… you busy?”

“nah. im just watching dumb videos. you okay? you sound weird.”

weird. yeah. that was one word for it.

he leaned forward a little, curling into himself, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder while his other hand kept working over his cock. he was flushed to the neck, chest mottled with heat, pulse visible in his throat.

every time he heard your voice through the speaker, it was like a jolt right to his cock — he could feel the way your mouth moved, imagine how your lips would wrap around syllables if he were just a bit closer.

he bit his bottom lip, hard.

“i’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly, then swallowed. “just… wanted to talk to you.”

he was already so close and that was humiliating in its own right.

your voice was casual, kind. “oh, yeah? what about?”

mark gritted his teeth, hips twitching upward into his palm. “i… i dunno. just missed your voice.”

a pause. you laughed softly.

“that’s weird. you literally saw me earlier today.”

“i know.”

mark closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm against the base of his cock to try and slow himself down. it didn’t help. he was throbbing. leaking. his stomach muscles clenched tight every time you said anything.

“but… i like hearing you.”

you went quiet for a beat. “you sure you’re okay? you sound kinda…”

“i’m fine,” mark said again, but his voice broke in the middle of it, strained and raspy, like he was talking through gritted teeth.

he had to pull the phone back a little as a soft, stuttered moan slipped out of him.

shit.

his hand kept moving — too fast now, driven by pure instinct. he tried to breathe slow, tried to pretend he wasn’t literally jerking off with your voice in his ear, but you weren’t helping.

you chuckled again. “you sound like you’re sweating or something. hot in your room?”

“y-yeah,” mark gasped, closing his fist tighter. “hot. so, so hot.”

his knuckles were turning white around the phone. he pressed it harder to his ear, needing to hear every note of your voice. his eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the wall behind his bed. sweat was already gathering under his arms, on his lower back, on the backs of his thighs. jus toes curled into the sheets, ankles twitching with every slick stroke of his hand.

you kept talking. talking like everything was normal. like your best friend wasn’t secretly jerking off to your voice and biting his fist to keep from moaning into the receiver.

“you been staying up late again?” you asked. “you really sound tired.”

mark choked on a sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t a sob, wasn’t quite a moan.

“mmh—yeah. c-can’t sleep…”

“you should take melatonin or something. or stop watching porn at 3am.”

if only you knew.

mark was panting now, trying to keep it quiet, but every breath was a tremor. his thighs shook with tension, every muscle in his body drawn tight like a bowstring. he sped up again without meaning to, his body begging for release. it wasn’t just the friction. it was you — your voice, your laugh, the way you sounded like you were half-asleep and smiling through every word.

and fuck, he wanted you to hear. even if it ruined everything.

“hey,” you said again, more curious now. “you really okay? you sound like you’re—”

“i’m f—fuck,” mark hissed through his teeth, a broken sound slipping out before he could stop it.

his back arched. he turned his face into the pillow beside him and bit down, hard. his whole body jerked with need.

“s-sorry, sorry—”

you blinked on the other end. “mark… are you… are you sick or something?”

“n-no,” mark whimpered, voice cracking again.

his chest was heaving, cock twitching wildly in his hand now. the wet slick noises of it were starting to get louder — he was so close it hurt.

“just… ngh—just don’t stop talking. please.”

you paused, clearly confused.

“mark, you sure you’re okay? your voice sounds—like you’re in pain or something. you’re not crying, right?”

he almost was.

“no—n-not crying. j-just…”

his fingers slipped, the slick glide of his palm stuttering for a second. he couldn’t do this much longer. every syllable you said was like fuel thrown on the fire. his entire body was one big live wire, and all it would take was one more second of your voice, soft and unknowing in his ear, and he’d—

“oh fuck—fuckfuck—ah—” he gasped suddenly, louder than he meant to.

he couldn’t stop it. his hips jerked up off the bed, his legs kicked once, hard, heel catching on the sheet.

“shit—”

“mark?”

bit it was too late.

he came with a guttural noise halfway between a gasp and a whimper, hand still pumping as thick heat spilled across his abs, wrist, stomach. his thighs were trembling, whole body shaking, the pleasure rolling over him in uncontrollable, stuttering waves. he clenched the phone so tight it creaked in his palm.

your voice cut through the haze.

“…wait. are you—holy shit. were you jerking off?”

mark froze. his face was bright red, chest heaving, jaw slack as the last pulses of pleasure shook through him.

he didn’t answer. he couldn’t.

the silence stretched — the only thing in his room now was the sound of him breathing. hard and shallow. still a little shaky, his hand still cupped over the base of his cock, half-hard and twitching against his sticky palm.

the mess was cooling on his stomach, and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating somewhere between orgasm and panic.

“…mark?”

you sounded different now. not angry. not teasing. just… surprised. confused. and a little quieter. your voice had dropped half a note, softer in a way that made his throat close. mark swallowed.

his voice cracked when he finally said it :

“y-yeah.”

one word. barely more than a whisper.

he shifted in bed, feeling how damp the sheets were under his thighs, how raw his skin felt, sensitive to the air now. still holding the phone, mark let out a low, shaky breath and forced himself to speak again.

“i was. i… i was jerking off.”

silence.

god, he wanted to disappear. the shame was burning. he shut his eyes and dragged a hand down his face, fingers shaking slightly. his cock gave a small, involuntary twitch in his hand even now. he should’ve hung up. should’ve made up some lie. should’ve said anything else.

instead, he added : “i couldn’t stop thinking about your voice. it—fuck, it made it worse. better. i don’t know. i just—needed it.”

there was a pause on the other end. but this one felt different.

“…damn,” you finally said.

the word came out low, cautious.

mark’s breath caught. he squeezed his eyes shut.

“you’re mad,” he mumbled, voice hoarse. “i get it, i’m—fucked up, i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have called—”

“no,” you cut in fast. “no, i’m not mad.”

mark blinked. “you’re… not?”

“i mean…” you hesitated. “that’s kinda… hot.”

mark sat up straighter, heart kicking into a full sprint again. “what?”

your voice was a little different now. lower. a little breathy. “you really called me… while you were doing that?”

mark nodded before realizing you couldn’t see it.

“y-yeah.”

he was still hard. somehow. his body didn’t know how to stop with you still on the phone, your voice suddenly filled with something heavier. curiosity? tension? hunger? whatever it was, it sparked like a live wire right in his chest.

“you… wanted to hear me that bad?” you asked.

and mark could picture the look on your face now — confused, pink-cheeked, maybe biting your lip the way you always did when you were trying to process something fast.

“i did,” mark whispered. “i wanted to imagine you in my ear. i already was. but when i actually heard you… i couldn’t stop. you sounded so warm. like—like you were laying next to me.”

“shit,” you mutter, your breath hitched now. “that’s…”

mark gripped the phone tighter. “what?”

“kind of really hot,” you admitted. “like, weirdly hot.”

something inside mark broke open at that.

his hand reflexively slid down over his cock again — not stroking yet, but holding it, grounding himself in sensation, in your voice and the feeling of still being on the edge, desperate for more. his stomach clenched, hips shifting under the blankets.

“are you…” he tried. “turned on right now?”

a soft exhale from you bedore you anwser.

“yeah.”

the sound mark made wasn’t even a word. just a needy gasp, like he’d been underwater and your answer let him breathe again. he rolled his hips forward a little into his palm, dragging his fingers lightly over the head of his cock. still sensitive. almost unbearable.

“can i come over?” you asked.

mark’s breath hitched. the thought was overwhelming, making his cock twitch even more.

“yes,” he said immediately, too fast, too eager. his voice cracked on it, raw and wet with want. “yes, please—fuck, i want you to.”

there was a pause — not hesitation, but heat. you were quiet for a second, and he could hear you shifting on the other end, probably sitting up now, heart racing like his.

“leave the door unlocked,” you said.

mark nodded again, even though you couldn’t see.

“hurry.”

he didn’t hang up.

#loved!#🫧 7dream #🪽ilichil

2K notes · View notes

like-supercute · 1 month ago

Text

it feels like sitting on a throne, sitting on donghyuck’s face.

pairing :: donghyuck x reader

genre :: smut

warnings :: profanity, oral sex

the flat of his tongue licks against your folds, and you gasp out a whimper that almost sounds like his name. donghyuck has a talent for giving head, and fuck, do you like making use of it. your gaze flickers down to him, meeting his half-lidded eyes between your legs as he laps at your pussy like a man starved.

Keep reading

#munch!hyuck <3 #🫧 7dream #🪽ilichil

1K notes · View notes

like-supercute · 1 month ago

Text

love me like you | l.mk

“they try to romance me, but you got that nasty and that’s what i want”

💿now playing: love me like you by little mix

❯ summary: Fucking the campus fuckboy was supposed to be simple—only curiosity, nothing more. But now he’s everywhere: in your head, in your thoughts, on your date—wait! Is that him leaning against the bar whilst you're out trying to get over him? Of course it is.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: fuck buddies to lovers, smut

❯ words: 7.8k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, angst, arguments, jealousy, possessiveness, making out, confessions, nipple play, slight begging, blow job, unprotected sex, marking, slight hair pulling, swearing, pet names, reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just poor communication until it's not poor anymore idk

The first time you decided to fuck Mark Lee, it was—for lack of a better term—a social experiment. Simply science. He was the campus hotshot (the alleged sex god everyone had either fantasised about or had), and you were just the curious girl in a slutty nurse costume who caught him at the right moment during a Halloween party. Plus, you were horny.

It was supposed to be a one-night, no-strings investigation. Except you’re not a scientist, and he’s not a variable. He’s... Mark Lee. The—now verified—campus sex god with a perfect smile, but the newly discovered emotional availability of a locked door. And yet, you decided to let the fucking keep happening. Again. And again. And again.

The whole thing feels like a mistake now. Not because he’s bad in bed—if he were, this would all be easier—but because he isn’t. He’s stupidly good. And the thing about sleeping with someone like that is: the sex ruins you for anyone else forever. And that’s your whole thesis. The sex had ruined you. The way he looked at you ruined you. The way he said “good girl” while pushing you down on his cock irreparably ruined you.

So, you ended it. Three weeks ago. Because it started to feel cruel that he wouldn’t give you more. That he never even offered. Like he was holding all the power in this weird fuck buddy dynamic and was just watching you dangle to see how long you’d hang on.

Apparently, not long enough to impact his life the same way he had yours, because he didn’t protest. Not that you gave him anything to protest with—you’re not the type to let boys in on the location of your heart, much less its navigation system. Pride’s a stubborn thing. He just looked at you with those unreadable eyes, shrugged, and said, “Cool.”

And so now, you’re here.

Sitting in a restaurant across from a guy you think is named Chenle—he’s nice. Sweet in the way puppies and jelly babies are sweet. You’re trying to give him a chance. More for yourself than for him, because he seems like he could maybe be good for you. Also, he’s an upgrade from Yeonjun, who talked about his money for twenty-four consecutive minutes last week.

But all you can think about is how Chenle’s voice is soft. Too polite. It doesn’t sound like it would ever say anything filthy. Doesn’t sound like Mark whispering “just like that” in your ear while you fall apart for the fourth—or probably fifth—time in a night.

You press your thighs together. Sip your wine. Try not to think about that. Or him.

“Did you drive here?” Chenle asks.

You clear your throat then, blinking yourself back into the room. “No...no. I walked. My dorm’s pretty close.”

He nods, gently. “Well, I could give you a ride back, if you want?”

Do you want him to take you home? Do you want to let him kiss you in the hallway and pretend you’re not thinking of someone else the entire time? Do you want to fuck this guy on the first date? Will you enjoy it?…Probably not.

“There’s really no need,” you say, brushing his offer off with a wave of your hand. “It’s not far.”

He nods. “Of course. No pressure.”

He’s so... agreeable. You hate that for some reason. There’s no edge. No challenge.

Chenle starts talking about the dessert menu—something about cookie dough being his guilty pleasure. You try to smile, you want to seem present, but you don’t actually care. If you did, you’d probably argue. Tell him he doesn’t need to feel guilty about liking a universally adored dessert. That guilt should be reserved for real sins. The kind that keep you up at night. The kind involving dirty flashbacks of Mark’s hand gripping your throat while he dragged his mouth down your collarbone—stop it!

“God, I’m really glad we did this. You’re easy to talk to,” Chenle grins at you across the table.

You blink at him. He’s been talking at you, not to you. Still, you take another sip. “That’s nice of you.”

“You know, I don’t go on dates much,” he admits. “I’m kinda surprised you said yes to this, actually.”

That gets your attention. You glance up. “Why?”

“I dunno. You just seem… cooler than me,” he shrugs casually. “And, everyone kind of thought you and Mark Lee were together together.”

Your stomach does a weird, involuntary flip. “What!?”

He gives a half-laugh. “Did you think the two of you were discreet or something?”

“I—well—” you stammer, throat suddenly dry.

“Relax,” he says, laughing again. “There’s a lot of talk when the campus fuckboy stops going to parties, and no one’s heard a new sex story about him since Halloween. You know, when he was last seen walking you home.”

Your face heats. People were talking about the two of you? He hadn’t been seen with anyone else? You never asked him for anything. Not clarity, not commitment, not to stay. You didn’t want to give him the opportunity to say no. But now—knowing he didn’t—knowing he hasn’t—

It makes your stomach ache. You’re not sure whether it’s longing or relief.

You cough lightly, trying to buy space. “We… weren’t serious. Mark Lee doesn’t do serious.”

Chenle nods, face softening like he’s just put his foot in something. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“I’m not upset,” you cut in. “It’s just… I don’t think he’ll be together together with anyone. Boys like that never are.”

He laughs, softer now. “Well, I guess I should be glad he’s one of those boys. Helped me match with you.”

You nod, trying to arrange your face into something pleasant. “Mm, I guess.”

It’s not Chenle’s fault. He’s really sweet. He’s really trying. He really thinks this is going somewhere. He doesn’t know you’re somewhere else entirely. He doesn’t know you still wonder if Mark still keeps your earrings in his nightstand. That some part of you hopes he does.

Then, the restaurant door opens, and everything inside you goes very, very still. Your skin prickles like it’s being watched. Branded. And when your eyes flick toward the bar, you find the exact reason why.

Mark fucking Lee.

Wearing that same leather jacket—the one you once threw on after he fucked you senseless on the floor of his dorm, your bare legs freezing against the tiles while he went to shower and didn’t ask you to stay. You gave it back the day you ended things.

Your mouth goes dry, an unbearable knot forming in your stomach.

He’s leaning back against the bar now, elbows splayed like he owns the fucking room. Head tilted, scanning the crowd like he’s bored with everyone in it—until he finds you. Then there’s a twitch of recognition behind his eyes. A curl at the corner of his mouth that might be a smirk, might be a snarl…like he already knew you’d be here.

Your jaw tenses. Because now that he’s here, those memories, those flashbacks of you melting the last time he called you honey with a hand between your legs, pound in your head that much more.

Chenle says something. You don’t hear it. You hear him—Mark—everywhere. The ghosts of his voice echoing in your skull. The phantom press of his fingers on your thighs. That last night—three weeks ago—when you finally said it out loud: This doesn’t work for me anymore. Which wasn’t the truth. The truth was: Please tell me I’m wrong. Please don’t let this be it. Please pick me.

But he just shrugged.

Like you hadn’t just handed him a lifeline. Like you weren’t standing in the middle of his room with your heart bleeding, waiting for him to give you something. Anything.

All he gave you was: “Cool.”

Your lip twitches. You hate him. It’s not enough that he ruined your sex life—no. He has to ruin your rebound, too, just by existing in the same fucking room.

You blink back into the present, back to the table, to Chenle—who’s still talking. Still smiling. Still blissfully unaware that you’ve just had a full-blown emotional spiral in the span of thirty seconds.

He reaches across the table, fingers brushing yours in that gentle, careful way good boys do. And you flinch. It’s slight. But it’s there. And it’s enough. Because Mark sees it. Of course he fucking does. And that stupid, smug, ruin-you smile of his curves just a little deeper. Like he’s winning.

You want to scream. Or slap him. Or maybe fuck him—right here, right now—just to purge it from your bloodstream. Like he’s a fever you can sweat out. (He’s not. He never will be. You know that. You hate that.) You want to grab Chenle’s face and kiss him until your mouth forgets the sound it makes when Mark tells you you’re good.

“You know what? I will take you up on that ride.”

You say that louder than necessary—loud enough that it startles even you.

Chenle looks up, startled. He blinks, caught somewhere between surprised and mildly confused. “Oh—yeah? Okay. Cool. Totally. Yeah.” He laughs a little under his breath, flustered now, already half-standing. “Let me just grab our coats.”

You nod, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. You don’t know what you’re doing. You just know you want Mark to see. You want him to see you choosing someone else. Even if it’s not a real choice.

Chenle disappears to pay and grab your coats. You barely stand yourself before Mark slides into his now-vacant chair across from you.

You don't look at him.

Not yet.

You won't give him that.

But you can feel the heat of him from across the table. That static charge in the air when he’s too close. Always too fucking close. And then—so casual it’s insulting—his voice:

“Cute.”

You look at him.

“Sorry?” you say, syrupy-sweet, but there’s a layer of poison underneath. “Did you say something?”

He smiles. “I said it’s cute. Watching you try so hard to prove you’re over me.”

Your chest tightens. “Who said I ever wanted you?”

“Well,” he gestures vaguely in the direction Chenle left. “It’s pretty clear you don’t want that guy.”

“Oh yeah?” You arch a brow. “And how exactly would you know what I want?”

“You flinched, Y/N.”

You bristle. Immediately.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I just…” You hesitate. Eyes flicking to the bar, where Chenle is still standing with the host, sweet and harmless and catastrophically wrong for you. The kind of boy who pays the bill. The kind of boy who thinks liking cookie dough is a sin. The kind of boy who would never fuck you against a wall without checking twice if you’re okay.

Sweet. Safe. Decent. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

“I didn’t expect his touch,” you finish, quieter now. “That’s all.”

Mark hums. Low. Entirely unconvinced. Like he’s humouring you.

So you keep digging. You can’t help it.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want him.”

His smile twitches, eyes dragging over you. “He’s not your type.”

You straighten. “I don’t have a type.”

“Sure you do,” he says like this is a conversation about wine preferences, not people. “You like bad. You like trouble. You like messy, and loud, and… complicated.”

He leans in a little, voice dipping.

“You like dirty. And nasty. And bad.”

Your mouth opens—closes—then opens again.

There’s heat blooming up your neck, across your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s rage or shame or arousal or all three at once.

“And is that supposed to be you, is it?”

Mark grins—wide, infuriating. A smirk that’s been haunting your sleep for weeks. “Woah,” he says, all mock-surprise. “Who said anything about me?”

You hate him. You actually fucking hate him. Because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You still think about me, honey?”

“No,” you snap, too quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

Mark tilts his head, all faux confusion and infuriating calm. His brow quirks like you’ve just said something profoundly stupid.

“It’s not?”

Your jaw tightens. “No.”

His grin sharpens. All wolf, no boy. “So… you don’t think about me at all?”

You cross your arms. Shift in your seat, like maybe if you move far enough away from him you’ll be able to compose yourself. (You won’t.) Because your body is already answering for you. Loudly. The press of your thighs beneath the table. The heat climbing up your neck. That familiar, horrible pulse between your legs that remembers him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Hard. “You really think you’re that special? Think I can’t help but think about you?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Am I? Do you?”

God. He’s so—so smug. So obnoxious. So annoyingly beautiful in that fucking jacket, smelling like he always does. You can’t stand him. And you can’t stop looking at his mouth.

You shift again. This time to put space between you, but it feels more like an admission. And Mark sees it. He sees everything. He sees you.

“Why do you care?” You ask.

He blinks. “What?”

You lean in now. Eyes narrowed. “Why are you even here? Why do you care if I flinched? If I’m into him or not? What difference does it make to you, huh?”

Mark watches you. No smirk now. No grin.

You keep going, blood hot under your skin.

“Are you jealous?”

“Yes.”

You stare at him, like maybe you misheard. Like maybe he said, guess or bless or chess. Because there’s no way this boy—this fuck boy—this emotionally unavailable, perennially half-interested, commitment-phobic boy—is jealous. Of anyone. About you.

“You’re…?” you stammer, blinking at him like he’s grown a second head. “You’re jealous?

"Yes," he says again. "I think the thought of a man that isn’t me touching you is revolting, actually. So I suppose that would qualify as jealousy. Though I can’t say it’s an emotion I’m particularly familiar with."

You stare at him. And you want to scoff. Want to roll your eyes. Want to claw your way out of the ache that suddenly balloons in your chest.

“Well.” You force the word out, brittlely. “You have no right to be.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’ve just said something objectively false.

“I’m not yours,” you add.

“I know,” he grits out. “You made that very clear.”

“I made that clear?” you echo.

He nods once. “You ended it. Not me.”

He’s right. You did. But the thing is—you didn’t end it because you didn’t want him. You ended it because it felt safer to walk away first than wait for him to do it.

"So—" you start, eyes narrowed now. "You never wanted to label it."

It sounds juvenile. Petulant. But it’s the only rebuttal you can give that won’t tear your chest open and spill everything you’ve been trying to keep inside.

“Neither did you,” he throws back.

You scoff. “Yeah, well—you’re a boy.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s not very feminist of you, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flush. The humiliation is instant and hot and you hate that he’s right.

“Don’t lecture me about feminism,” you mutter. “We were fucking for three months, Mark. Three months. And you never once asked me out. Never once asked me to be your girlfriend. What was I supposed to do with that?”

He studies you then. “You never asked me to be your boyfriend either.”

You laugh—harsh, humourless. “That’s what you got from that? Really? You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re avoidant,” he shoots back, eyes dark. “You run before anyone gets the chance to walk away from you.”

“Okay, fine,” you say, arms folding across your chest. “I guess that makes us both as bad as each other then, doesn’t it?”

He looks away then at the table. His jaw clenches, and when he speaks again, it’s like the words hurt coming out.

“So this is what you want, huh? You want some guy to wine and dine you? Woo you? Call you pretty and ask you to be his girlfriend over overpriced pasta?”

You blink. “Doesn’t everyone?”

He looks up at you then, eyes glassy, burning. “I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know. If I knew, you wouldn’t be on another date right now with some fucking loser.”

You don’t say anything.

“I’m trying,” he says, and his voice breaks just enough to make your stomach twist. “I’m trying to understand you. I’m trying to be better at this, whatever this is. I’ve never had a girlfriend before, Y/N. And the only person I’ve wanted to figure it out with is you. And I’m fucking it all up.”

There’s a vulnerability in his voice that you’ve never heard before. And you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t know how to hold it. So you flounder.

You do that thing you always do—say nothing. Hope silence will cushion the ache. Avoid.

You can feel your pulse in your neck. Your fingertips. Behind your eyes. And then you feel guilty. Because you see Chenle.

He’s walking toward the table, calm and unsuspecting. You bite your lip, which makes Mark turn, following your gaze. His entire posture changes. His shoulders tense, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are already narrowed. Already knowing. Already hurt.

“You want him to take you home,” he says, voice deep, barely controlled. “But you want me to fuck you against the door when you get there.”

Your stomach drops. Your mouth parts, no words forming. Because—he’s not wrong. He’s so right it makes you nervous.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he whispers.

But you can’t.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he repeats. “Say the words and I’ll walk away from this table right now.”

No words come. Because he’s not wrong. And you’re a coward. And that’s when Chenle reaches the table. There’s a silence. An awkward one. Chenle’s eyes bounce from you to Mark, to the space between your bodies. He slows, smile faltering.

“Hey,” he says casually, but there’s a flicker behind his eyes. Suspicion. Caution. “Everything alright?”

“Perfect,” Mark says, with a nod. “We were just catching up.

Chenle doesn’t answer immediately. He glances between you both, clocking the flush in your cheeks, the tension in your shoulders, the fact that Mark still hasn’t looked away from you.

“You’re in my chair,” he says to Mark.

His tone is even. But there's something unmistakably clipped about it. A quiet edge beneath the civility. Mark doesn’t move. Instead, he leans back slightly, his smirk lazy, but his eyes—his eyes are still locked on you, and they’re anything but.

“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he says. “Y/N didn’t.”

And it’s so deliberate. The way he doesn’t break eye contact. The way he doesn’t even glance at Chenle. Like he’s reminding you—not him—exactly who was here first.

You feel the air shift between them. A low crackle. Men.

You force a tight smile. “It’s fine. We were just leaving anyway—”

“I can take you home,” Mark cuts in smoothly, already sitting up straighter. “It’s on the way, if I remember right.”

You freeze.

Chenle’s head turns slowly toward Mark, expression unreadable now. You can practically feel the tension curdling in your chest.

“No need,” Chenle rebukes. “I’ve got it covered.”

Mark tilts his head. “Wasn’t talking to you.”

Chenle’s gaze flicks to you. His jaw ticks once. “Y/N?”

You look back at him—heart in your throat, guilt crowding your chest, shame curling beneath your skin. Because all you can hear is Mark’s voice echoing back to you—’You want him to take you home. But you want me to fuck you against the door when you get there.’

And the worst part? He’s right.

Mark leans back in the chair—his chair now, apparently—ankle casually resting on one knee like he’s lounging in his own living room, not hijacking your date. Then, with a slow glance at Chenle, he says:

“I’d be doing you a favour, you know, man?”

Chenle grimaces. “Sorry?”

Mark shrugs—one of those lazy, lopsided shrugs.“Her dorm. It’s kind of a maze if you don’t know the layout. Messy.”

You nearly choke on your own tongue.

Chenle frowns, confused but not stupid. “I think I can figure it out.”

Mark hums, tapping a lazy rhythm against the table with his fingers. “Sure. If you’re into wasting time fiddling with that broken lock she refuses to get fixed. Doesn’t like confrontation with the landlord.”

You shoot him a look—what the fuck are you doing—but he just flashes you that lazy half-smile.

Chenle’s jaw ticks. “Funny. I don’t remember you being her RA.”

Mark leans forward slightly, elbows on knees, grin widening. “Nah, not an RA. Just… familiar.”

You open your mouth—ready to shut it all down, to say Mark, stop, before I kill you—but he gets there first. Again.

“You still in that shared suite?” he asks you, breezily, like Chenle isn’t three feet away with clenched fists and murder in his eyes.

“Mark,” you warn.

But he’s on a roll now, chin in hand, eyes glittering with something dangerous. “God, your old roommate—Miyeon, right? Absolute nightmare. Likes to hex the men that come in and out the dorm that one. Beware, buddy.”

Chenle turns to you. Slowly. “I thought you two weren’t serious.”

You swallow, throat dry. “It wasn’t—it was just…a while ago.”

Mark exhales a short laugh. Cold. Pleased. “‘A while ago.’ Sure. Guess we’re playing the modesty card tonight.”

“Mark.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s obvious. The smirk is for Chenle, but the stare is all for you.

“I’m just offering some information and being helpful,” he says. “Friendly, even.”

Chenle lets out a bitter breath. “Yeah. Nothing screams friendly quite like pissing all over your territory and peacocking how much you know her just because you’re jealous.”

Mark bristles—jaw tight, lips pressing into something cold and dangerous. “Jealous?” he spits. “You think she’s yours?”

“Well, she’s certainly not yours.”

You’ve had enough. “She is right here, you absolute morons.”

They’re squaring up for part two of whatever testosterone-fueled dick swinging contest this is. But before they can hurl more barbed words across the table, you snap—louder than you meant to, trembling slightly under the exhaustion that’s settled in your bones.

“Chenle. It’s fine.”

He turns to you, brows pinched.

“He’s right,” you continue quietly. “He lives near my dorm. It’s not far. I’ll just…” You hesitate. Swallow. “I’ll call you.”

Chenle stares at you. Then past you. Then at Mark. And back to you again.

There’s a pause, and you see the moment it sinks in. Watch it bloom across his face that you’re not coming home with him. That whatever this evening was for him—the promise of something, or at least the pretence—it ends here. Under the dim glow of restaurant lighting, with your ex-situationship getting a front row seat.

You’re doing to him exactly what you say you hate. That thing—how people pretend they’re just “figuring themselves out” when really, they’re just emotionally unavailable. You’re no better. Equally emotionally preoccupied.

He exhales, quiet, like he’s swallowing everything he wants to say. Then he nods. Just once. “Okay.”

And it hurts. How polite he is. How gentle. How he gives you the grace you don’t deserve. You’re an asshole.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says softly. Then he turns—just like that, without so much as a glance back.

You don’t move until the door shuts behind him. The silence between you and Mark hums like a live wire. You equally don’t dare look at him.

“Y/N.”

Your jaw clenches. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t let me turn around and see you gloating like you just won something right now.”

He leans in closer. Not touching, but close enough that your skin buzzes. “You think this is about winning?”

You finally turn to him, eyes hot. “Isn’t it always, with you?”

His face hardens. But not cruelly. Just… like he hates that you think that. “No,” he says. “Not with you.”

And maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he even believes it. But you don’t. Not fully. Not yet. Because you’ve been circling this boy for far too long. You know him too well, you think.

“I hurt him,” you whisper. “He didn’t deserve that.”

Mark’s face softens—just barely. “I know.”

You shake your head. “And you… You made it worse. You wanted to make it worse.”

He doesn’t deny it. And it infuriates you. How arrogant he is. How demanding. How you let him be like that with you. You shove your chair back, the legs dragging against the tile with a wince-inducing screech.

“You’re walking me home now,” you say flatly. “Since you scared off my date.”

Technically—that’s not true. It was you. You were the one who let Chenle go. The one who didn’t fight for him. But it’s easier to blame Mark. Easier to be angry than it is to be honest. Because the truth? You’re frustrated. Frustrated that no one can live up to your expectations the way he does. That no one can love you, ruin you, ruin for you—like this boy beside you.

You walk out of the restaurant together without speaking, without touching. The air is cold, but the silence is colder. It isn’t until you’re halfway down the block, your heels clicking against pavement, that he speaks again.

“Were you gonna let him up tonight if he walked you home?”

You laugh. A dry, bitter sound that tastes like blood in the back of your throat. Because—really? Who the fuck does he think he is? Where does he get the audacity?

“Does it matter?”

He stops walking.

“No… I guess it doesn’t.”

You scoff, shaking your head. Your hands are fists at your sides and your throat feels tight. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to ruin my date and then ask me shit like that.”

“I didn’t ruin anything,” he mutters. “He left. That’s on him.”

“No,” you snap, taking a step toward him. “He left because of you. Because you sat there and made it unbearable for him to stay.”

He squares his shoulders, eyes flashing. “Well, if I scared him off so easy, maybe he doesn’t deserve you. Because so long as I’m here, Y/N—” His voice cracks a little. “I’m not fucking going away.”

You want so desperately for that to be true. But it isn’t.

“You went away, Mark,” you say, shaking your head. “You let me leave. You watched me walk out of your room, out of your life, and you didn’t stop me. Not until I showed up with someone else.”

“And you didn’t ask me to stay either,” he fires back, voice rising. “You told me it didn’t work for you anymore—you ended it. I was trying to fucking respect that. I was trying to give you space because I don’t know how to do this.”

His chest heaves. “But I can’t shut my mouth anymore. I can’t sit back and pretend I don’t care. I do. I care so much.”

That floundering feeling claws its way back up your throat. Bitter and breathless. You shake your head because it’s the only thing you can do—because if you speak, you’ll unravel.

“You don’t mean that.”

He exhales sharply, rubs his jaw like he’s trying to hold himself together. “I don’t mean that?” he echoes. “How do you think I knew to show up here tonight?”

He takes a step closer.

“Haechan saw you with that guy and told me to do something about it. Because apparently, I can’t shut up about you. Because I keep talking about you like you’re mine. Because I keep bringing everything—every fucking thing in my life—back to you.”

He steps closer, and his eyes—God, his eyes. They’re wide and glassy and burning like they could swallow you whole.

“I’ve told you, Y/N. I’m trying,” he says, voice breaking. “I want to try. I want to figure this out. With you. Even if I don’t know how.”

You swallow hard, throat burning.

“There’s not a single corner of my mind where you don’t exist,” he breathes. “You’re everywhere. I lay in bed thinking about you. I wake up thinking about you.” He exhales. “I can’t stop thinking about how much I want you.”

He pauses, looks down, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter.

“I fucked up by not fighting for you. I know that. I should’ve said something—done something. But you didn’t fight for me either.” His voice cracks then, just slightly, and it’s that splintered sound that guts you. “You just… left,” he murmurs. “ One day, we were okay—or I thought we were. And the next, we weren’t.”

You bite your lip, eyes flickering away from his. “I didn’t want to be one of those girls who thinks she can fix you,” you whisper. “Who thinks she can tame you”

Mark looks at you like you’ve just slapped him. And maybe you have. With the truth.

He scoffs. Dry. “Right. Because God forbid you be one of those girls. Better to be the one who ghosts before you get ghosted.”

You flinch. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he fires back. “You walked out. You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“Because you didn’t ask for one!” you shout. “You didn’t want one!”

“You don’t know what I wanted!” His voice breaks against the pavement, and he’s breathing hard now, jaw tight, eyes on fire. “You never asked.”

You step back, arms crossed like a shield you know won’t help. “I shouldn’t have had to. If you wanted me, you should’ve said it.”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?!” He snaps.

You don’t answer, and he stares at you. “Look, I’m not good at this, Y/N,” he says finally, voice low and breaking. “I don’t do feelings. I don’t do relationships. I don’t do… this.”

“Yeah,” you sneer. “Believe me—I noticed.”

“I don’t know how to be soft with people,” he explains. “But you kept me in this box—this neat little no-strings, no-questions, no-expectations box—and now you’re pissed that I didn’t crawl out of it? I didn’t know how to crawl out of it.”

Your silence says everything.

He laughs again, but this time it’s desperate. Fractured. “God, you’re such a hypocrite.”

“And you’re a coward,” you spit. “You wanted me, and you knew I wanted more, and you let me starve for it.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. And then he just says it.

“I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Your eyes narrow then, “And what exactly did I deserve?”

His jaw tightens, throat working around the words. “You deserve that guy,” he says, eventually. “That—Chenle guy. Because he’s sweet and he’ll be good for you. He’ll definitely romance you and probably never upset you.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing frantically like he’s furious with himself.

You nod, slowly. “He is,” you say.

And it stops him dead. His eyes find yours, his jaw grinding tight now. He steps in then. Close. Too close. You can feel the heat of his breath. The anger. The hurt. It radiates off him like steam.

“You were gonna let him kiss you tonight, weren’t you?”

You lift your chin. “Maybe.”

He breathes hard through his nose. “Say it again.”

“Maybe.”

And then it’s all a blur.

His hands—on your face. On your jaw. In your hair. Everywhere, just like his thoughts. His mouth crashes into yours like he’s angry at it. Like he can’t hear another word of you not understanding him.

It’s not sweet. Mark doesn’t do sweet, and he thinks that’s his problem. It’s not. You like the rough, the breathless, the unpracticed. Because it’s raw, so goddamn real you almost gasp from the first brush of lips alone.

Your back hits the brick wall of your dorm building with a thud, but you don’t flinch. You dare him. You dare him to kiss you like that again. And he does. Because this is what you want, what you crave, what Chenle could never give you.

“You were really gonna let him do this?” he mutters against your lips, voice wrecked and so far gone it makes your knees buckle. “Let him touch you like this?”

Your fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt, tight, like if you don’t hold on to him you might float away with how light-headed he’s making you feel.

“And if I was?” you breathe, lips brushing his like it hurts to pull away.

He growls—actually growls—like the question wounds him. “I’d have to kill him,” he replies, forehead pressed to yours.“Because it’s supposed to be me.”

He kisses you again, and it’s all teeth and tongue. He’s not just kissing you—he’s devouring you. You moan into it—he loses it. Presses you closer like there’s still space left to close because maybe, if he touches you deeply enough, desperately enough, he can get any other man out of your mind.

Little does he know, he’s already done that. Already claimed that part of your soul.

You don’t remember walking. Only hands and mouths.The way his lips refuse to leave yours even as you fumble toward the entrance to the elevator, backs hitting walls, breaths stolen, half-sentences, broken kisses because neither of you knows how to stop.

You mash the elevator button with a shaky hand, his mouth still locked. His fingers grip your waist like he’s warning you—this is it. This is us. No one else.

You kiss him harder.

The elevator dings. And then it’s more fumbling, more hunger, more bruised lips. His hands drag up under your shirt like he can’t wait another second; he’s willing to risk the openness. By the time the doors slide open on your floor, you’re breathless. Dizzy. Unsteady in that good way—like your legs don’t quite know whether to run or wrap around him.

He practically drags you out, laughing under his breath, but it’s not joyful. It’s all sexy and sinful.

You fumble the key into the lock, only for it to stick, like it always does. You curse. He takes it from your hand.

“Move,” he mutters.

One twist, a shoulder shove, and it opens with a groan of old hinges. And once you’re inside, he lets the door slam shut. He picks you up like you weigh nothing—like carrying you is a problem he’s craved having—and drops you onto the bed without so much as a sigh.

He crawls over you, lips never leaving your skin—your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—dragging his teeth across all the places he knows will make you gasp. And God, he knows. But so do you.

You arch into him, spine bending like you’re offering yourself up, hands threading into his hair, tugging—just enough to draw that sound from the back of his throat. That low, ragged groan that makes you feel drunk. Drenched in him.

“Why were you on a date with him,” he mutters, voice hot against your chest, “if you’d still let me touch you like this, honey?” His words scrape across your skin sharper than his teeth. “Tell me why.”

Your breath catches.

“Tell me why you picked this shirt,” he demands, eyes narrowing, fingers slipping under the hem, “When you know it’s my favourite?”

He tugs it higher, off, discarded without thought. His voice is nothing but gravel and desperation. “Talk to me. Please,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “You know where I stand. Where do you?”

His hand moves then—palming over your bra like he’s coaxing you into honesty. His eyes are fully blown, pupils swallowing the brown colour as he watches you squirm beneath his touch. He’s pleading—but there’s nothing sweet or pathetic about it.

He massages you through the fabric, purposefully. Like a punishment. Because he knows you’ll want more—knows you’ll need more—and he won’t give it to you. Not yet. Not until you break. Not until you tell him the truth.

You whine—quiet, high, broken—hips twitching beneath him, fingers clawing at his shoulders. But he waits. Certain that you’ll give in. And he’s right.

“Mark,” you whisper.

He doesn’t move faster. Just that teasing hovering. A steady pressure through the lace of your bra, keeping you right on the edge.

“I wanted you,” you gasp. “Okay?”

His hand stills, just for a second. Your eyes close. You can’t look at him when you say it.

“I wanted you to be my boyfriend. I wanted you in every way other than the sex.”

He doesn’t speak. So you keep going—because it’s pouring out now, unfiltered. (And also because his fingers are dangerously close to tugging on your nipple, and you’ve never wanted anything more, but that’s beside the point. Mostly.)

“But I was scared. Because you didn’t want that, and I thought if I asked—if I even hinted—you’d pull away. That you’d leave. I didn’t want you in some small, fractured way anymore.”

He rewards you for the honesty, hand finally slipping beneath the bra, fingers splaying over bare skin, and you gasp—the sound swallowed by his mouth, like he needs to consume that too. Everything you give, he takes.

His eyes darken—if that’s even possible. “And what about now?”

You pant, slightly dazed. “What about now?”

“I’m ninety per cent sure I’m about to fuck you,” he says, like it’s a fact. “And you just told me you don’t want me in that small, fractured way anymore.” His mouth brushes yours. “So what?” he murmurs. “You asking me to be your boyfriend?”

Arrogant little shit.

Your lips part, something between a laugh and a moan slipping out. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“Yes,” He says without hesitation. Then his voice drops. “But I need you to know—you never look at that fucking guy you saw tonight again if you agree.” He leans in close—so close his words practically melt onto your skin. “You’re not calling him, you’re deleting his number,” he continues.“I’ve never done this boyfriend thing before, but I’m pretty sure possessiveness might come with the territory with me, honey.”

You don’t even have time to respond before he pulls the bra down completely and mouths at your nipple—hot and open and starved—and suddenly, your legs aren’t entirely working anymore.

Your hands tangle in his hair, helpless as you gasp, “That a promise?”

He pulls back slowly—cruelly. Mouth slick with his own spit. His thumb drags over your nipple, then sweeps lower, tracing the curve of your breast. His eyes drop with it, flare with something feral.

“I don’t know,” he says, and the smirk on his face is borderline obscene. “You tell me.”

You follow his gaze down—see the red mark he’s left blooming across your chest, flushed and raw, bruising like something claimed.

He looks proud. Smug. Like he’s never had the right to label you before—and now he has. So he will. Your breath shudders. Because you’re not used to being looked at like that.

“I don’t know,” he says again, dragging the pad of his thumb across your breast with a sinister slowness. “You tell me, girlfriend.”

The last word is practically a purr. Dipped in arrogance. Dipped in possession.

It should make you roll your eyes, but it doesn’t. It makes you throb, because equally, you wanted him. You knew he was your number one, and now you’re his.

You lurch up, catch his jaw in your hand and kiss him—really kiss him—this open-mouthed, almost wild thing. Messy and biting and so deserved. He groans, deep in his chest, and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard.

“You’re such a cocky bastard,” you mutter against his lips.

“I am,” he agrees, without shame. “But I’m your cocky bastard.”

Your giggle breaks somewhere between his mouth—cut off by the way he’s rolling his hips against you, gentle and ruinous, fully clothed but pressing right where you need him like he’s been cataloguing your reactions for months. (He has.)

“Say it,” he murmurs, mouth now at your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. Nipping. “Say I’m your boyfriend.”

“Mark,” you whine, hips shifting for a lick of friction.

“Say it,” he growls again, just under his breath. “Say it or I stop.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

And then he’s kissing you again—harder now. Hands back on your body, feeling, exploring.

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he says when he finally unclasps your bra.

But the second it’s off, the second you’re bare and trembling beneath him, something shifts. Because he’s still fully clothed. Still composed. Still smug. Still in control. And you suddenly feel far too naked for someone who just gave him your truth.

So you push at his chest.

He stares, surprised—but you don’t falter. You shove him again, harder, and this time he lands flat on his back, propped against the headboard as you paw at the hem of his t-shirt.

“Honey—” he starts, but you’re already climbing over him, straddling his hips like you were built to belong there.

“You’ve had your fun, turnabout’s fair play, boyfriend,” you say.

And oh, that word—boyfriend—it does something to him. Makes him groan like you said something filthier. Makes his eyes roll back like he’s seconds away from losing it.

You roll your hips over his bulge and he bucks beneath you—cursing, breath stuttering, jaw clenched against the sound he almost makes.

“God, you’re a menace,” he grits out.

You smile sweetly. Tilt your head. Pretend to consider it.

“No,” you whisper, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans. “I’m yours. Remember?”

He groans—loud. Borderline helpless. And it only fuels you.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for months, Mark,” you murmur, lips skimming down his chest. Your teeth drag gently across his ribs, just as slow, just as possessive. “Walking around all emotionally unavailable and unfairly hot. Do you know what that does to a girl?”

“I can imagine,” he chokes out, shivering when you kiss just above his waistband. “I did feel the same way.”

“Guess I was emotionally unavailable too, huh?”

Then your mouth hovers over the button of his jeans.

He stops breathing.

“Want me to make it up to you?”

He lets out a laugh—sort of. More of a stunned breath and a whispered curse. A sound that says: you’re going to be the death of me. But it dies on his lips when you pop the button open, tugging his jeans down enough to free him—hard and twitching in his boxers.

You wrap your hand around him. His whole body locks. Jaw tight. Eyes shut. Fingers twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or simply enjoy this.

“I hate how good you are at this,” he mutters.

You smirk, lips ghosting over the head of his cock.

“I’ve barely touched you.”

“Then be a good girl and fucking touch me,” he breathes, “Please.”

You smile against him, then take him into your mouth, just the tip at first—light suction, teasing tongue—and his hands finally move. One grips the edge of the pillow behind him like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this planet. The other hovers near your hair before tangling in it.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasps.

You hum around him in agreement. Then take him deeper.

You hollow your cheeks, pull back slightly, then sink again, your tongue tracing that sensitive underside as you do. His grip tightens in your hair—not rough, never rough—but desperate. Like he’s hanging on for dear life.

“Fuck, baby—” he gasps. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You pull off just enough to glance up at him, lips slick, pupils blown, and smile like a girl who knows exactly what she’s doing. “Only fair.”

He laughs, but it’s breathless. Shaky. “You’re evil.”

“Says Mr Possessiveness comes with the territory,” you pump him slowly with your hand, tongue flicking the tip again like you're trying to drive him insane. “Besides…you love it.”

“I really fucking do.”

You take him back into your mouth, deeper this time until you’ve got him lifting his hips of their own accord—until he’s barely holding himself back. His breath stutters. His head thuds against the headboard. You can feel him trying to restrain himself, trying to stay composed, but he's long past that point.

“Okay—okay, stop, honey,” he groans, voice cracking as he tugs gently at your hair. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

You lift your head just enough to speak, mouth hovering over him. “You want to cum in my mouth, Mark?”

His eyes roll back. His hand flies to his face like it’ll hide the sheer, visceral reaction to hearing you say that. “Jesus Christ.”

“That’s not a no.”

He opens his mouth to reply, to give you some smartass comment—but all that comes out is a sound. A broken, needy, sound that makes your legs clamp together.

“I do,” he pants, voice wrecked. “I really fucking do, honey.”

His hand curves around your jaw, eyes locking on yours with a look so desperate, so full of want, it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“But the first time I cum with you as my girlfriend,” he says. “I want to be inside you. Please.”

And it’s not just the plea that gets you.

It’s the need in it. Like this isn’t just sex for him—because it was at one point and now he’s done with that. He needs you wholly.

You blink down at him, chest tight. And for a moment, neither of you moves.

Then you kiss him. You kiss him like you’re trying to burn this moment into his skin—into yours. Your hands dive into his hair, his wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he groans into your mouth.

You grind against him and he bucks, helpless, barely holding on.

“Take it off,” he demands, fumbling at the waistband of your underwear. “Take everything off.”

You do. Slowly. Keeping your eyes on him the whole time. Watching the way his breath hitches, the way his pupils darken as you climb back into his lap, skin against skin now.

You reach between you, guiding him to the entrance of your dripping cunt, and his whole body tenses.

“You ready?” you whisper, fingers threading through his.

He nods. Then shakes his head. Then groans. “God, please.”

So you sink down onto him. Inch by inch. Stretching, gasping, clinging to his shoulders as he fills you completely. And when you're finally seated in his lap, skin pressed to skin, heart to heart—he looks at you like he's never seen anything more beautiful.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—God. You feel like mine.”

You kiss him again. Slow this time. Deep. Meaningful.

Because you are his. And for once, he knows it. You know it. And no one—not a single soul on this planet—but this man could ever love you like this. Love you right.

Nobody loves you like him.

Nobody fucks you like him.

#the amount of laps i had to take while reading this???#generational.#🫧 7dream #🪽ilichil

2K notes · View notes

like-supercute · 1 month ago

Text

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ like you mean it — m. riku

pairing: volleyball captain!riku x cheerleader!reader genre: angst, smut, jealousy-fueled reunion, emotional tension content: locker room sex, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, emotional vulnerability, jealousy, possessive undertones, hurt/comfort, slight roughness, filthy talk wc: ~2.1k notes: two idiots in love who don’t know how to talk about their feelings so they fuck about them instead

the gym’s still buzzing at the end of the practice. you’re in your uniform, high ponytail messy and slipping, cheeks flushed from the last set, thighs burning, lungs still catching up, but it feels good. there’s laughter around you, voices fading into the corners of your mind as you lean against the bench, stretching lazily.

sion’s next to you, teasing you about missing the beat on the final cheer, and you nudge his arm, rolling your eyes, smiling despite yourself. it’s harmless.

except, riku is watching.

he’s across the court, near the net, towel slung around his neck, fingers idly tossing a volleyball in the air and catching it with the same hand like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

his eyes are pinned to you, waiting for you to look at him, and when your gaze finally drifts over, he flashes that signature smile. all charm, all teeth. fake as hell.

he hasn’t looked away since the whistle blew and he’s not trying to hide it. eyes flicking over your legs, the curve of your back, the way your lips curl when you smile at someone else. he’s always been good at pretending he doesn’t care. brushing things off with a snort and a joke. but this, this is different. it sits under his skin.

you look away. because screw him.

screw the way he vanished right after the game. no calls. no texts. no explanation. like you didn’t spend the night before in his bed, tangled in his sheets. like he didn’t pull you into his sheets, his breath hot against your ear when he panted “you know you drive me insane, right?” while grinding into you slow and desperate, whispering things he clearly didn’t mean.

like none of it ever mattered.

so you laugh a little too loud at something sion says. it’s not funny, not really, but the way riku’s gaze burns into you makes the petty win worth it. even if your skin’s still prickling from the memory of his hands gripping your waist, his mouth on your neck, the low groan in his chest when you kissed down his stomach. even if you feel his absence in every place he touched last.

you don’t look back this time. but you feel him. watching.

the changing room is empty when you get there. your teammates are long gone, you’re sitting on one of the benches, in no rush. unlacing your shoes slowly, cooling off, skirt bunched slightly too high as you lean forward.

you don’t hear the door open, just the soft click of it closing. his footsteps echo across the tile. your chest tightens. you don’t need to turn around to know.

“you forgot to stretch.” his voice is low.

you look up slowly.

riku’s leaning against the lockers, his shirt clings to his chest in uneven patches, soaked through along the collarbone and ribs. sweat shines along his throat. his hair is a mess, dark strands curling where they’re damp, a few sticking to his temple. breathing uneven like maybe he ran straight here. or maybe he’s just pissed.

his eyes never leave yours.

you lift an eyebrow. “worried i’ll pull something?”

he shrugs, “just don’t want your little boyfriend sion getting extra duties.”

you snort, “jesus, riku.”

“what?” he shrugs, feigning innocence. “you two looked pretty cozy.”

you move to walk past him, but he steps into your path. doesn’t touch you, but your bodies share heat now, the air bending around him. too close. too tense.

“look,” he murmurs, voice rough, barely holding back. “i’m trying really hard not to be a dick right now.”

“…are you?”

his jaw ticks. his gaze lowers, dragging slowly down your body, your untucked top, your exposed thighs, the tiny sheen of sweat on your chest, then his eyes are back on yours, darker now.

“you were all over him,” he mutters.

you raise an eyebrow. “we were talking.”

“you touched his arm.”

you tilt your head, dry. “so what, is that illegal now? we’re all friends.”

“not the way we’re friends.”

riku pulls back a little, just enough to see your face. and even though he’s still half-smiling, there’s something unsteady in it now.

“you like making me jealous or something?”

he waits a beat, then leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“’cause if you do… you should at least let me fuck you after.” his thumb drags along the edge of your skirt as he says it, low and daring:

your breath hitches. “riku…”

you reach for his wrist, but he catches your fingers, lacing them with his and bringing your joined hands up between you. the gesture feels too tender for how mad he is. and too intimate for two people pretending this is just about sex.

he leans in and kisses you.

his lips are hot, impatient, pulling sounds you didn’t mean to make. it’s messy. desperate. angry about needing you this much. his mouth crashes against yours with everything he’s held in. and when you kiss him back, when you lean into him, mouth open, tongue sliding against his, he groans deep and raw into your mouth.

“i hate it,” he breathes between kisses. “seeing you with someone else.”

his voice cracks on “else.” and he looks away, like even saying it feels pathetic.

“makes me feel stupid.”

“you’re not,” you whisper, hand coming up to his jaw, thumb brushing the flushed skin under his cheekbone. he leans into the touch before he realizes it. soft. boyish. nothing like the riku who fucked you a week ago.

your hands find the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath. his skin is hot and damp, muscles tight under your touch. you run your palms up slowly, feeling him shudder.

then his hand slips down, fingers dragging between your thighs with a kind of reverence. he cups you through your panties.

he groans.

“fuck. you’re soaked.”

your head slams against the lockers, breath catching. “you took too long.”

his mouth twitches, crooked and dizzying. he sinks to his knees.

“then let me catch up.”

he pushes your skirt up with both hands, palms skimming your thighs, firm and slow, like he needs to feel every inch. he presses a kiss to the inside of your right thigh. then your left. mouth damp and warm, lingering. your panties are tugged aside, and the cold air hits you hard enough to make your legs tremble.

“this is what i was thinking about all practice,” he murmurs. “every time you jumped. every time you smiled.” he presses a kiss right beside your entrance “i thought about getting you alone like this.” your fingers slip into his damp hair, tugging gently.

his tongue drags slow and flat from your entrance up to your clit, and you shudder, fingers tangling in his hair. he groans softly against you, like he missed this too, humming at the taste of you after practice, sun-warm, a little salty.

he eats you like he’s starving and you’re the thing he’s been denying himself. deep, lazy strokes of his tongue leave you shaking, head spinning. his hands hold your thighs wide, thumbs digging into the backs of your legs.

when your hips roll forward against him, seeking more, you can’t help it. not when he sucks your clit between his lips, he just moans and presses closer, like he wants to melt into you. your head falls back, hitting the locker with a soft thud, and your moan spills out without warning.

you come hard, thighs clamping around his head, your body bucking against his mouth. he groans like it turns him on just as much, lapping you through it, tongue still working, slower now but no less intense. when he finally pulls back, his mouth is shiny, lips red and kiss-swollen, eyes dark and blown out.

you’re still catching your breath, one hand flat against the locker to steady yourself, the other tangled in his hair. you feel wrecked, skin damp, limbs loose, heart in your throat. but it’s not enough. not after the week of silence. not after the burn he left in you when he disappeared like nothing happened.

“get up,” you breathe.

he blinks up at you. plump lips parted. “what?”

“get up.”

you grab his collar, yank him up roughly until he’s chest-to-chest with you. then you kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth, the heat of his tongue sliding against yours, and you whimper into it. your legs are weak, skirt bunched high, panties shoved to the side, but your voice is steadier than it should be.

“you wanna win me back?” your mouth ghost his. “prove it. fuck me like you mean it.”

he groans softly, forehead pressing to yours.

and then his mouth finds your neck, hot kisses dragging over your skin as his hands find your ass, lifting you up in one motion. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as your back hits the lockers again with a soft clunk, your breath knocked from your chest as he presses closer, harder.

“you think i don’t mean it?” he mutters into your neck. “after the way you sound when you come for me?”

he grinds into you once, twice, letting the friction pull a helpless sound from your throat. you gasp, feeling the length of him through his shorts. his cock is already hard, straining against his shorts.

he pulls back just enough to fumble with his waistband, groaning when he finally frees himself. his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hot and already leaking.

“you sure?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“please,” you breathe.

he slides in with one slow, devastating thrust. you cry out, as he stretches you inch by inch. he holds still for a beat, letting you adjust. watching your body trembling with the effort of taking him all at once.

“fuck, i missed this,” he breathes. “missed how warm you are. how wet.”

you whimper as he bottoms out, your walls fluttering around him. holding still for a moment like he’s trying not to come already. your fingers grip his shoulders, digging into the damp fabric.

“shit,” he groans. “you’re perfect like this. fuck— every time.”

you whimper, clenching around him involuntarily. he groans low in his throat, pulling back just enough before snapping forward again, and the sharp sound of skin against skin echoes in the quiet room. your broken moan shudders out of you, forehead tipping forward against his shoulder again as he picks up pace, each thrust harder, deeper, needier, filling you completely.

“you were waiting for this, huh?” he breathes against your jaw. “acting all sweet on sion like you weren’t dripping for me.”

his rhythm starts slow, deep, punishing thrusts that make your body jolt, but it doesn’t stay gentle. it’s not that kind of night. not after the silence. not after the jealousy. not after your voice in his ear saying fuck me like you mean it.

his mouth finds your neck, biting lightly at the skin just below your ear, sucking until you squirm.

“say it,” he growls into your ear. “say you missed me.”

you whimper, biting your lip to muffle the sound. he thrusts harder.

“baby—”

“i missed you,” you choke out. “fuck, riku, i missed you—”

he groans, fucking you faster now, arms flexing under your thighs to hold you up as he fucks you into the locker, loud, wet, desperate sounds echoing off the tiles. he’s everywhere, inside you, against you, in the press of his chest to yours and the sting of your nails against his skin.

your second orgasm builds fast. faster than you expect. the angle, the stretch, the way his hand slips between you to rub your clit. circling it with quick, practiced pressure.

“you close?” he whispers, kissing your jaw. “wanna feel you come again.”

you nod, frantic. “please—don’t stop—” and he doesn’t.

you come again with a cry, hips jerking, walls clenching tight around him. he swears against your skin, voice cracking.

“fuck, fuck—i’m gonna—”

his thrusts lose rhythm. one, two more, and then he’s spilling inside you with a low moan, pressed deep, arms tight around your waist. his arms loosen just slightly, letting your legs down gently, but he stays inside you, bodies still tangled, breath still caught somewhere in the space between your mouths.

you blink up at him.

his forehead falls against your collarbone, body trembling slightly. you stay like that for a moment. wrapped around him. still full of him. the echo of him pulsing deep inside you, like your shape remembers him too well.

“i don’t know what this is,” he says, barely audible. “but it’s not nothing.”

“then don’t treat me like it is.”

#sooooo good #will be thinking abt this riku all day actually.#🏹 wishies

56 notes · View notes

like-supercute · 1 month ago

Note

haii i know youre writing daddy kink stuff but i was wondering if you think jaem would prefer to be called daddy or mommy in bed 🤭 and if you could write a little smth about that

in my humble opinion, i feel like jaemin would love it if you called him daddy, but not in a hard daddy dom kind of way and more of an “i feel safe with you way”. firm believer in exploring subspace mindsets here, and jaemin would be the best when it comes to handling reader when she enters subspace, allowing her to be as soft and as vulnerable as she wants to be.

network(s) : @neocity-net

edit : SORRY I’M POSTING THIS SO LATE 💔 i was writing this on the bus and my data ran out so i couldn’t save it and half of it disappeared… but as is my life i fear 😓 i hope i did jaem justice! i am very passionate about my daddy kink i will say

jaemin knows exactly how to drive you crazy. what kind of a boyfriend would he be if he didn’t? he prides himself in knowing how to make you weak, how to make you shudder and melt down into that all too familiar mindset. it’s his favourite hobby. you’re his favourite hobby.

he has you on the bed, ass up and face down as he slowly grinds his hips against your soft skin, tip bumping your sweet spot gently. “does it feel good, sweetie?”

“yes, daddy,” you whimper, eyes squeezed shut as you grip the sheets like a lifeline. jaemin isn’t going particularly fast, but you feel every inch of him stretch your tight hole. “feels so- ah-”

his laugh is soft as he runs his large hands along your spine. “you don’t have to talk, princess. just focus on how i’m making you feel.” the way you hum in response tells him everything he needs to know, and he pulls all the way out before sliding right back in, pulling a frenzied moan from your throat.

“daddy…” it seems like thats your word of the moment, and as jaemin repeats that action, you repeat yourself, voice rising and falling as he continues to switch his rhythm. “daddy, m’gonna-”

“hold it for me love.” he loves how sensitive you get like this, weak and tiny and just so, so precious. “that’s it, good girl.”

when you hear those words leave his lips, it’s like a switch is flipped in your mind. suddenly, you’re staring back at him, watching the way the muscles of his abdomen ripple with every thrust as a sliver of drool seeps from your mouth. without thinking, you arch your back further, pressing your ass deeper onto him and allowing him to fuck you even deeper.

“s-shit, princess…” his voice comes out in a shaky breath, and you giggle. “what happened to being good for me, hm?”

“ ‘m being good for daddy,” you whine, mind still mushy from the way his tip all but assaults your sweet spot. “wanna feel you deeper.”

“deeper? what a greedy girl.” yet he complies, splaying his hand across the base of your spine and somehow managing to press into you even deeper, as per your request. that seems to do it for you, because any form of brattiness dissipates from your mind, leaving nothing but a cloud of happy pleasure.

“now that’s what i like to see. being a brat doesn’t suit you angel.” the only sounds filling the room are your desperate whines and the unmistakable chorus of wet skin slapping. “like it better when you’re a sloppy… stupid… mess for me.” he punctuates each word with a thrust, and you all but scream his name into the pillow.

well, not his name. the only thing jaemin hears is your repeated cries of “daddy” when you cum, and he revels in the way your thighs shake as the waves of orgasm wrack through your body. he guides you through it of course, staving off his own climax just to watch the way you fall apart at the seams.

and when you’re nothing but a limp pile of happy mush on the bed, that’s when he finishes inside of you, white painting your gummy walls as he grips your hips like a lifeline. “there you go, good girl. take it all for me, that’s it.”

he pulls out, and you’re thanking him, hole clenching as his cum dribbles down your thighs. “thank you, daddy, felt so good…”

jaemin laughs again. “you’re welcome, my sweet girl. let’s get you cleaned up.”

a/n : nova vs her daddy issues who’s winning (spoiler the daddy issues win)

#no words.#just applause.#👏👏👏#🫧 7dream

215 notes · View notes

like-supercute · 2 months ago

Text

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ messy eater!haechan

he’s always been like this: messy. greedy. the kind of man who can’t eat slowly, who gets sauce on his lips and never wipes it off, who licks his fingers instead of using a napkin. you should have known it would translate to this.

because now, with your thighs trembling around his shoulders and his mouth buried between them. the taste of you is something he’s been craving for weeks and now that he’s had a drop, he can’t stop. his hands are firm on your hips, anchoring you to the edge of the bed, afraid you’ll slip away. and maybe you would, if you had the strength. if your body weren’t already unraveling under his mouth.

haechan moans into you, sharp and breathy as it’s him being touched. he whines when you twitch, when your breath catches, when your hand tangles in his hair. his mouth works without rhythm and hesitation, sometimes slow and indulgent, then suddenly fast, desperate, because he just can’t decide whether to savor you or devour you whole.

you look at him, and fuck… he’s gorgeous, even like this. maybe especially like this.

his lips are flushed, glistening, swollen from how long he’s been down there. his hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat. brows drawn tight with a tension thick with focus and hunger. his jawline, usually so soft and clean, is now slick wet with your arousal and his spit, smeared across his chin, catching the light at the corners of his mouth. you see it trailing down his throat, glinting in the hollow there.

his tongue slides lower. a thick, wet stroke right into your cunt, and your whole body jolts. your spine arches off the bed, hands flying to the sheets, to his hair, to anything that might tether you to yourself. he groans against you, the sound reverberating through your skin like a low hum. it’s filthy. perfect.

his nose bumps your clit, teasing, nudging with a kind of casual precision that feels anything but accidental. the pressure is soft, rhythmic. warm from his breath. he pushes deeper, tongue fucking into you, not just a flick, or a taste, but deep, wet thrusts that make your hips grind into his face before you even realize. he drags back up, licks through your folds, flattens his tongue under your clit only to dip back inside, messier this time. and the slick sound of it, of you, fills the air, so obscene it borders on holy.

he shifts. nose pressing to your clit again, this time with purpose, this time harder, while his tongue stays buried inside your hole. your thighs tighten around his head. you try to push him away, quivering hands on his head, thighs clamping shut, too sensitive, too much, you whisper. but he only groans and his grip hardens, prying you open again, like he’s offended you’d even try to leave.

he presses his tongue back in, slow this time, dragging it up through your slick, flicking over your clit with obscene ease. he licks like he’s cleaning a plate, unwilling to leave a single drop behind. one hand slips beneath your thigh to tilt your hips, the other splays over your stomach, pinning you there, holding you down as he already knows what’s coming. and when he adds his fingers, two of them, you cry out. he curls them inside you, unerringly, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs jerk. without pause, he sucks your clit into his mouth and doesn’t let go, not until it’s pulsing against his tongue.

his pace doesn’t slow, not when your thighs quake, not when your hands claw at the sheets, not when your body arches off the bed in one long, trembling line. he stays, mouth open, tongue heavy, lips smeared with everything you’ve given him.

when he finally pulls back, after making you come three times in a row, he’s panting. his face is wrecked, cheeks flushed, chin wet, eyes glazed. totally drunk on you. a line of spit still connects his mouth to your cunt, and when he wipes it with the back of his hand, it only smears across his cheek.

you look at him, legs still shaking, breath shallow, and he just smiles.

a crooked, fucked-out smile, like he’s proud of the wreckage he’s made. but he doesn’t look satisfied. no. not even close. he watches you as if you owe him more, and he’s ready to dive back in just to feel you dripping down his chin again.

#yum omg #munch!hyuck will always have my heart!#🫧 7dream #🪽ilichil

1K notes · View notes

like-supercute · 3 months ago

Text

bf!dreamies when you send a risky text but another member has their phone

an; long time no see....hii.....this was requested...im going to disappear again...love u!

masterlist

#help me 😭😭😭#🫧 7dream #nct dream x reader

1K notes · View notes

like-supercute · 3 months ago

Text

SEX EDUCATION .ᐟ ( markhyuck x reader )

synopsis. mark is a virgin, the only virgin in the NCT fraternity house. it’s borderline embarrassing, so who better than to ask his roommate (who is very much not a virgin) and his overzealous girlfriend for some help?

rating. mature. (minors + ageless blogs dni)

warnings. dirty talk (bucketloads of it), voyeurism/exhibitionism, references to religion, spanking, cunniligus, meanie hyuck + inexperienced mark, humiliation kink, degrading, pet names (babygirl, baby, slut, princess), hyuck is very very condescending, mark knows most of what he knows from porn

author’s note. i have no excuse for my actions. i even winced when proofreading this because this is so so fucking dirty… but i must give the people what they want. it kinda veered away from the whole megaperv!haechan idea but i promise you he will be revisited because megaperv!haechan haunts my waking thoughts 😋 pleaseplease leave comments i love reading them hehe

might have edged @claudaze for this fic to the point where sis was fighting sleep… when you wake up n see this i hope i have done your vision justice :3 also @yvvnii commented on my original thought post for this as well 🙂‍↕️ i hope you like this baby AND @cigsaftersuh also asked to be tagged :3 should i start an official taglist… 🤔

“So… you want me to teach you how to have sex?”

Mark Lee is in a dire situation. At the age of 22, he’s in college, taking a course in astrophysics and engineering. He’s lived a pretty normal life so far, done everything a frat brother should, except for one thing.

Mark Lee, aged 22, has never had sex.

It’s not something he particularly wants to be ashamed of. Given his religious nature, he should be satisfied with his virginity, should be proud that he’s saving himself until he meets the right woman. He could go on and never find a wife, and he would happily die a virgin, but he’s a frat brother, and a virgin frat brother is the last thing he wants to be.

As of late, he’s been partying like a fool. He shouldn’t be– parties aren’t really his scene anyways– but he does anyway, hoping that at one of them, he’ll get drunk enough and finally break his chastity with a girl he’ll never talk to again. But he can’t even bring himself to drink alcohol, let alone get drunk, and every party ends with him going home early, stone cold sober and still, unfortunately, as virgin as he was before the party started.

It’s sad. He shouldn’t be bothered by it at all, but when he sees his housemate Jaehyun bring home yet another girl (the 3rd one this week?), he gets jealous, because whilst his frat brothers are fucking like rabbits, he’s getting just as much action as a stone on the side of an abandoned highway. It’s gotten to the point where his roommate, Donghyuck, begs him to get out of the house, because he has his own girlfriend, and he can’t bring her home if his virgin roomie is wallowing in self pity under the covers every weekend.

He doesn’t know that the reason why Mark doesn’t get any action is because he doesn’t know how to, not because he’s unattractive, because he is attractive.

The Nu Chi Theta house is one of the most popular frat houses on campus, with every girl (and even some guys too) wanting to sleep with at least one brother once in their life. There’s no shortage of hot guys in the house, and it's rumoured that to even secure a place in the house, you have to pass some kind of frat house beauty test. It’s ridiculous, and when Mark received his acceptance letter, he couldn’t believe it. He thought it would be an opening for him, a way to get invited to crazy parties and unlimited hookups, a way to finally stray from the cuffs of religion his parents were so insistent on keeping him locked up with.

What he didn’t think about, however, is how hard it would be to let go of said religious cuffs without feeling insanely guilty when he so much as strayed from the path his parents had set out for him.

No drinking, no partying, and definitely no sex. That’s what they told him before he left, and whilst he’d shrugged it off at the time, those words followed him years later, right up until he finally decided that enough was enough.

After walking in on Donghyuck and his girlfriend making out on his bed, he knew he had to do something, which leads him to his current situation.

“Mark, be serious with me right now.” Hyuck raises his eyebrow and tilts his head, and Mark physically curls in on himself. “You’re telling me… that you’ve never had sex because you don’t know how to?”

“Yes, and now I’m asking you to teach me how to. I’ve seen– heard you and your girlfriend. You guys aren’t exactly… discreet.”

“Yeah, that’s because she doesn’t want me to be discreet. She likes it when everyone knows who’s fuckin’ her.”

Mark winces. How can Hyuck talk about you like that when you aren’t even here? He wishes that he doesn’t turn out like that, and then he remembers who he’s being taught by, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn’t be asking for help, maybe he should just find a video about it on Pornhub and try his chances from there.

“If you’re having second thoughts, I can tell you that the hub won’t solve your problem.” It’s almost like Hyuck is a mind reader. “You’ll end up embarrassing yourself, and Taeyong will end up having to kick you out. If anyone finds out one of the NCT boys is a virgin and learnt how to fuck from the worst porn site on earth…” It's Hyuck’s turn to wince. “Look, I’ll teach you. Hands-on experience and all.”

“You mean…”

Hyuck smiles, and Mark asks himself what exactly he’s gotten himself into. “I’ll let you fuck my girlfriend.”

You would do anything for your boyfriend. If he asked you to rob a bank, you’d hand bejewel a balaclava with pink rhinestones and shoot down the clerk with a matching gun. If he asked you to walk around campus on a leash, you’d happily get on all fours.

So, when he asks you to start flirting with his roommate, you do so with a smile on your face.

Mark Lee is cute. You’ve seen him around a couple of times, all baggy hoodie and reading glasses, barely saying a word to anyone and keeping to himself in his room. He’s the kind of guy you can’t help but become curious about, and one day, you ask Hyuck about him.

“He’s kind of a loser,” he tells you between leaving kisses on your neck. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

“But he doesn’t seem like he has a girlfriend.” You pull away and hold your boyfriend’s face in your hands. “I have a couple of friends who would drop dead at the chance to fuck an NCT guy. If he wants a girlfriend, I can get him one.”

“It’s not a girlfriend he wants, baby, it’s sex.”

“There’s a party next week. He can find a hookup there.”

Hyuck scoffs. “You’re so dumb. He’s a virgin, and if he wanted a girlfriend, he wouldn’t even know how to bag himself one.” The smile he’s wearing is dangerous, and you raise your eyebrows. “Which is why…” His hands slide up your waist and slip under your baby tee. “... I need you to do me a favour.”

That favour is the reason why you’re currently posted up against the kitchen counter in the NCT house, licking a popsicle like it’s the most delicious snack on Earth whilst staring holes into Mark from across the kitchen. You know he’s avoiding looking at you, which is why you walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder, wearing a knowing smile on your face.

“Just because Hyuck’s my boyfriend, doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I mean, I’m friends with practically every guy here!” You widen your eyes like a doe and wrap your lips around the top of the popsicle, reveling in the way Mark gulps nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes glued to the bright red trail of juice dribbling down your chin. “You can talk to me, y’know.”

You take a step closer, and that seems to be Mark’s breaking point. He sharply turns on his heel and all but runs out of the kitchen, abandoning the glass of water he was nursing on the counter. You bite off the tip of the popsicle, smiling happily to yourself as you skip after him.

When Mark gets back upstairs, Hyuck is waiting for him, sitting cross legged on his bed with a smile on his face, one akin to the one you were wearing in the kitchen. You…

“I knew you’d end up running away from her. You’re more of a loser than I thought you were, dude.”

Mark’s jaw drops to the floor. “She was in on it? And you never thought to tell me?”

Hyuck shrugs. “She was giving you an example of how a girl would approach you at a party if she wanted to fuck you.” He eyes Mark up and down before snickering to himself. “Clearly, you failed.”

“It was a test? And she knew?!” Mark is panicking now. His secret is basically out of the bag; you’re going to tell all of your friends that there’s a virgin in the NCT house, and they’ll tell their friends, and then he’ll get kicked out and have to live with his parents, a pious virgin for the rest of his life.

Ironically, Mark grips the cross pendant hanging from his neck. Hyuck catches him doing it, and quirks an eyebrow. “You think God’s gonna tell you how to fuck? You have got to be kidding me.”

“Maybe I don’t need to lose my virginity. Abstinence doesn’t sound that bad, I mean, I’ll become a priest, live in peace for the rest of my life and-”

Mark is cut off by a sharp slap around his face. “Don’t go into religious psychosis over some pussy. I’ll still teach you, but it might be a little harder than I initially thought.” His eyes narrow, and Mark gulps again. “I didn’t think my girlfriend licking a popsicle would scare you that much.”

“I scared him?” Mark feels like he’s just been dragged into hell by his collar, because you’re standing by the door, the popsicle and any traces of it gone from your face as you stare at him incredulously. “Oh- I didn’t mean to! I was just doing what you told me to do.”

“And you did it very well baby.” Hyuck is approaching you, and you resume wearing that pleasant smile, allowing him to slip his arms around your waist and lead you into the bedroom, swiftly locking the door behind you. “And now, you’re gonna do something else for me.”

Mark watches the way the two of you interact, and he hates to admit it, but he’s jealous. You look at Hyuck like he’s your everything and you’re absolutely entranced by him, gaze never breaking, even when his wandering hands slip under your skirt. He doesn’t pay any attention to the rapidly forming erection in his loose joggers when you and Hyuck start kissing, his hands full of ass pulling you closer into him. It’s borderline disgusting, the way your eyes roll back under your lids, and he really should close his eyes, but-

“D’you think he’s motivated enough now, princess?” He’s snapped out of his trance by the two of you staring at him, Hyuck’s face flushed and your chest heaving gently, lashes fluttering as you take in the sight of Mark standing there, hard as rock and red as a tomato.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, smiling. “Should I-”

“No.” You stop in your tracks, watching as your boyfriend sits down on the bed, spreading his legs and patting his thigh as a motion for you to take a seat. “You sit down too, Mark.” He looks up at his confused roommate. “Class is now in session.”

If Mark told himself several hours ago that he would be watching his roommate talk dirty to his girlfriend, he would’ve laughed, and then spat out his coffee. He can only watch as Hyuck pulls you forward in his lap, paying no mind to the way your skirt bunches at your hips and displays your ass in a thong that leaves little to the imagination.

“First things first…” Hyuck looks at Mark from his side of the room, his hands stationed on your thighs straddling his lap. “You need to get the language down. It’s part of foreplay, you got that?” Mark nods. “Good. Now…” Hyuck kisses you fleetingly on the lips before looking you in the eye. “You have to tell her she’s a good girl. Most girls are into that sort of thing.

“Tell her what you wanna do to her.” Hyuck pulls your hips forward on his lap, and you groan. “Tell her you wanna fuck her, that you wanna make her feel good, better than she’s ever felt.” Your lashes flutter, and although Mark can’t see your face, you smile, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s neck. “See? She likes it, don’t you, pretty?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, grinding down onto him more. “Want you to fuck me.”

Hyuck laughs. “This isn’t about you. This is about Mark.” He looks past you again at his roommate, who looks like he wants to be swallowed alive by the ground. “Are you learning anything?”

He gulps before reciting what he’s learnt. “Talk dirty to her. Tell her what you want to do to her, that you want to…” Hyuck raises his eyebrow, a signal for Mark to continue. “...that you want to… fuck… her.” He smiles, and Mark sighs a sound of relief.

This is difficult for him. He’s awkward, because it’s generally awkward to watch his roommate have borderline sex with his girlfriend, the same person who just gave him a raging hard on from licking a popsicle. He’s also undoubtedly jealous, because even though he doesn’t know the first thing about having sex, he wants to have sex with you, but it seems like Hyuck is doing a better job at riling you up than he ever could.

“See how I’m touching her?” Mark redirects his focus to where Hyuck’s hands are, and it looks like he’s everywhere. “I’m not giving her what she wants just yet. I have to tease her, make her want it.” He looks back at you “Do you want it, baby?”

You pout. “Quit teasing me!”

You’re so cute. Mark understands why Hyuck would go for a girl like you– you’re too easy; easily obeying, easily teased, easily fucked. You’re perfect for a guy with a crazy sex drive, and he’s perfect for a girl who loves to devote herself to her boyfriend. You’re a perfect couple, and Mark can feel the jealousy begin to ebb its way back into his system.

“Don’t worry, Mark. You’ll get a turn soon enough.” Hyuck taps the back of your thigh and you nod, climbing off of his lap and onto the bed. He doesn’t have to say anything, but you know exactly what he wants you to do, pulling down your skirt and bending over on the bed, ass up in the air and head buried in the pillows. “Get over here. Look at what all those things I told you about do to her.”

Mark almost hesitates, but when he sees Hyuck scope the meat of your ass before pulling the cheeks apart, his moves are almost robotic, and what he sees almost sends him into shock.

He’s never seen a pussy in real life before, only in the videos, and even then he can’t bring himself to look properly. Watching pornography is basically a sin, so he only watches the censored ones, and when he comes face to face with your pussy, he feels like he’s about to explode.

You’re still wearing your underwear. That much is apparent given the lace decorating your hips, but your cunt is so wet, it’s all but swallowed the seat of your panties, and your labia bulges around the pink fabric. It’s much more lewd in person, and Mark is frozen in his place, mouth open with no sound coming out.

“Say something, loser. Isn’t she pretty?”

Mark gulps before speaking. “Y-yeah.” His voice cracks, and you giggle, the syrupy sound going straight to his dick.

“He’s so nervous,” you breathe, swaying your ass in his direction. “Such a virgin.”

He should be embarrassed. He should really leave, let Hyuck do whatever he wants to you behind closed doors and forget this ever happened, yet he feels nothing of the sort, instead sitting down on the bed and placing a shaky hand on your ankle. “I-”

“You what?” Hyuck sounds pissed, which is odd considering this was his suggestion. “Say something. She’s not gonna sit and wait for you forever. My girl has needs.”

My girl. Mark gulps again. “I… I kinda wanna… eat her out.”

Whilst you moan a little and shove your face deeper into the pillows, Hyuck claps Mark on the back, and his annoyance is replaced with a smile. “There he is! Do you want me to teach you, or do you think you got it?”

Cunniligus is his favourite type of porn. He would rather die than admit it, but when Mark fantasises (and trust, he does), he imagines himself in between a pair of thighs, and his mouth attached to a juicy pussy. He never thought he’d get the chance, but with the way your hips sway gently, he just wants to grab onto you, pull your panties aside and-

“Do it.” It’s your voice that echoes in his head now, and he finally looks at your face. Your eyes are filled with lust and you bite down on your bottom lip, lashes fluttering as an invitation. “C’mon Markie, don’t think about it, just-”

You’re cut off by a pair of fingers massaging your cunt. Hyuck pulls aside the seat of your thong, and gestures to your dripping arousal. “You heard her. Dig in.”

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, because if he does, he’ll be breaking a plethora of rules set out for him since birth. This is someone else’s girlfriend, a stranger if anything, but all that fades away when he hears your reaction to Hyuck’s fingers slipping into your needy pussy. Your back arches, and you whine out like a mantra, but it isn’t the name of your boyfriend.

It’s Mark’s name that you whine, gasping when you feel a harsh slap on your ass. “That’s not my name, pretty. Unless you want my loser roommate that bad?”

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wro-

Mark’s lips make contact with your pussy, and he’s gone.

He’s a messy eater, inexperienced for sure, but the feeling of his hot tongue on your folds has you collapsing into the bed. Mark’s tongue is everywhere but nowhere all at once, and when his hands come up to grip your ass, you melt into his touch.

“There you go.” Hyuck’s voice mingles with your moans in his ear, and Mark groans. “Seems like she likes you.” For him, this is all a show, watching his loser virgin roomie tongue fuck his girlfriend. Hyuck always knew you were a slut, but he never knew you would fall this far, drool staining his pillowcase as you grind desperately onto the tongue of a guy who had never seen nor touched a pussy in his life.

“When she’s moaning like that, it means she’s close.” Mark’s eyes flick up to his roommate, his hands still superglued to your ass and tongue still buried deep into your cunt. “Remember what I said about teasing? Can’t make her cum yet, or she’ll be too tired for what comes next.”

What comes next? Mark’s rhythm is interrupted by Hyuck’s comment and he pulls away, licking his lips and wiping the sweat from his brow. “Do you mean…?”

His roommate nods with a smile. “I do mean that. I’d go first but– and I hate to say this– you were so good at eating her out that if I fuck her now, she’ll cum way too early.”

“Need it so bad…” Both boys look at you, and one scoffs whilst the other gasps. You’re a mess, probably more of a mess than Mark. Blackened tears run down your cheeks, your lipstick is smudged and drool trails down your chin as you look back at the both of them. “Want you both. Please.”

“Both?” Mark balks. He didn’t even know that was possible.

“What a fucking slut.” Hyuck slaps your ass and you groan, a tear running down your cheek and a dribble of arousal running down the back of your thigh. “You don’t get both regularly, but suddenly you want two cocks instead of one? C’mon, babygirl. Don’t be greedy now that Mark’s around.”

Ordinarily, Mark would never be able to talk to anyone like that, let alone a girl, but when Hyuck says it, it sounds so natural, and your reaction is very different to what he would expect. You arch your back, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

You like being degraded. That much is clear from the way you chase after Hyuck’s snide comments, the way you bite your lip whenever he calls you a slut. Mark raises his eyebrows.

“She likes it when you talk dirty to her,” he whispers, looking at his roommate. “Is she… is she always like this?”

“Always has been, and probably always will be. Why do you think she agreed to this whole thing?” Your boyfriend cards his fingers through your hair before pulling you up so that you’re flush against his chest, ass brushing against his erection through his jeans. “She wanted to humiliate herself in front of you, Mark. She wanted you to know how needy she is. For her, it was never about helping you.” Mark watches the way you shudder when Hyuck’s hand trails down your belly, fingers resting just above the peak of your clit. “Pretty girl’s always wanted to be stuffed full with another cock. And she’s always wanted it to be you.”

Mark’s breathing is shallow. You knew he was a virgin, but you wanted him anyway, wanted to see him crumble and let himself go.

Instead of being weirded out by this information, his lip quirks up in a smile. “Is that so?”

Your eyelids flutter. “Y-yeah. Thought you were p-pretty.”

His head tilts, and he’s suddenly filled with a wave of confidence. “Really? Or did you just like the fact that you would be the one to take my virginity? Isn’t Hyuck enough for you, princess?”

The room falls silent, save for the intermingled sound of shallow breathing. Hyuck is shocked that Mark would ever say something like that, let alone use that tone, but when the shock subsides, he smiles. “Why don’t you show her how much of a slut she is?”

Mark smiles at his roommate, reveling in the way you shudder against him. “I’d love to.”

#good fucking FOOD #screamed bloody murder when i saw it was over 😭😭#but fr all of hyuck’s dialogue had me crying #he won the idgaf war BAD #🫧 7dream #🪽ilichil #mahae x reader #mark lee x reader #haechan x reader

1K notes · View notes