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e1e4n0r5 · 16 days ago

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Their Little Plaything: 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 4500

Synopsis: Cait and Vi try to earn your forgiveness...in their way.

Warnings: Bullying/mocking, power imbalance, FFF threesome, ANGST!!!!, fingering (r! receiving), strap-on, description of masturbation with sex toys, gaslighting/emotional manipulation, dub-con sex (r! is emotionally distressed throughout but never says no), dub-con filming of sex, oral sex (r! receiving, r! giving), mild degradation, dirty talk, praise kink, finger sucking, anal fingering (r! receiving), anal sex (r! receiving), double penetration with straps, that thing where one person uses their mouth to give someone a drink 👀

Notes: Poor Reader really goes through it, folks 😣

You sat at your usual corner table, quietly and miserably reading a textbook, trying to get back into your study habits, when a soft accented voice spoke.

“Sorry to bother you; are you Y/N?”

You looked up, really not wanting to talk to the pretty redhead with freckles. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, we haven’t met before. I’m Maddie. Can we talk?”

You frowned. “I'm sorry, Maddie, it's not a good time for me. I-I’m just getting over a sickness-”

She ignored you. “Cait and Vi. Caitlyn Kiramman and Violet Lanes. You're with them, right? I was too, last summer. At least until they just stopped texting me.”

Your stomach twisted. Great. An upset ex. Just what you needed in your vulnerable state. “Maddie, I don’t know what happened between the three of you, and I really don't want to talk-”

She regarded you closely. “Have you found the cameras yet?”

Your heart stopped. “Excuse me?”

“In their house; in the backgrounds of some of the photos they send you...?”

In the house?! Where were they hidden? You hadn’t just had sex in the bedroom, they would have footage from all over the house.

Your jaw clenched. “Listen, I don't know what you're talking about-” you tried to deny.

“Do you guys have a group chat?”

“Uh...”

“What's it called?” she asked, tilting her head like a challenge.

“I don't think-”

“Is it called Plaything?”

You felt sick again, like the world was spinning. You had to swallow down bile. “How did you-?”

“Because that's what ours was called too,” she explained as she sat down across from you, holding her phone out to show you. It was a group chat history. At the bottom, it said ‘Unknown and Unknown have left the chat’, and at the top the name was clearly listed as ‘Plaything’.

She scrolled up to the very top of the chat for you. “Go ahead, have a read. See if anything’s familiar.”

You took the phone out of her hands, skimming through it as your own hands shook.

You [Maddie]: have either of you found my underwear? I can't find them

Unknown: those are ours now

You: what?! You can't keep them!

Unknown: And why not? We earned them last night. Several times over

You read further down to a few weeks later.

You: ok this has to stop, I'm running out of underwear! Are you guys going to replace what you've taken? Or at least give it all back?

Unknown: not a chance

Unknown: And don't get greedy, darling

You: I'm not being greedy but you've taken so many! I need them! I only have about ten pairs left!

Unknown: not our problem

You: It’s your fault though!! You take them every time

Unknown: So you think you deserve a treat?

You: I’m not trying to sound greedy or ungrateful but one of our families is super rich and could definitely afford to replace my stolen underwear 👀

Unknown: We’ll see. Maybe if you’re a good girl for long enough, you can have a treat

Your stomach twisted. That was exactly what Cait had said to you.

Still scrolling, you saw thousands of messages spanning a few months. And then, inevitably, you came across pictures. Checking the dates, they had been together for roughly the same amount of time as you had.

Maddie was more confident with the camera than you were, not afraid to get up close to it. One photo was a close up of her smiling, fucked out face, chin glistening with juices. Another video had her fucking herself with a toy whilst Vi stood over her and she ate her pussy, Cait obviously recording. Photos of Cait’s manicured hand squeezing Maddie's cheeks firmly, Maddie sticking her tongue out as her blurry eyes tried to focus on the camera. GIFs of them both fucking her at the same time, in the same position they had with you for the first time.

Disgusted and queasy again, you put her phone down on the table, a little harder than intended.

“What do you want?” you demanded, crossing your arms, trying to keep your coffee in your stomach.

She shrugged. “I'm honestly not sure-”

“Then why did you bother coming up to me? If you don't know what you want, why couldn't you just leave me alone?” you snapped.

She looked you over. “Oh, yeah, you’ve found the cameras. I remember crashing out like this when I found one in the kitchen.”

“Kitchen?!”

“Yeah, it’s hidden in the wall near that bit of island. Did they make you bend over it whilst they fucked you?”

Your heart broke. “They did all this to you too?” you whispered.

Maddie smiled at you in pity. “Oh, my love, I think they've done this to lots of girls. We're just the latest ones.” She raised her coffee cup to yours in a mock toast. “To the victims of Cait and Vi.”

“How many others are there?”

She sipped her iced latte. “Well, there’s you, then me just before summer. Before that was Kylie, in the spring. Andrea was last fall, so this time last year. There were a few others before that but I don’t know much detail. One girl left the university; she was so fucked up.”

“How do you even know all this?” you asked sceptically.

She smiled ruefully. “Exactly like this. Kylie came up to me and told me everything she’d been through, showed me the photos and videos too. The group chat called Plaything. A shocking pattern of behaviour from Cait and Vi, I have to say. Kylie was more investigative though, she was able to use social media a lot more thoroughly than I ever could. She could show you a presentation with a timeline if you wanted.”

You blanched. “What? How?”

“Well, it was quite impressive. Got to say, it did feel a bit stalkerish, but still impressive! If her degree doesn’t work out, she could be a PI. Basically, she compared photos and videos that the previous girls had sent her, to Cait's and Vi's social media. Like I said, a bit stalkerish, but a lovely girl nonetheless.”

Your head hurt and your heart broke. How many girls had they done this to?

Cait opened the door, looking at you in pleased surprise.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she smiled, letting you in. “To what do we owe this pleasure? Are you feeling better?”

You nodded numbly. “A bit.”

“Good, I'm pleased to hear that. Vi will be too; she's a bit of a germaphobe. But we've both missed you terribly.” She smiled down at you, and you struggled to stay angry. “Vi's in the shower at the moment. Shall we entertain ourselves until she's out?” she winked at you, leading you into the sitting room.

“Well, I was looking through some of the photos you sent me,” you said, getting your phone out and tapping through it.

Cait smiled. “Oh, yes? Which one was your favourite? Should we recreate it?”

“This one,” you turned your phone around to show her the image of the two of you kneeling on the bed, the one you’d showed Powder.

She nodded. “That’s a good one; you look quite lovely in that.”

You hardened yourself not to blush at the compliment. “Do you know what my favourite part is?”

“You tell me,” she instructed softly, her pupils dilating.

“This part,” you turned the phone back to you and zoomed in on a section of the photo, turning your phone back to her.

The playfulness left her eyes but she kept the smile plastered on her face, unmoving.

“You know what that is?” you asked.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No,” she lied. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s a camera. More specifically, a HexTech Pocket Camera 3000. Brand new this year. Very expensive, almost six figures. Your parents’ money bought it though, I suppose. And I’ve already checked the manufacturer’s website: that little red light means it’s recording video.”

Cait said nothing. Her hands trembled slightly, so she crossed her arms.

“Except when you took this photo, you never mentioned another camera.”

“Is this going somewhere, Y/N?” she demanded stonily.

“How long have you been doing this? Recording me, during sex? Without my knowledge? Because I remember the first time you asked to do it. But now, I can’t imagine that being the first time you actually did it.”

She said nothing.

“Cait!”

“Piltover is a one-party consent-”

You laughed coldly in her face. “Don’t even try that. Don’t even fucking try that with me, Kiramman. You knew what you were doing was wrong. That’s why you hid it! That’s why you didn’t tell me you were recording, because you knew I wouldn’t have wanted you to! Who else has seen this?!” you screamed at her, brandishing your phone.

“No-one,” she replied firmly.

You scoffed. “You really expect me to believe that the girls who secretly films people having sex are so above showing it to other people?”

“I mean it: no-one else has, or ever will, see any of the photos or videos we have.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about you invading my privacy?”

Cait laughed bitterly. “You were very enthusiastic at the time.”

“For the sex! And the one photo that you specifically asked if you could take. Not for the recording you didn’t tell me about!” Your eyes were slowly filling with tears. “Why do you do it? Hmmm? Take sneaky videos of people? Is it some weird kink or something? Some fetish? A control thing?”

Cait rolled her jaw, looking away.

“How many other girls have you done this to?”

That made her head snap back. “What makes you ask that?”

“Who the fuck is Maddie? And Kylie? And Andrea?”

She took a breath, looking physically wounded from a blow. “They were a long time-”

“It was not ‘a long time ago’! You were with Maddie at the end of Sophomore year, that is not ‘a long time ago’, Cait, we’re Juniors! You were both fucking her for months, doing the same thing – taking sneaky photos and videos – but she never confronted you about it. Yes, she found out,” you snapped at Cait’s alarmed face, “She knew you were doing it but she never said anything because she didn’t want you to break up with her.”

“We weren’t in a relationship, there was no ‘breaking up’.”

“You ghosted her over summer break, blocked her number and socials, then came back this year and acted like you didn’t know her. And the reason you acted that way was because you found your new fixation. Me. You didn’t need Maddie anymore, you had me. Your new Plaything. Very unimaginative of you, by the way, using the same group chat name with us all! And yes, I’ve seen the messages!”

Cait staggered back a few steps and began to pace, laughing in discomfort. “You are being so…Dramatic right now, Y/N,” she said tersely.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. It felt like your chest was splitting open. “I trusted you both. I actually thought-”

“Oh, please,” she cut in, rolling her eyes. “You like being wanted. You like being fucked by two women who know how to handle you, you like being our good girl. Don’t act like some innocent virgin now just because you found a little camera in the background of – what was, undoubtedly – one of the best nights of your life.”

You flinched. Your lip trembled.

She saw it. She went too far. And for a moment, something flickered in her eyes. Then she stepped toward you, slower now. Controlled. Calculating.

"You’re angry," she said, voice softening. “I understand.” Her tone dropped as she closed the space between you. “But you still want this.”

“Don’t,” you said hoarsely, taking a small step back.

Her hand came up, barely grazing your hip, testing you. “You came here because you wanted answers,” she murmured. “But I think you also came here because you want us to make it up to you. And we will, in the best way we know how.” Her hands cupped your shaking jaw. “You want us to take away the anger, don’t you, the hurt? You want to feel our hands again? Our mouths on you?”

You were shaking, but you weren’t pulling away. “You can’t seduce your way out of this,” you whimpered as you cried.

She chuckled throatily. “Well, let’s just see if we can.”

And then she kissed you. Hard, possessive, without apology.

And God help you, you kissed her back, even as the tears streamed down your face. How could you be so weak? How pathetic could you be, giving in after a single kiss and some sweet words whispered in your ear.

She pulled your dress up over your hips, squeezing your ass firmly, kneading your flesh. You whined into her mouth. She pushed your bag and jacket off your shoulders, pulling your dress all the way up, breaking apart from your mouth briefly to throw it over your head.

You realised you still held your phone in one hand. You pulled away, sniffing, looking for somewhere to put it down.

“No, baby, come here,” she urged softly, pulling you by the hand to a nearby chaise longue. She sat you down, pushing you back gently. Settling herself between your legs, she kissed your stomach and breasts, squeezing them tenderly.

“Open the camera, sweetheart,” she ordered, looking you in the eye as she sucked one of your nipples through your cream lace bra. A treat from them, they liked you in white underwear.

“What?” you asked shakily, your face still wet with tears.

“Do as I say,” she said firmly, switching to your other nipple.

With a whimper, you obeyed, opening your camera app.

“Put it on me, baby, and take whatever you want. As many photos and videos as you want. We’ve got all night.”

Your lip trembled as you wanted to say no. But she gave you her stern look that melted away all your resistance, and with a sad hiccup, you pressed record.

Looking straight at you through the camera, Cait kissed down your stomach until she got to your covered pussy, never breaking eye contact with the camera lens as she slowly, seductively, eased your panties down your legs, looping them a few times around her wrist.

“Do I look good, baby? Is the lighting okay?”

You nodded weakly, watching her through your screen.

“So does this,” she pressed a kiss to your clit, “look okay?”

You whimpered, “Yes.”

“And this?” She licked up your slit.

You whined. “Yes.”

“What about this?” She wiggled her tongue over your clit from side to side.

“Fuck!” you cried out. “Yes! Yes, that's good!”

She laughed. “Just wanted to check.”

She closed her eyes and started feasting on your pussy. Licking up and down your slit, sucking your clit, sliding her tongue inside you. All the while, you panted and cursed, still pointing your phone at her. Every so often, she would open her eyes to see if you were still recording. When she saw you were, she winked at the camera, emboldened by its presence.

“What’s going on here?” asked a playful voice.

Vi.

You looked up from the camera, seeing Vi leaning against the doorjamb, a pristine white towel around her waist. Just peeking out the top of towel was a black harness, barely visible. She was strapped up.

She approached you both, the outline of the strap becoming visible through the towel. Cait didn't respond or acknowledge her girlfriend, just kept eating your pussy, moaning into your skin. Vi knelt next to the chaise longue, stroking your tear-stained cheek.

“Are you sad, baby?”

You nodded pitifully, your cheeks still wet and puffy from tears.

“But how can you be sad when you're getting your pussy eaten?” she mocked, licking away some tears.

Before you could respond, Vi captured your mouth in a deep kiss, swirling her tongue with yours. Cupping your jaw in her hand, she moaned into your mouth, sucking your tongue. You moaned back, your hips starting to move against Cait’s mouth.

“You gonna cum for her, sweetheart?” Vi asked, running a hand over your breasts.

You nodded breathlessly. “Need to cum.”

“How badly do you need to cum?”

You groaned when Cait slid her fingers inside you. “So bad! Need to cum, Vi.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Well, we could let you. I suppose?” she taunted. She cupped your breasts over your bra, feeling their weight in her hands. Bending down over your chest, she pulled your bra down, kissing and licking your breasts. “Fuck, your tits are perfect,” she breathed, pulling your nipple into her mouth, sucking deeply. The pressure made you gasp, your pussy clenching on Cait’s fingers. Switching nipples, she tugged the one she just released.

“Gods...” You whimpered, moving your hips into Cait’s face. She moved to your clit in response, sucking your button and flicking her tongue over it. “I need to cum, I need to cum!” you gasped.

“Ask nicely,” Vi commanded, taking hold of your throat.

“Please let me cum, Vi! Cait, please!”

“Your decision, Cupcake,” Vi said to Cait.

The blue-haired woman took pity on you, sucking your clit harder and working her fingers faster. With a cry, you orgasmed on the chaise, your hips rocking back and forth as your free hand held Cait’s head to you.

Vi eased the phone out of your hand, moving down to kneel next to Cait. She filmed Cait’s fingers slowing down inside you and spreading your lips to expose your leaking hole. You squirmed uncomfortably under them, watching them watch your pussy. It was hot – seeing them almost obsess over you – but you also felt very exposed. Vulnerable. The rabbit in front of the wolves.

Cait scooped up the last of your juices on her fingers. Vi flipped the camera to use the front lens, recording Cait slide her fingers into her mouth, moaning as she got her first taste of you, your bare pussy and spread legs still visible in the shot. Vi kept eye contact with the camera as Cait thrust her fingers in and out of Vi’s mouth, eventually sliding all the way in and hitting Vi’s gag reflex. After that, Cait withdrew her fingers, and Vi stopped recording.

You made it upstairs, and the hours that followed were delicious yet emotionally draining for you. Vi and Cait seemed to want to overload you with orgasms, but never stopped taking photos and videos. Always in your view, always announcing when they picked up a phone or a camera. ‘Let me take a pic, baby’, ‘You look so perfect, I have to save this’, ‘Let me show you what you look like, sweetheart’.

While Vi lay back on the rug in the middle of their bedroom, you straddled her and slowly slid down the strap. But only after Cait announced the camera she had set up on the floor between Vi’s bent legs, offering up the perfect view of your pussy stretching over and sliding down the silicone.

You suddenly became conscious of the view that would be captured, but Vi’s hands on your face and firm kisses distracted you long enough to get the toy into your pussy. She held your mouth to hers, intertwining your tongues, until she could hear you panting for breath. She released your mouth, but held your head looking at her.

Cait moved behind you – which you couldn't see because of Vi’s grip – and you heard something screwing open, followed by a wet sound.

“What’s happening?” you asked Vi, panicking as she held your head and neck tightly, not letting you look around.

“Don't worry, baby, it's fine,” she said softly, slowly starting to move the toy inside you. But it did nothing to comfort you.

“Vi, please,” you begged, starting to cry again. “Cait, what are you doing?”

“It's alright, sweetheart,” she said, stroking your back hole with her fingertips, rubbing the expensive coconut oil around your ring.

You gasped when she did, jolting against Vi, who had the strength to keep you in place.

“See?” Vi soothed. “Nothing to worry about. We've done this before.”

“Breathe for me,” Cait instructed softly, lining up her fingers to your hole. Vi helped you breathe, then Cait slowly slid two slick fingers inside you. You whined when she did, already feeling full from the toy in your pussy. “Rock for us, sweetheart,” she asked, rubbing her hand over your hips. Vi moved one hand to your hips, helping you grind between her toy and Cait’s fingers.

An involuntary moan escaped your lips, the slight stretching in your pussy and ass making your clit throb as you rocked your hips. They praised you well, possibly hoping to ease your tears. It didn’t work. Your tears kept pouring even as you moaned, your body taking over. Maybe because it felt so good? Maybe to protect your heart from breaking?

Cait settled on her knees behind you, rubbing the tip of her slicked strap against you. “Ready to do this again, sweetheart?” she asked in your ear, already sliding into your ass.

You keened, long and low, as she filled your ass, rubbing up against Vi’s strap in your pussy. You sobbed at how good it felt; hating how good it felt, how good they made you feel. Vi kept kissing you, ignoring your tear-stained cheeks, rocking her hips under yours.

You came three times between them before they did, your traitorous pussy leaking juices over them every time.

When she finished, her own cum coating her thighs, Cait withdrew from your ass, getting up from behind you, knocking the camera over. She headed into the bathroom, sweat coating her brow. She took off her strap, washed her hands and face, and poured a glass of water.

Heading back into the bedroom, she approached you both.

“Sweetheart, you need a drink,” she said softly.

Draped on top of Vi, her strap still inside your pussy, you moaned weakly. You struggled to prop yourself up, but managed eventually. You waited for Cait to hold the glass to your lips, but she didn’t.

She held your jaw, her thumb stroking your cheek. “Do you forgive us, baby?” she asked softly.

Fuck you.

The words burned in your chest, and your eyes burned with tears again.

Seeing your distress, Cait smiled. “It’s alright. It’s okay. Here,” she held up the glass to your lips, letting you drink slowly as you glared at her.

When you swallowed, Vi gently rolled the two of you over, her strap never leaving you. “Give me some,” she asked Cait. She swallowed a few gulps, then propped you up in a half-seated position under her, her muscled arm supporting your torso without issue. She took a mouthful of water, keeping it in her mouth, and pressed her lips to yours. To your surprise, she forced your mouth open and shared the water with you.

You coughed and swallowed, not expecting that. You couldn’t tell if you liked that.

She did it again. Taking another mouthful from the glass, she pressed her mouth to yours again. Knowing what to expect, you opened your mouth, more prepared the second time.

Vi nodded at Cait to finish the glass and go get some more. She looked down at you, nudging her hips into yours. “Ready to go again?”

Hours later, Vi angled the camera on the coffee table at the side of you so you could see.

“What about this, baby?” She straightened up behind you, showing the camera the sight of her behind you, your ass in the air, your back gracefully curved. “Do you like how this looks?” she asked, giving a few small thrusts inside you.

How was she not tired?! You were exhausted and aching, sure your pussy would soon be swollen shut.

You moaned, gasping when Vi slid deeper into you, able to tell the depth from the side-view in the camera.

She chuckled. “I’m so deep, baby. So deep inside you. Put your hand on your tummy, do you feel me?”

You moved your hand to your lower stomach, gasping when you felt movement under your palm.

Vi laughed. “Now, do you want the rest?”

Your head almost shot round.

“Yeah, baby, that's not it,” she slowly moved a little deeper, making you groan as she went deeper than you thought she could.

“Can I hop back in?” Cait teased, rubbing her clit in front of you.

You wanted to say no, that you were still so fucking furious with her, that she didn't deserve to have her pussy eaten. But as she stroked her beautiful wet pussy in front of you, your mouth watered, and you wanted her.

You nodded, lifting your head a little. She sat down in front of you, spreading her pussy open for you. You pulled her hips forward and latched onto her clit, sucking like you hated her. She gasped as you did, unused to the pressure from you. She rocked against your mouth, running her hands through your hair.

“God, baby,” she moaned, “you’re so good at this.”

“We taught her well,” Vi bragged.

You wanted to shout, to scream, to bite. But you didn’t. You rocked back against Vi as she fucked you with her strap, and you fucked Cait with your mouth and tongue. You got her moaning like a whore, then slowed down your attention until she begged for more. You repeated the cycle, tormenting her, and she let you.

When she came, you forced her to do it again. Vi picked up on what you were doing, wrapping her hand in your hair.

“Don’t get cocky, baby,” she scolded. “Don’t make me fuck your ass harder than this.”

They fucked you until the early morning, until all of you had nothing left to give. You’d passed out together on the floor, wrapped up in a pile of limbs.

You eventually woke, propping yourself up on your elbows, looking around the room. Toys discarded, an empty glass of water knocked over, the small camera discarded and out of battery.

Cait roused next to you. “Do you feel better now, sweetheart?” she asked, kissing your shoulder.

You didn't say anything, just sat up. “I want to see all the photos and videos you have of me.”

Cait tensed a little beside you, but recovered. “Absolutely. Why don't we have a little watch party tomorrow-?” she asked, trailing her hand up your back.

You glared at her over your shoulder.

She removed her hand.

You gingerly got to your feet, walking unsteadily off to the bathroom.

Vi and Cait watched you go, the latter tapping her nails on the floor in thought, your panties still looped around her wrist.

“Don't think she's forgiven us yet,” Vi commented quietly, curling up around Cait.

The blue-haired women hummed. “Give it time. She will.”

@sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover

#arcane #vi arcane #arcane vi x reader #vi x reader #arcane au #arcane league of legends #arcane violet #caitlyn kiramman #their little plaything #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x vi #vi and caitlyn #caitvi #caitvi x reader #arcane caitvi

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wongyuseokie · 2 months ago

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Theories & Heartstrings | k.m.g

Chapter 1: Love at First Collision

Summary: As a writer with a mildly cynical take on love, you’ve always believed people have a “type”—a pattern they never stray from when it comes to dating. And Kim Mingyu? He’s the textbook definition of someone who wouldn’t go for someone like you, nor would you go for him. But you test your theory when a fateful run-in with your charming neighbour sparks an unexpected attraction.

The plan? Go on dates with him and count how many it takes before your heart gets involved—if it ever does. But Mingyu is unpredictable, effortlessly breaking down your carefully constructed walls with every smile, every late-night conversation, every moment that feels too easy to be just an experiment.

The real problem? Secrets never stay secrets for long. And when Mingyu finds out the truth behind your so-called theory, will it prove you right, or that love doesn’t follow the rules you thought it did?

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut

Word Count: 18,732 words im sorry i couldnt stop yapping

Pairings: Neighbor! Mingyu x Journalist! Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!.

Content Warnings: mentions of blood (nothing graphic), wonwoo is also yn's housemate, but they have a mildly flirty relationship. joshua cares too much about plants. strong language and mentions of food and alcohol. Y/N is pretty confused, quite lost in general about her feelings, and very much in denial. quite a bit of arguing, no one here is good with their emotions. Y/N will be very annoying here. I apologise, but the girl has trust issues. they go back and forth, I’m very sorry. she’s feeling insecure, but nothing too intense (she got sad because of alcohol). Smut Warnings: protected sex (sadly this happens once in the first chapter, and that’s it lol), oral (m & f receiving) big dick! Mingyu, because duh! Sex toy usage (using it on y/n and it’s a vibrator, it’s red if that helps?), multiple orgasms, overstimulation. Lots of spicy moments with a ton of teasing. Shower sex. Author's Note 1: I'd be remiss if I didn't thank the lovely people who helped beta this monster of a story. thank you @lovetaroandtaemin @nebulousbrainsoup @strxwberry-skiess for your patience time and love thank you guys so much!! Author's Note 2: welp here it is guys my last fic, ever, but good news, this is only chapter 1! Series Masterlist

“I am not picking up your tree, Joshua.” You held the phone to your ear, exasperated, as your best friend whined like a child on the other end.

“Y/N, please. First of all, she’s a plant, not a tree! Second, that plant is my baby. She can keep everything else in the breakup, but she’s not getting Lydia!”

You blinked. “You named a tree?”

“She’s a bonsai,” Joshua sniffled, voice wobbling with heartbreak. “And my bitch of an ex left her out on the front step to die. Lydia’s gonna freeze, Y/N.”

You sighed. “You’ve really lost it.”

“Nope. I gave her a human name on purpose. So now you feel guilty abandoning her.”

You groaned. “You’re emotionally manipulating me with a bonsai.”

Joshua smirked through the phone. “And it’s working, isn’t it?”

“Fine,” you grumbled. “But I swear to God, if I have to hear about Julie one more time—”

“Nope! Just Lydia,” he said quickly. “Please rescue my plant baby. I love you, bye!”

The call ended before you could protest again. You let out another sigh, tossed your phone on the desk, and returned to your open document.

Writing had always been your dream—getting to pour your thoughts into something tangible, something that made people feel. You’d started at your company writing fluffy lifestyle pieces—“Make Your Apartment Your Sanctuary,” and “7 Houseplants That Won’t Die Instantly”—but lately, you'd taken control.

Now you led the Lifestyle and Well-Being column, tackling everything from relationship advice to self-love, and yes, even that viral review on the best adult toys on the market. The one that made your editor blush and your DMs explode.

You smiled faintly at the memory. You were making people feel seen—and that meant something.

“Done for the day?” Your boss asked, pausing by your desk.

“Yeah, you need me to stay late?”

“Nope. Just wanted to say—your latest article? Stellar.”

You beamed. “Thanks.” With a wave goodbye, you packed up and headed out—ready to play plant savior.

“Damn, she is cold,” you muttered, spotting the sad-looking bonsai on Julie’s icy doorstep. You scooped Lydia up like a wounded pet and drove her straight back to your apartment.

“Shua?” you called as you stepped inside.

“Lydia!” he gasped dramatically, leaping from the couch.

You blinked. “You greeted the plant before me?”

“And?” he said, completely unapologetic.

“I rescued it for you!”

“Can I water my girl first and hug you after?” he asked sweetly.

You laughed, tossing your bag onto the sofa. “Fine.” Ten minutes later, Joshua returned from the kitchen, Lydia perched happily on the windowsill and a bottle of wine in hand.

“She’s adjusting well to her new home,” he declared, pouring you both glasses. “And hydrated.”

“How nice,” you deadpanned. “Jealous of a plant now.”

“Oh, don’t pout. I’d hydrate you too, but unlike Lydia, the last time I sprayed you with the hose, you got mad.”

You snorted. “Why the hell is her name Lydia anyway?”

“She looked like one.”

You raised a brow. “Okay, then what do I look like?”

Joshua smirked. “Horny.”

You glared. “I will drown your bonsai in wine.”

He grinned. “C’mon, your last article must’ve left you a little pent up.”

“Shut up,” you said, throwing back your drink.

By the time the wine bottle was empty, you were curled into Joshua’s side on the couch, the warmth of alcohol and his comfort loosening your guard.

“Seriously though,” you murmured. “Why’d she dump you?”

He gave a bitter chuckle. “Said I was too nice.”

You blinked slowly. “Wait? How is that an issue?”

He smiled. “You’re drunk.”

“You always do that,” you muttered, suddenly pulling away.

“Do what?”

“Assume I’m just a drunken mess.”

“Well, right now you kind of are. And... you’re really close.”

You recoiled further. “Right. Wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that,” he groaned.

You didn’t answer. You just grabbed your phone instead.

Joshua sighed. “Okay, I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

You poured yourself another glass—your third—just in time for Wonwoo, your other housemate, to walk through the door.

You were sprawled on the couch, one leg dangling over the edge, a half-empty wine glass resting when Wonwoo walked in, looking devastatingly handsome in his work attire.

He was wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his toned forearms, and a pair of perfectly tailored black trousers. His tie was slightly loosened, and his hair was slightly tousled like he’d run his fingers through it a few too many times. You couldn’t help but stare, your wine-hazed mind fixating on how effortlessly attractive he looked.

“Wow,” you murmured, not realising you’d said it out loud until Wonwoo’s eyes flickered over to you, a small, amused smile appearing on his lips.

“Did you just... wow me?” he asked, shutting the door behind him and shrugging off his coat.

You didn’t even have the decency to feel embarrassed. Instead, you just giggled and nodded, lifting your wine glass in a mock toast. “You look outstanding, Woo. Like, unfairly good.”

He arched a brow, walking into the living room and leaning against the arm of the couch, towering over you. “Have you been drinking alone?”

You waved your hand dismissively. “I started with Joshua, and then he got all snippy. But thankfully, you’re here now looking like a model from a GQ spread. Seriously, do you just walk around looking like that?”

Wonwoo chuckled, the sound low and almost too attractive for your mildly intoxicated state. “It’s called having a job, Y/N. You should try it sometime.”

You scoffed, pretending to be offended. “I have a job! I just... don’t have to wear a suit for it. Or look that good doing it.”

He gave you one of those half-smiles that made your heart thump. “You look pretty good right now. Maybe it’s just the wine talking.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, poking his arm lightly. “Are you flirting with me? Or just being nice because I’m a little tipsy?”

He glanced at your wine glass, then at you, eyes softening. “A little of both, maybe.”

That made you giggle again, and you scooted over, patting the empty spot next to you. “Sit. You’ve been working all day. You deserve to relax.”

Wonwoo hesitated, but eventually lowered himself onto the couch, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned back. You could smell his cologne now, something warm and woodsy that made your stomach do a little flip.

“So,” he said gently, “what’s with the sad eyes? It’s Friday.”

“Joshua’s pissed at me, I think.”

Wonwoo nodded. “He’s not the best with drunk people.”

You pouted. “So you think I’m drunk too.”

“I think you’re not sober,” he teased, pulling you easily into his lap.

“You’re really pretty, you know,” you mumbled.

Wonwoo glanced at you, one brow raised, clearly fighting a smile. “You’re definitely drunk.”

“Am not,” you argued, sticking your tongue out. “I’m just being honest. You don’t get to be this attractive and not know it.”

He finally gave in to a full smile, one that made your heart flutter. “You really don’t hold back when you’re tipsy, do you?”

You shrugged, taking another sip. “Life’s too short to hold back. And you’re too pretty to not be told so.”

Wonwoo shook his head, but there was a fondness in his gaze that made you feel oddly comfortable. You let the silence fall between you, not awkward, just... nice.

He glanced down at your empty glass and gently took it from your hand, setting it on the coffee table. “Maybe that’s enough for tonight.”

You pouted but didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. “You’re really comfy too,” you mumbled.

He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder, almost as if it was second nature. “You’re a lot clingier when you’ve had a few drinks.”

You hummed in agreement, not really caring to defend yourself. “It’s because you’re nice to cling to.”

You smiled. “So you’re back home early on a Friday night, what happened, no hot date?”

“Nah, my job and its demands make it difficult to date, what about you? You wrote a very spicy article, did that not get you at least a few contenders to try out the toys in your article?”

You sighed. “ Shut up, and plus, I crave intimacy, not just a one-night stand.”

He paused. “Interesting.”

“Shh, let me sleep,” you mumbled as you curled more into his chest.

Wonwoo didn’t push you away, just let you rest against him, and you could have sworn you felt his thumb gently brush over your shoulder. Your heart beat a little faster, and you couldn’t help but smile, too comfortable to care about anything else at that moment.

As the show on TV changed to something else, Wonwoo sighed, seemingly more relaxed now that he’d settled in. “You’re lucky I don’t mind being your drunk pillow.”

You grinned, snuggling closer. “You secretly love it.”

He didn’t reply, but the soft chuckle that rumbled through his chest was answer enough.

You blinked. “Sure.”

~~ The next morning, you walked into a plant shop, hopeful that obnoxiously expensive and ornate plant would make up for the snippy exchange you and Joshua had last night. The bell above the door jingled as you approached the counter, pointing to a tiny bonsai in the window. “For a friend,” you said. “He likes plants?” The older man smiled. “He named his.” The man chuckled, gently wrapping the pot. “Plants are like people. They need the right love to thrive.” “Yeah,” you murmured. “Thanks.” ~~ You were returning back to the apartment, and you took a sudden turn–then froze.

“Oh, shit—” you yelped as the tiny bonsai smashed into someone’s face.

“FUCK,” he yelled, hands flying to his nose.

“Oh my god, I—your face—your plant! I’m so sorry!”

The man looked up, wincing. “You could have broken my nose. And you’re worried about the plant?”

“Do you live here?” You asked, noticing how he was standing outside the apartment door opposite yours, ignoring the blood.

“What?”

“I mean—can I help? Do you have ice?”

He blinked. “Yeah. Come in.”

Inside, he handed you his keys, too dazed to care.

“You’re very trusting,” you muttered, digging through his freezer.

“You already injured me. What more could you do?”

You found an ice pack and vodka, held up both. “You want comfort or numbness?”

“I’ll take both,” he mumbled, sitting down.

You pressed the pack to his nose. “What’s your name?”

“Kim Mingyu.”

“I’m Y/N.”

He cracked a pained smile. “So this is how you meet people? Assault first, names later?”

You laughed. “Only when I’m feeling flirty.”

“Cute,” he said, gently taking the ice pack from your hand.

You stared at the barely bleeding gash. “You’ll survive.”

“See this scar?” he pointed to one above his brow. “My sister gave me that. I can handle one pot-wielding girl.”

The soft hum of the city buzzed faintly through the windows as you sat on Mingyu’s couch, nervously picking at a stray thread on your sweater. Mingyu plopped down next to you, a little too close, but you didn’t mind. His shoulder brushed against yours as he leaned back, stretching his long legs out.

“So,” Mingyu said, flashing you a charming smile. “Now that I’ve lured you into my lair, I guess I should actually get to know you.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Yeah? You planning to interrogate me?”

He shrugged, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe. Gotta make sure my neighbor isn’t secretly plotting my demise. Or maybe I’m just trying to figure out why you always look like you’re on a mission when you leave the building.”

You bit back a laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean when I’m rushing to meet deadlines and not running a secret spy operation?”

Mingyu grinned. “Exactly. So what’s with all the late-night typing sessions? What do you do?”

You hesitated for a moment. “I’m a writer. Lifestyle pieces mostly. A bit of everything — fashion, travel, relationships. It’s kind of like... whatever my editor thinks people are obsessed with that week.”

Mingyu raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “That sounds pretty cool. So you just... write about life?”

“Pretty much,” you said, relaxing into the couch. “Sometimes it’s advice columns, sometimes it’s think pieces. Occasionally, it’s lists of the top ten sex toys to spice up your love life.”

Mingyu choked on his drink, coughing as his cheeks flushed. “Wait... that was you?”

You frowned in confusion. “What?”

He cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed but unable to hide his smirk. “I, uh... I might have read that article. Thought the writing was... bold.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Bold, huh? Didn’t think that piece would be your go-to read.”

Mingyu grinned sheepishly. “It wasn’t exactly on my list, but it popped up. It was one of those late-night ‘am I missing out on something’ moments.”

You couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up. “I didn’t peg you as the type to read lifestyle blogs.”

“I didn’t peg myself as one either,” he admitted. “But the writing was clever. Funny. Made it sound... approachable. I should’ve known it was you.”

You snorted. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Absolutely,” he said, giving you a soft, lopsided smile. “You made it sound... less intimidating.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped. “Well, I do aim to please.”

Mingyu hummed thoughtfully. “And here I thought I was the one trying to impress you.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, leaning closer. “How’s that working out for you?”

He chuckled, eyes flickering to your lips for just a moment. “Jury’s still out. But I’m definitely intrigued.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you tried to play it cool. “What about you? What’s your thing?”

Mingyu gestured casually to the wall behind you, where a few framed photographs hung. You turned around, realizing you hadn’t noticed them before.

“They’re yours?” You asked, genuinely surprised.

He nodded, a bit shy now. “Yeah. I’m a photographer. Mostly freelance, but I’ve done some shows and a few magazine spreads. I guess I’m always chasing light and moments... like that one.” He pointed to a picture of a bustling street at sunset, the sky bleeding shades of pink and orange over the cityscape.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, stepping closer to look. “You really captured the way the city feels alive.”

Mingyu’s lips curved into a soft smile. “That’s the goal. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

You glanced back at him, raising a brow. “So, you just wander around looking for the perfect shot?”

He nodded, leaning back comfortably. “Pretty much. Sometimes it’s places. Sometimes it’s people. Anything that feels... real.”

You felt a little flutter in your chest at his words. “That’s kind of poetic.”

Mingyu smiled, a little bashful. “Didn’t mean to get all deep on you.”

You waved him off. “No, I like it. You’ve got this... thoughtful way of looking at things.”

He gave a little shrug, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. “Maybe I just know how to make things sound good. Photographer skills.”

You laughed. “And here I thought writers were the ones who spun stories.”

He leaned in just a bit, his voice low and playful. “Maybe we’re not so different after all.”

You met his gaze, your heart racing. “Guess we’ll have to see.”

Mingyu smirked, his fingers lightly brushing yours where they rested on the couch. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“So...” Mingyu leaned in, cocking his head. “If it’s not weird to ask, did you test all those toys out yourself or get reviews from others?” Your eyes widened. “A bit of both.”

“Interesting.”

“I guess you and your significant other can maybe test it out, and I can get more real-time feedback,” you suggested awkwardly, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

He laughed. “Y/N, if I had a significant other, I wouldn’t be sitting here, very turned on, icing my face.”

You swallowed and laughed awkwardly.

An hour had passed, and you were still seated on Mingyu’s couch, the casual conversation flowing easily between you two. The warmth of his apartment wrapped around you, made cozier by the soft lighting that glowed from the corner lamp. Mingyu had moved closer at some point during your chat, and you couldn’t help but notice how his knee brushed against yours every now and then.

“So, let me get this straight,” Mingyu said, his smile widening as he leaned back, resting his arm along the back of the couch.

“You’ve managed to convince an entire city that they need to buy seven different types of pillows just to sleep better?”

You laughed, shrugging. “What can I say? The perfect sleep experience is an art. Plus, people like to feel a bit pampered. Who doesn’t love the idea of sinking into a mountain of plush pillows?”

“Fair point,” he conceded, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You make it sound so luxurious, I almost feel bad for my one sad, flat pillow.”

You raised a brow. “Oh, that’s unacceptable. I think I have a new mission: upgrade your pillow situation.”

Mingyu chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder as he reached for his drink on the coffee table. The simple touch sent a jolt of awareness through you, but you kept your expression calm.

“What about you?” You asked, trying to steer the focus away from how his touch made your skin tingle. “Aside from photography, what do you do when you’re not charming people with your art?”

Mingyu’s lips quirked up. “I cook. A lot. It’s therapeutic. Plus, I’m kind of a food snob.”

Your eyes lit up with intrigue. “You cook? Like, actual meals? Or are we talking ramen and scrambled eggs?”

He scoffed playfully. “Ramen? Please. I can make homemade pasta from scratch. You’d be impressed.”

“That’s a bold statement. I might have to hold you to it.”

He grinned, eyes glinting with a bit of challenge. “I’d love to prove it. But only if you promise to be an honest critic.”

You hummed, leaning in just slightly. “I’m always honest. Sometimes a little too honest.”

His eyes traced your features, lingering a little longer on your lips before darting back to your gaze. “I don’t mind honesty. It’s refreshing.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, and you couldn’t help but notice how Mingyu’s hand had inched closer, resting on the back of the couch just behind your shoulder. The proximity made your pulse quicken, and you weren’t sure if it was the way his voice dropped a little lower or the way his eyes softened when he looked at you.

“So,” he said softly, voice almost a murmur, “would you ever do a part two for that sex toy article? ”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Why, do you have any suggestions?”

Mingyu raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “Maybe; would you listen to them?”

You smirked. “Maybe; I am a very open-minded person,”

His eyes flickered down to your lips, and this time, he didn’t look away. Mingyu leaned in just a fraction, testing the waters. “Oh? I think I’d like to get to know you better.”

Your breath caught at the implication, your heart thudding against your ribs. Mingyu’s hand moved from the back of the couch to gently brush your cheek, thumb tracing a light, comforting path along your jaw.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded slowly, your voice just as soft. “Yeah... It’s okay.”

He smiled, his lips curving into something almost relieved, before he closed the small distance between you. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative, careful way. When you responded, pressing closer, he deepened the kiss slightly, his other hand moving to your waist.

The world seemed to melt away, and all you could feel was the warmth of his touch, the way his lips moved with yours like he’d been waiting to do this for a long time.

When you finally pulled back, just enough to catch your breath, Mingyu rested his forehead against yours, his thumb still caressing your cheek.

“Worth the wait,” he murmured, his voice rough and sincere.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling more at ease than you had in a long time. “Definitely.”

“I guess I’m happy you almost broke my nose,” he murmured, leaning in slightly.

You let out a soft gasp when he kissed you again, making you melt against him.

“I want to hear that sound again,” he whispered, making you giggle, and you grinned, and he took it as a sign to further things.

He picked you up easily and carried you to his bedroom and onto his bed, settling you onto his lap like you belonged there. His lips never stopped moving against yours, each kiss more heated, more desperate.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were panting.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, voice lower, rougher now.

You nodded eagerly, lips parted, skin already flushed.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

A moan escaped before you could stop it.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, that smug smirk creeping back. “Ooh. Praise kink. Duly noted.”

His hands slid up your sides, under your dress, fingertips skating along your skin like he was unwrapping a gift.

“Can I?” He asked again, but this time, he was already tugging at the fabric.

“Please just do something,” you said, practically squirming in his lap, need pulsing through you like a heartbeat.

He laughed softly — a dark, delicious sound. “You’re adorable when you beg.”

Your dress slipped over your head and onto the floor in one swift motion.

“No bra?” He asked, amused.

“Didn’t feel like it matched the vibe,” you replied with a lazy shrug.

“Big fan of that choice,” he said, palming your breasts in his large hands, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened under his touch. His mouth followed, warm and wet, kissing and sucking until you were arching into him.

Then his hand drifted lower.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing these either,” he muttered, fingers brushing over the damp heat between your legs.

You let out a soft gasp, legs parting instinctively. “Can I feel you?” He asked again, voice a low rumble against your throat.

“Please,” you breathed, nearly trembling with how badly you needed him.

He slipped your underwear down slowly, teasing you, drawing this out like he enjoyed how desperate you were.

“Been a while?” He murmured, fingers sliding between your folds, making you jolt.

“Way too long,” you confessed, barely managing to speak.

He groaned. “Fuck, I want to taste you so badly, but some beautiful disaster smashed me in the face with a plant tonight.”

“There’s always next time,” you managed to say, breath hitching as he continued to tease your entrance with maddening patience.

“Oh? There’s going to be a next time?” He asked, cocky now.

“Depends if this time’s good,” you teased back.

He grinned, eyes dark. “Oh, sweetheart... it’ll be better than good.”

He lifted you off his lap, laid you gently on the bed like you were something breakable. You watched him undress — slow, purposeful — revealing long lines of muscle and the kind of body that made your mouth water.

When his boxers hit the floor, you let out an involuntary, “Fuck.”

“You keep flattering me; I might forget we’re not in love yet,” he joked, grabbing a condom from the drawer and rolling it on.

“Mingyu,” you moaned, writhing on the sheets, “please, I just need to feel you inside me.”

He froze, eyes wide.

“Won’t it hurt if I don’t—”

“Dude,” you cut in, voice raw. “I’ve been in a dry spell so long I’m practically a desert. Just fuck me.”

He blinked. “Did you just ‘dude’ me while begging for dick?”

“Yes, and your boner better survive it,” you shot back.

He laughed — hard — but that laugh turned into a groan as he lined himself up and slowly pushed inside you.

Your body arched like a live wire had touched it.

“Fucking hell,” he gritted out. “You’re so tight.”

You gasped, fingers digging into the sheets as he bottomed out.

He started moving — slow, deep thrusts that had you babbling nonsense within seconds. One of his hands slid between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing just the right way.

“I can’t... I’m gonna—” you whimpered, already spiraling.

“Let go. Come on, baby. I’ve got you,” he murmured.

And that was it.

You came hard, shaking, crying out as your body clenched around him. A few rough thrusts later, Mingyu groaned, burying himself deep as he spilled into the condom.

He collapsed on top of you, his face pressed to your chest, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

Eventually, he rolled to the side, pulling you with him.

“Wow,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, still panting.

“You’re amazing. Thank you.”

He looked over at you, one brow raised. “Are you... thanking me for sex?”

“I mean, yeah? That was better than therapy.”

He laughed, brushing a strand of hair off your face. “I still owe you one. My hands and tongue haven’t even had their turn yet.”

Your eyes widened.

“Unless this was a one-time ‘itch to scratch’ situation?” He added, voice quiet now.

You smiled, slow and wicked. “I think we can definitely make it happen again.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Just... next time, maybe don’t lead with blunt force trauma.”

You grinned. And said,“No promises.”

“I should get going,” you murmured, reluctantly sitting up and scanning the room for your scattered dignity — aka your dress and underwear.

Mingyu nodded, leaning back on his elbows as he watched you move. “Yeah. I mean... this wasn’t exactly how I imagined meeting my neighbors, but I’m not complaining.”

You grinned as he tossed your underwear to you with a lazy smirk and handed you your dress like it was some ceremonial robe.

“How do I look?” You asked, smoothing your hair and tugging the dress into place.

“Stunning,” he said, eyes dragging over you with no shame. “But also, like you just got thoroughly fucked.”

You groaned, covering your face. “Great. Just the look I was going for.”

“Hey, it’s just a few steps across the hall. Embrace the walk of pride,” he teased.

You paused, glancing at the door. “Should I help you finish unpacking? You still have boxes everywhere.” He shook his head. “Nah. Go get rid of that plant for your housemates before you break another part of me.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Oh that’s a good idea, I have a weapon in my hand.”

Mingyu reached for your wrist and pulled you into a kiss — slow, sweet, and way too tender for a one-night stand. It left you blinking when he pulled away.

“What was that for?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You had that look — like you were overthinking everything. Just wanted to remind you I’m not a dick.”

You bit your lip, smiling. “No... just a guy with a really nice one.”

He laughed, low and raspy, and you forced yourself to peel away before you crawled right back into bed with him.

“See you,” you said, pausing at the door for just a second longer than necessary.

You slipped out, gathered your things with whatever grace you had left, and padded barefoot across the hall to your own apartment — slightly sore, definitely smug, and still tasting him on your lips.

“Oh my God, you’re alive!” Joshua gasped, immediately pulling you into a hug. Then he squinted, nose crinkling. “Wait—why are you sweaty?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, lounging by the counter. “Your dress is on backwards.”

You groaned, tugging at the fabric. “Okay, you nosy bitches, can I at least shower first?”

Joshua tilted his head like a puppy. “So… who’d you fuck?”

You glared at him, cheeks heating. “Our new neighbor. And for the record, I accidentally smashed a bonsai into his face first.”

Joshua blinked. “Why did you have a bonsai?”

You shrugged. “Felt bad. Thought a peace plant might help.” His expression softened. “We’re good, really. But damn. You broke his face, and he broke your back? That’s some poetic symmetry.”

You groaned again, stalking toward the bathroom. “I need a shower. Don’t go anywhere—I’ll be back with way too many details.”

Both men nodded eagerly, already settling in like a live show was coming

~~ You were halfway into post-shower bliss, freshly changed and just barely reclaiming some dignity when there was a soft knock at your bedroom door.

“Can I come in?” You heard Wonwoo’s voice ask.

You glanced up and smiled. “Yeah, come in.” You patted the empty spot on the bed beside you.

“Did I disturb you?” He asked, motioning toward your open laptop and mess of notes.

“Not really. Just I was brainstorming, earlier,”

Wonwoo settled beside you, his presence warm and familiar. “Maybe write about your latest hookup?” He teased with a slight edge in his voice.

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, what’s with that tone?”

He shrugged. “I thought you’d want to maybe ask me instead? Weren’t we sort of flirting last night? I don’t just pull everyone onto my lap. But I guess the hot neighbour is who you prefer? What if he’d been a serial killer?”

Your lips twitched into a smile. “I literally knocked him out with a plant. Pretty sure he wasn’t in a position to hurt me.”

Wonwoo flopped back on your bed, arms spread wide. “So that’s it? He read your article, got turned on, and you jumped his bones?”

You snapped your laptop closed and sighed. “Why are you sounding so judgmental?”

He rolled his head toward you. “I was just worried, okay? What if he was a creep?”

You softened a little, scooting closer. “He’s not. He’s nice. Chill.”

Wonwoo nodded. “Okay. So... was he good?”

You laughed. “He's, um... big.”

One of Wonwoo’s eyebrows arched. “That’s not a skill, Y/N. Did he use his hands? Or, you know, go down on you?”

You gave him a pointed look. “His nose was still swollen from my plant assault. He was doing me a favor, not trying to win Olympic gold in oral.”

Wonwoo crossed his arms, unimpressed. “What, were his hands broken too?”

You huffed. “Look, I was desperate. Dry spell hell. He solved the problem. Can you stop interrogating me?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Besides, why do you care who I hook up with?”

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Since it’s some random guy who lives next door, and you’re acting like you’ve known him forever. You can’t just trust people like that, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “He’s not a random guy. He’s a new neighbor. It’s not like I’m inviting a complete stranger into my life.”

“He kind of is a stranger,” Wonwoo argued, stepping closer. “You don’t know what he’s like, what his deal is. You’re smarter than this. You shouldn’t just let someone into your life because they’re charming or whatever.”

You crossed your arms defensively. “Why do you even care? It’s not like it affects you.”

His jaw clenched, and his eyes softened just a little. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt. You always rush into things, thinking it’s all fun and games. Not everyone’s going to be what they seem.”

You rolled your eyes. “You sound like a dad, Woo.”

Wonwoo’s face flushed slightly, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m serious. Just... be careful. I’m just looking out for you.”

You softened a bit at his concern, realizing he was only trying to protect you. “I appreciate it, really. But I can take care of myself. I’m not a kid.”

His expression was a mix of frustration and something else — something intense that you couldn’t quite place. Before you could think about it too much, he took a step closer, his hand lifting like he was going to cup your cheek, but he hesitated, fingers hovering near your jaw.

You felt your breath hitch, your eyes flicking from his hand to his eyes. “Wonwoo...”

His gaze dipped to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you grew thick with unspoken tension. It felt like everything slowed down, and your pulse raced at the thought of him closing the distance.

But just as he seemed to make up his mind, his phone rang, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a knife. Wonwoo cursed softly, stepping back and fishing his phone from his pocket.

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice suddenly tight. He glanced at you, eyes regretful. “I... I have to take this. Work.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, trying to act unaffected. “Right. Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a beat longer before nodding and walking out of the room to take the call. You stayed rooted to the spot, heart pounding, wondering just what would have happened if that phone hadn’t interrupted.

You flopped back on the bed, groaning into your pillow. Not only were you aroused, you were annoyed. You knew if you stayed here, you'd either break out one of your new toys or spiral into another pity party.

You grabbed your laptop, shoved it in your bag, and got dressed. A café. That was the move. Coffee, background chatter, and maybe a splash of wine. Anything to reset your brain. ~~ You were halfway through your first glass when a familiar voice cut through your concentration.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up. Mingyu. Those eyes.

“Uh... no,” you said, blinking. “I mean—yeah, sit. Please.”

He chuckled. “You can say no if it’s weird. I won’t cry. Promise.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. Have a seat.”

He settled in beside you, pulling out his own laptop like it was the most casual thing in the world. You tried to focus. You really did. “Y/N?” He asked suddenly. “Hm?” “Do you hate your laptop?” You blinked. “No? Why?” He sipped his drink and gestured to your keyboard. “Because it sounds like you’re trying to kill it.” You stared at your fingers. “Seriously?” “I mean, you’re not typing—you’re committing keyboard homicide.” You sighed. “I’m just wound up.” “Want to talk about it?” You glanced at him, then nodded. “My housemate got nosy about us. Asked a bunch of judgmental questions. Then offered to do what you didn’t do, and right when he’s about to kiss me... boom. Call. He leaves. I’m left... frustrated.” Mingyu tilted his head. “What I didn’t do?” You swallowed. “Like... go down on me. Use your hands.” Mingyu leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Ah. That.” “My nose was a mess that night,” he explained. “And if I’m going down on someone, I want to enjoy it. I don’t want to half-ass it through a sinus headache.” You nodded slowly. “It wasn’t a complaint. It just—he made it sound like you were reluctant.” “Well, he doesn’t know me; I am never reluctant. Just injured with a bonsai.” “Well then, let me get this straight.” You leaned back with a smirk. “You’re annoyed because you were offered ‘better’ sex, didn’t get it, and now you’re taking it out on your poor laptop?” Mingyu blinked at you, and then you gave a slow nod. “More or less.” You grinned, and he took a step closer. “Lucky for you, I don’t tend to get phone calls mid-orgasm. Want me to help… ease that frustration?” Your breath caught. “I’m still writing.” “How many words?” You pouted. “Five. Just the title.” “Exactly.” He flashed a grin. “You’re wound up. Let me help.” “Give me like 1 hour more. I’m sure I can write,” you insisted, making Mingyu grin as he leaned back on the chair and played on his phone, with a knowing smirk, almost as if he knew you would not be able to get any work done now, considering how tightly wound up you were.

~~ “You’re not writing anything, are you?” Mingyu tilted his head at your laptop screen, clearly unimpressed. “I’m trying,” you muttered, snapping the laptop shut. “But it’s like my brain’s been replaced with mashed potatoes.” “Then come with me.” “To where?” “We’re going pub crawling. It’ll help you unwind.” You blinked. “It’s three in the afternoon.” He shrugged. “Perfect time to study the science of types. Dating, attraction, weird flirting tactics—there’s no better place than a pub.” “So this is pure science?” “Exactly,” he said. You groaned but grabbed your bag anyway. “Fine. But if we get sloppy drunk, I’m blaming you.” Mingyu grinned and offered you his hand. “Deal.”

~~ “Okay, she’s definitely into him,” Mingyu whispered over the rim of his pint, leaning toward you at the crowded corner booth. You peeked over at the couple across the bar. “How can you tell?” “She’s playing with her straw. That’s peak first-flirt body language. But watch—he’s not making eye contact.” “He’s staring at her chest,” you confirmed, rolling your eyes. “Typical.” Mingyu chuckled. “He’s either nervous or an idiot.” “Or both.” You sipped your wine and leaned back against the leather seat, your shoulder brushing his. Neither of you moved away. The buzz in your veins wasn’t just from the alcohol—it was from him. “You’re good at this people-watching thing,” you said. “Like, weirdly good.” “I’m a photographer. I notice things.” “You should’ve warned me you were charming.”

“I did,” he said, nudging your thigh under the table. “You just didn’t believe me.” You fought a smile and looked away. “What else do you notice?” “Right now?” He murmured, his voice low and smooth. “You’re tipsy. And you’re wondering what happens next.” You turned to him slowly. “What does happen next?” Mingyu grinned. “We go back to mine. Pizza, movie... whatever else comes naturally.” You raised a brow. “Smooth.” “Just honest.” And somehow, you found yourself in a cab minutes later, curled up against his side, letting yourself lean in just a little too close. The city lights passed in blurs, and you weren’t sure if it was the wine or Mingyu’s hand on your thigh making you feel weightless. “Are you always this cuddly when you drink?” Mingyu's voice was soft against your ear as he helped you out of the cab. His hand stayed on your lower back, steady and warm as you made your way up the building steps. “I’m not drunk,” you mumbled, swaying just slightly. “You’re not not drunk,” he teased, nudging you playfully with his shoulder. “Shut up,” you said, but you were already laughing. “And for the record, I’m always this cuddly. Alcohol just makes me more velcro-like.” Mingyu smiled as he unlocked the door to his apartment, ushering you inside. “Welcome to my humble, semi-furnished, testosterone-fueled abode.” “I thought you said your roommates moved in?” “They did. You’ll meet them—eventually.” He kicked off his shoes and walked ahead of you toward the kitchen. You hovered awkwardly in the living room, suddenly very aware of how intimate this was. Mingyu in his home. You in his space. “Water?” He called from the kitchen. “Please.” You accepted the glass he handed you, your fingers brushing his. The contact sent a small spark down your spine. “So...” he said, settling onto the couch and patting the cushion next to him. “Wanna tell me how many words you wrote today?” You narrowed your eyes at him as you sat down. “Why are you like this?” “Charming? Helpful? Irresistible?” “Insufferable,” you corrected, even though a smile tugged at your lips. “Still better than mashed potatoes for brains.” “Low blow.” He nudged you again, and you nearly spilled your water from how close you were suddenly sitting. His thigh pressed into yours—and that’s when it hit you. His thigh. Solid. Warm.

Unmoving. And then he flexed it. You choked slightly. Mingyu looked amused. “What?”

“Stop doing that,” you hissed. “Doing what?”

“That thing with your leg.”

“Oh?” He leaned in, grinning. “You mean this?”

He flexed again, and you tried not to squirm.

“You’re evil,” you muttered.

“You’re the one sitting on my thigh.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. “I’m not sitting—” “You are,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “And I think you like it.”

You swallowed hard, heat curling low in your stomach. “Shut up.”

“I could make you feel better, you know.”

You turned toward him slowly. “I didn’t say I was feeling bad.”

“Then let me make you feel even better.”

His hand moved gently to your hip.

“You sure?” he asked, gaze sincere, voice quieter now.

You nodded, breath catching.

Mingyu smiled, pulled you fully into his lap—and the rest of your thoughts disappeared.

“Besides, I want to taste you,” Mingyu murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Say something?” You nodded, breath catching. “Yes.”

Mingyu smirked. “Good girl.”

You whimpered. “Oh no, praise kink. Dangerous game.” He grinned at you, full of teasing and promise, and led you back to his bedroom. You followed without question.

“Hey, nice,” you said, looking around his space. “You got the place set up.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu said, casually kicking off his shoes. “I had help from someone, but we ended up fucking, so—she wasn’t that helpful.”

You shot him a glare. “Charming.”

“Sit.”

You did. He peeled off his hoodie in one fluid motion, revealing his bare chest.

“You just walk around looking like that?”

“Problem?”

“None,” you said, blinking hard. “Just—wow.”

“Tell me what you like. Move my head, stop me if it’s too much, too fast—just say the word.”

You nodded as he leaned in and kissed you, slow and teasing. You pulled back.

“Wait.”

Mingyu raised a brow, but you stood and started undressing.

“Stop,” he said. “Let me.”

You sat back, breath uneven. He knelt in front of you, his fingers working the clasp of your bra. The straps fell like they were made to. He tossed the fabric aside before wrapping his lips around your nipple, warm tongue flicking against the sensitive skin. His other hand massaged your other breast in perfect sync. You whimpered as he switched sides, giving both equal attention, his lips dragging heat from your skin.

“Oh, I love those sounds,” he murmured against your chest, lips brushing your sternum.

He hooked his fingers into your panties and slid them down, tossing them somewhere across the room.

“If I can’t find those later, I’m blaming you. They were one of my favorites.”

“You’ll survive,” he said, just before he kissed your clit.

Your hips bucked.

“Right there?”

You nodded, breathless.

He smirked against you, arms wrapping around your thighs to hold you still. You weren’t going anywhere—not when he was just getting started.

He traced slow, deliberate circles over your clit with his tongue. Unwavering. Steady.

“You’re good at this,” you moaned.

“Also... was that my name in cursive on your clit?” You asked breathlessly.

“Maybe.”

Mingyu didn’t let up—his tongue kept working you through every shaky gasp. You came hard, trembling in his grip. He didn’t stop. Not even when you cried out, not even when you begged. He sucked on your clit like it was oxygen. You came again, legs twitching, hand buried in his hair.

When he finally pulled back, you were wrecked—back slouched into the cushions, breathing heavy.

“So?”

“Amazing,” you whispered, blinking up at the ceiling.

You turned toward him, your fingers drifting to the button of his jeans. “You don’t have to,” he said.

“I know,” you replied. “I want to.”

He helped you slide them down, then hissed as you palmed his cock through his boxers.

“Don’t tease me,” he said, voice ragged. “Noted.”

You pulled him free and tried not to moan at the sight. He was thick, flushed, and already leaking. You licked his tip and smiled when his hips jerked forward.

“Fuck,” he muttered as you took him deeper. What you couldn’t fit, you made up for with your hand.

When you started massaging his balls, he gasped. “Shit. Shit. Baby, I’m gonna—”

You didn’t stop.

He groaned loudly, head falling back, fingers gripping the sofa as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, letting your tongue tease his tip one last time.

Mingyu collapsed back into the cushions, chest heaving. “That was... wow.”

You smiled, cheeks flushed and body warm, still glowing from the attention he’d given you minutes ago. He looked at you, all awe and affection. “You know,” he said, voice still breathless, “I should’ve invited you over way sooner.”

You were laughing, but the second you finished laughing, suddenly the afterglow of your orgasm had dimmed, and you were painfully aware of how naked you were.

“Hey… you okay?” Mingyu’s voice was quiet, and your eyes flicked to him as you instinctively grabbed the nearest pillow and hugged it to your bare chest. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, hoping your shyness wasn’t obvious. “Oh.” Mingyu stood, then paused. “Wait.” He turned the lights off, casting the room in soft shadows. “I can’t see much now, but I’ll just—”

He handed you his shirt blindly. “Here. You can use this.” “Thanks,” you murmured, slipping it on fast and clinging to the extra bit of coverage. The lights flicked back on, and Mingyu gave you a reassuring smile. “You can relax. I wasn’t trying to get you out of it again.” You gave a breathy laugh, still a little too self-conscious to meet his gaze.

“It was fun,” he added casually. “I mean... not that I’m saying we should do it again. Unless you want to. But not because I expect—shit, this is coming out wrong.”

You tilted your head at him. “You think?” “I’m just saying, I wasn’t expecting anything,” he backtracked. “You’re beautiful. And I’m not... trying to mess with your head or anything.” “Thanks for the orgasms,” you said dryly, tugging your jeans on. Mingyu flinched, clearly caught off guard. “Okay. That’s fair. I deserved that.” You bent down to grab your shirt and looked up at him with a narrowed stare. “Right. Because you’re so emotionally competent.” “I never claimed to be,” he said, his voice tight now. “Look, we barely know each other. It was just sex. You don’t have to get all weird about it.” You stood up, heart thudding now—not from embarrassment, but from frustration. “I’m not weird about it. But you are clearly trying to backpedal hard enough to twist your ankle.” “Okay, fine,” he snapped, raising his hands. “I’ll go. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He rolled his eyes as he walked out. You didn’t stop him. Not when you were that close to tearing up. You didn’t know why it suddenly affected you; you knew you had some slight issues with confidence and doubted yourself quite a bit; you just didn’t expect to get like that during a casual hook-up. ~~ You slammed the door behind him, then stormed into your own apartment. “Y/N?” Joshua looked up from the couch. “Not now,” you muttered, brushing past him and heading straight for your bedroom. You could still hear Mingyu’s voice echoing in your head. “It was just sex.” Fucking idiot. You paced for a moment before throwing yourself down on the bed. The knock at your door came less than five minutes later. You cracked it open to see Mingyu standing sheepishly, holding a paper bag. “I had to think of an excuse,” he said, offering it. “Your bra’s in here.” You sighed and took the bag from him. “You came back for my bra?” “I didn’t want to leave things like that, Bambi eyes let me in, I didn’t catch his name,” he admitted. “That’s Joshua; he let you in.” Mingyu glanced around. “Can I sit?” You pointed to the bed, and he eased down onto the edge. “Why did you come back?” “I’m shit at this. At saying things right. I always talk like an idiot when I’m... nervous.” You blinked. “You’re nervous?” Mingyu shrugged. “You make me nervous.” For a second, you just stared at him. Then, you said, “Stay.” He looked up. “What?” You crossed your arms. “Stay. Talk. Don’t leave again acting like we both didn’t enjoy that and like we don’t enjoy spending time with each other.” He exhaled a long breath, then nodded. “For what it’s worth,” Mingyu said, voice suddenly softer, “you have nothing to be shy about.”

You held his gaze for a beat, then gave a small smile. “Look, we started this all in the wrong order. You wanted to be friends…”

“Friends,” Mingyu repeated, eyes flicking around the room before landing on a small red object.

“Is that what I think it is?”

You groaned. “Oh my god, can you not—”

“A vibrator?” he grinned, walking over to grab it. “In plain sight?”

“Give it back.”

“Or…” he smirked, turning it over in his hand. “I could show you how sorry I am?”

Your mouth went dry. “What happened to ‘just friends’?”

“We can start that tomorrow.”

That was all the warning you got before he was on you, kissing you like he meant it. You tugged him closer by his shirt, falling back onto the bed as he slipped his hand down and popped the button of your jeans. You kicked them off along with your panties. His knuckles grazed your slick folds.

“You’re still soaked,” he said against your lips, eyes flicking down your body like you were art.

He pulled your shirt over your head.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

You smiled softly as he began kissing his way down, slow and reverent.

He turned the vibrator on and dragged it gently along your folds. “Shit,” you hissed, hips jerking as the cold metal touched your clit.

Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, curling just right as the vibrator buzzed against your swollen clit. The sensation was overwhelming—fast and dizzying, his fingers moving steadily, the toy pressed right where it needed to be.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, digging your nails into the sheets.

“Good girl,” Mingyu whispered. “You take my fingers so well.”

Your body trembled, your thighs starting to shake as the pleasure built.

You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut. “Please don’t stop.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Mingyu smirked, kissing the inside of your thigh as you fell apart on his hand.

He pulled his fingers out and raised them to his lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.

“So… friends?”

You were still panting. “Yeah. Friends.” “Uh-huh.” He grinned. “Need help with that?” He nodded toward the very visible bulge in his pants.

You sat up slowly. “No thanks. That’s not what friends are for.”

“I’m saying no,” he said dramatically, “but it’s not my cock’s decision. He says yes.”

You giggled, giving his thigh a light slap.

Mingyu leaned in and kissed your forehead. “See you later, friend.”

You nodded, still dazed.

“Oh—by the way,” he added as he reached the door, “my housemates get back this weekend. We’re throwing a party. Chill night, drinks, people meeting people. Bring your housemates if you’re free?” You smiled, still trying to catch your breath.

“See you around, Gyu.”

He winked and closed the door behind him. ~~ Later that evening, you emerged from your bedroom to find Joshua smirking at you over a mug of tea. “What?” You asked, suspicious. He raised his eyebrows. “You moan loudly.” Your jaw dropped. “I was trying to keep it down!” “Yeah, no. Wonwoo thought you were a wounded animal at first.” You gasped, mortified. “I don’t moan that loudly.” Joshua gave you a pitying look. “You don’t think you do, but when you suppress it, it comes out like a dying banshee.” You groaned and dropped your head onto the counter. “Wait, did... Wonwoo hear?” Joshua nodded slowly, sipping his tea. “He might have been concerned for your well-being.” You rolled your eyes. “Great. Just great.” “So,” he said, voice light, “you and hot plant guy...?” “Friends,” you interrupted quickly. “We decided to just be friends.” Joshua arched a brow. “After that performance?” “It’s complicated. We don’t know each other well enough not to accidentally hurt each other.” Joshua tilted his head. “Wise.”

You sighed, pulling out your phone. “Still, I need to talk to Wonwoo.” “To apologise? You know you don’t owe him one; you do whatever you want and whoever you want.” “I don’t owe him an apology, but I could at least apologise for the noise,” you said. “But... yeah. Kinda feels like the decent thing to do.” You hovered outside Wonwoo’s door before knocking gently and peeking in. “Wonwoo?” He looked up from his book. “Yeah?” You gulped. He was in grey sweats and a white shirt, lounging like some kind of soft-focus fantasy. “You’re drooling,” he said with a smirk. You groaned and walked inside, flopping onto the bed beside him. “I came to say sorry.” He shut the book, raising an eyebrow. “For what? Your gorgeous moaning? If anything, I should apologize for interrupting it with my concern.” You hid your face behind your hands. “You’re unbearable.” “Relax. You don’t owe me an apology. We’re not dating.” “Still. It wasn’t to get back at you or anything. I was just... left very frustrated.” Wonwoo chuckled. “That was entirely my fault. Work called.” You tilted your head, your eyes softening. “Mingyu and I agreed to just be friends. No feelings. No strings. Which... honestly? Sounds like the safest plan.” He looked at you for a beat. “And what about me?” “I know you,” you said softly. “You wouldn’t hurt me.” Wonwoo didn’t respond. He just reached forward, tugging you until you were curled up against his chest.

“You left me horny,” you whispered, teasing. “I know. I’m sorry. You deserved better.” There was a long pause before he added, “So… you two are done?” You nodded. “Yeah.” “Then,” he said, his hand brushing lightly at the strap of your top, “What if I just, you know, carry on from what happened earlier? I did get rudely interrupted with a phone call, and I believe I owe you a kiss.” You laughed. “Oh, yes you do.” Wonwoo smirked. “Only if he can see how gorgeous you look right now.” You leaned in, your lips close to his. “Can you do something?” “Patience is a virtue,” he whispered. “It’s not one of mine.” He grinned. “Very true.” And then his lips were on yours—soft, slow, deliberate. When he finally pulled away, you were breathless. “I’ve got an article to finish,” you said reluctantly. “We’re good?” He asked. “We’re good.” You smiled, standing up. He smiled at you lazily, and you practically skipped back to your room.

~~ The next afternoon, you were in your local cafe, still stuck with the same five words you typed out yesterday on your laptop. However, you were laser-focused and attempting to write a new sentence about emotional risk versus reward when a voice interrupted you. “What is a ‘type,’ and why do we stick to it?” You nearly jumped out of your skin. “Mingyu! A warning would be nice!” He grinned as he slid into the seat across from you at the café table. “But you’re so jumpy—it’s adorable.” “Oh, please. Just sit, why don’t you.”

“I intend to,” he said, already making himself at home.

“So what brings you here? Stalking me?”

“I could ask you the same. Who sits in my usual spot with a laptop and sulks?”

“Writer’s block,” you admitted, closing your screen.

“Want to fix that?”

You narrowed your eyes. “How?”

Mingyu grinned. “We grab a drink and talk about our dumbest hook-ups.” ~~ The bar was buzzing with low chatter and clinking glasses as you and Mingyu sat across from each other in a cosy booth, the soft amber glow from the hanging lights making his eyes look even warmer. You were on your third cocktail of the afternoon, feeling just the right amount of tipsy to start leaning into the silly side of the conversation.

Mingyu was nursing a beer, his cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol, or maybe it was just the comfortable atmosphere. You twirled your straw around in your glass before looking up at him with a playful grin.

“So, since we’re already a few drinks in,” you began, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I propose we play a game.”

Mingyu arched a brow, his lips twitching into a smile. “What kind of game?”

You took a sip of your drink before answering. “We trade stories. Dumb hookups, silly dates – basically all the weird romantic escapades that made us question humanity.”

Mingyu chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. “Alright, I’m game. But only if you go first.”

You mock-pouted. “Why me first?”

“Because you suggested it, and I’m curious,” he shot back, smirking.

Rolling your eyes, you thought back to your dating history, settling on one that still made you cringe. “Fine. So, there was this one guy I met on a dating app – let’s call him Jay. We went to this fancy rooftop bar, and I’m thinking, ‘Okay, this could be good.’ About thirty minutes in, he starts telling me about his extensive Funko Pop collection. Like, I mean... hundreds. And he insisted on showing me every single one through a photo album on his phone. At one point, he even teared up while talking about a limited edition Batman figure.”

Mingyu snorted into his beer, trying not to choke from laughing. “No way.”

“Yes way! And it got worse. At the end of the night, he asked me if I wanted to ‘meet them’ at his apartment. Like, not him – them.” You groaned, shaking your head at the memory. “I made some excuse about needing to water my plants and just bolted.”

Mingyu was practically wheezing at that point, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “You dated a Funko Pop guy. I’m never letting you live this down.”

You pointed at him. “Your turn, Mr. Judgy.”

He composed himself, taking a deep breath. “Alright. I went out with this girl from college once. Really pretty, seemed really cool. We went to a casual pizza place, and everything was great... until the food arrived. She took one bite, looked at me dead in the eyes, and said, ‘I think I might be a vampire.’”

You blinked, waiting for him to laugh, but he just stared at you, completely serious.

“Wait, what?” You finally said.

“Yeah,” Mingyu continued, leaning back against the booth. “She told me that eating anything but red meat made her feel sick, and she’s been craving ‘blood’ lately. She asked me if I’d ever wanted to bite someone, just to know what it tasted like.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter, practically folding over in the booth. “You’re lying.”

“I swear!” Mingyu said, holding up his hands defensively. “She kept making weird comments about how pale I was and how ‘good my veins looked.’ I never got out of a restaurant faster in my life.”

You wiped at your eyes, still giggling. “Okay, you win. That’s worse than the Funko Pop guy.”

Mingyu grinned, obviously pleased. “Yeah, I still get chills thinking about it.”

You leaned back, feeling a little more relaxed now that the conversation had taken a lighthearted turn. The music in the bar changed to something more upbeat, and you tapped your fingers against your glass.

“So, what about the serious ones?” Mingyu asked, his tone shifting slightly.

You paused, your smile faltering just a little. “You mean serious relationships?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Just... curious.”

You took a deep breath. “I was with someone for about a year and a half. Thought it was going somewhere real, you know? Turns out he was cheating on me for months. Found out through his phone – he was so careless; he didn’t even bother deleting the texts.”

Mingyu’s playful expression faded, his brows knitting together in concern. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, forcing a small smile. “It sucked at the time. Felt like my whole self-worth got thrown out the window. But I learned from it. Learned how to be a little more careful with my heart.”

He reached across the table, placing his hand over yours. The warmth of his touch grounded you, and you glanced up to see him giving you a small, reassuring smile.

“You didn’t deserve that. No one does,” he said softly.

You squeezed his hand back. “Thanks. I guess I’m still trying to figure out how to trust people again.”

Mingyu hesitated for a moment before speaking, “I guess I’ll have to be very careful then.”

You met his eyes, suddenly feeling a little exposed but in a good way, and giving him a soft smile not sure how to answer him.

You took a second and then spoke. “And you? Any serious relationships?”

Mingyu hesitated, looking thoughtful. “There was one. A few years ago. We were together for almost two years, but we just... drifted apart. I guess I realized we were more comfortable than in love. It hurt, but it made me realize I don’t want to settle for just comfort. I want something real.”

You felt your heart soften at his honesty. “Yeah. I get that.”

The conversation hung between you, both of you wrapped in the honesty of the moment. The vulnerability, the ease of being real with each other – it made your stomach flip in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Mingyu took a sip of his beer, his hand still holding yours, and you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this could be the kind of real you both wanted. ~~ By the time you both left the bar, you were walking arm-in-arm. Your heels clicked against the pavement, your head light with wine and conversation. “Okay, I’ll admit,” you said, “this was fun.” “More than writing five words and calling it an article title?” You smacked his arm. “Rude but true.” “Come on,” he said, flagging down a cab. “My place. Pizza and Finding Nemo?” “Nemo?” “It’s a classic.” “Big baby.” “Don’t hate on soft men,” he said as the cab pulled up. “We cry, but we cuddle like champs.” You laughed all the way into the taxi. ~~ “Here you go,” Mingyu said, handing you a soft black shirt.

“Thanks.” You stood up to change without thinking, but froze mid-movement when you realized he was still watching you.

“Whoa—wow maybe warn a guy, I almost got blinded by your beauty?” His eyes were wide.

You paused, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, I just figured… I mean, you’ve seen everything before.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said, stepping toward you. “It’s a fantastic view.”

You smiled sheepishly as you peeled off your shirt. Mingyu took it gently from your hands and set it on the bed, his gaze still lingering but soft. When you moved to take off your jeans, he helped again—quiet, respectful, but definitely appreciating every second.

“Need another shirt?” He asked, catching your hesitation.

“No, I just… I’m wearing a very uncomfy bra.” “Then don’t,” he replied simply. You raised a brow at him. “Want to help me get it off?” His grin widened. “Weren’t we just trying this whole ‘friends’ thing?”

“Yeah,” you said, stepping closer, “and friends help each other.”

He didn’t need further convincing. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you into him. “That they do,” he murmured against your skin. His fingers moved up your back, undoing your bra clasp with practiced ease. The straps slipped from your shoulders like silk.

“Do you want me to fold this nicely with the rest of your clothes?” He teased, voice low and amused.

“Don’t push it,” you smirked.

“You’re cold,” he said, fingers grazing over your hardened nipples.

“Am not,” you muttered.

“Then are you turned on?”

You raised a brow. “And if I say no?”

“I’d find out anyway,” he murmured. “One finger, and I could prove it.”

You didn’t respond, just held his gaze.

Mingyu took that as permission. His hand slipped down your stomach, easing into your panties until a long finger slid inside you.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered.

You gasped as his finger curled just right. “Do you want to cum?”

You nodded quickly, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb found your clit.

He pulled his finger out with a sinful smirk. “Good. Then get on the bed.”

You climbed back onto his bed, legs slightly shaky. Mingyu knelt between your thighs and dragged your panties down in one smooth motion. His hands pressed your thighs open as he lowered his mouth to your core.

“Fuck,” you gasped when his tongue flicked your clit.

“Mingyu, wait—”

He immediately looked up, concern flashing in his eyes. “Too much?”

You shook your head, already lifting your leg to press against the hard line of his bulge. “No. I just—need you.”

His pupils darkened instantly. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Please fuck me.”

He made quick work of his belt and shirt, tossing them aside. “If I don’t eat you out, Wonwoo’s going to call me a selfish asshole.”

You groaned, laughing breathlessly. “Screw that. Just get in me.”

Mingyu climbed onto the bed, lined himself up with your entrance, and paused.

“Wait—condoms?”

“I have an implant.”

His eyes flicked to yours. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Mingyu. Please.”

“At least you said please,” he grinned, and then he pushed into you with a low groan.

You clung to his back, nails digging in slightly as he started thrusting. His rhythm was perfect—controlled, deep, toe-curling.

His fingers found your clit mid-thrust, rubbing in time with each snap of his hips. You clenched around him, moaning as your orgasm washed over you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lowering himself to kiss you, forehead to forehead. “Can I—”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He groaned as he came, hips stuttering as he spilled into you. Your head lolled back, your entire body melting into the mattress.

“Amazing?” He asked softly.

“Stupid amazing,” you replied, still catching your breath.

“Get your pizza first! Your dick won’t fall off!”

You both froze at the shout. You blinked. “Who’s that?”

“One of my housemates, Seungcheol” Mingyu sighed. He quickly threw on his boxers and padded toward the door.

“Want to say hi?” “I’m naked.”

Mingyu grinned. “Well I’m half naked, just listen for the dramatics.”

You heard Seungcheol immediately yell, “Just boxers? Really? Why are you always half naked?”

You snorted, deciding to hop in the shower. After a quick rinse, you pulled on Mingyu’s shirt—it hung on you like a dress—and checked yourself in the mirror. Good enough.

You couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m going to grab some water, is that okay?” You asked Mingyu when he came back to his bedroom.

“Of course!” ~~ “Hi,” said a friendly voice as you padded into the hallway in Mingyu’s shirt.

You froze. A new stranger stood leaning against the kitchen counter, smiling at you. “You must be Y/N.”

You blinked. “I—uh. Hi.”

“I’m Seokmin,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m one of three housemates here.”

You shook it, already feeling incredibly flustered. “Mingyu,” he called down the hallway, “have you heard of a shirt?” You groaned. Mingyu appeared behind you, still shirtless, holding two slices of pizza. “I have, but I’m sweaty.” “Fine, fine,” Seokmin waved him off. “Take care, kids. Use protection!” You turned around and buried your face in Mingyu’s chest. “Sorry about him,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” you said, muffled. Back in his room, you both settled in with greasy pizza and fresh sheets. “I hope you don’t mind that I showered,” you said. “You smell like me,” he replied with a smirk. “I’m keeping the shirt.” “Figured.” A pause. “You’re beautiful,” he said, quieter this time. You looked over at him. “I mean it,” he added. “Not in a creepy way. Just... in case no one’s told you recently.” Your stomach fluttered. You smiled, leaning into his shoulder as the movie started to play. ~~ Sometime between the second pizza slice and the end credits of Nemo, you found yourself stretched out beside Mingyu, your body limp, skin still tingling from his touch. He propped himself up on one elbow, brushing damp hair from your cheek. “We okay?” You blinked up at him, surprised by the question. “Yeah. Why?” He sighed. “Just... you’re hard to read sometimes.” “You mean emotionally?” He nodded. “I’ve been told,” you said softly. “Hey, its not a bad thing, just means I got to work harder.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead, his action making you swoon. “Hey,” he said a moment later. “I meant it. About you being my type.” You scoffed. “You don’t even know me.” “I know enough to want to keep knowing you.” You swallowed. “Okay,” you said. He grinned, pulling you closer. “Movie round two? Or round two in a very different sense?” You smacked his chest, laughing. “Movie first.” But even as you said it, your fingers were already trailing lower.~~ When you woke up the next morning, Mingyu was already in the kitchen, humming along to a playlist and flipping pancakes. You walked in wearing nothing but his shirt. He looked up, spatula still in hand. “Hi, gorgeous.” You smiled sleepily. “Hi.” He pointed toward the coffee he’d already made. “Caffeine. And carbs.” You padded over and tiptoed to reach up and kiss his cheek. “Are you trying to spoil me?” “Nope,” he said, flipping another pancake. “Just bribing you to stay longer.” You took a sip of the coffee. “Bribery’s working.” He grinned. ~~ “New shirt?” Wonwoo’s voice made you jump as you stepped into the living room.

You turned slowly, adjusting the hem of your oversized shirt. “Yes?” He raised a brow. “Is it clean?” “It’s Mingyu’s.”

“Ah,” Wonwoo said, voice flat.

You squirmed a little under his stare.

“Didn’t realise you two were still...” he trailed off, but the tone said enough.

You sighed. “We’re not anything. Just... two adults with no self-control and shared pizza.”

He let out a breath, his arms crossed. “Right.” “You’re mad.” “I’m not.” “You are.” Wonwoo didn’t answer.

“Fine,” you said, heading toward the kitchen. “Be grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he said, following. “I just, whatever.”

“Wonwoo, don’t be like that.”

“I’m just saying, kissing me, and then sleeping with Mingyu, won’t that give both of us mixed signals?” You blinked. “Maybe, but he doesn’t know.” Silence. Wonwoo sighed. “Well, that can’t end well.”

You dropped your arms to your sides. “This is exhausting, I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then, don’t play both sides. Look, even if it’s early on, you and Mingyu have bonded quickly, and maybe it’s not such a bad thing. Besides, you want intimacy, and I’m not in a space in my life where I can give you exactly what you need to give you that.” The words hit like a slap, and your mouth opened, then shut. You turned away before he could see how much it stung.

~~ Later that evening, you sat on the rooftop of your apartment building, wrapped in Mingyu’s hoodie, a wine bottle tucked between your knees. The city sparkled in the distance, alive and unaware. “You okay?” Mingyu asked softly, stepping onto the rooftop. You nodded without turning around. “I’m great. Just airing out my emotional baggage.” He sat beside you, letting his thigh brush yours. “Want to talk about it?” “Nope.” “Want me to distract you?” You turned to face him. “You think distraction fixes everything?” “No,” Mingyu replied, smiling faintly. “But I’m really good at it.” You laughed. It was small, but it cracked through the ache in your chest. “I just got into an argument with Wonwoo,” you said quietly. “Why?” You sighed and began to speak. “I guess just an overprotective roommate,” you said, not wanting to tell Mingyu everything just yet. Mingyu tilted his head, studying you. “Oh, maybe he’s just looking out for you but going about it in the wrong way.” Your chest tightened. “Yeah, I guess so.” “How’s this, anytime you feel blue, you can come over to mine, and talk? I can promise pancakes and zero judgment.” You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” Mingyu rested his chin on your hair. “Anytime.” ~~ A week passed. You wrote your article. He read three books. You shared meals, shared beds, shared soft smiles across busy rooms. But something was shifting. It wasn’t just about sex anymore; you two spent more time together, talked about more personal things, shared funny anecdotes, and sometimes you both would just cuddle, even if there was no sex. And that terrified you. ~~ “Y/N,” Wonwoo said one evening as you passed each other in the kitchen. “Can we talk?” You froze. “Now?” He nodded. “If you’re not too busy with Mingyu.” The words were laced with something—resentment? Pain? You leaned against the counter. “Uh..no I’m not. Look, I don’t want to keep fighting you on this. Besides, like you said, you can’t give me what I need, and all we did was just flirt and kiss once.” “I know, and believe me, I’m not mad at how we behaved with one another, but I’m worried. What if he hurts you?” “He won’t. I’ve been spending more time with him, and he’s just the sweetest.” Wonwoo met your eyes. “He better be. ” You swallowed. “He is.” A beat of silence. “Do you like him?” He asked. You blinked. “What? Of course I do, he’s such a sweet guy.” “No. Do you like him? In the sense that, do you have feelings for him?” You hesitated too long. “That’s what I thought,” he said quietly, walking away. You didn’t sleep that night. You kept thinking about the way Mingyu looked when he was reading in bed, or how he always remembered to bring you a drink without asking. The way he listened. The way he kissed you was like he was trying to memorise your soul. And the worst part? You were starting to fall for him. And that scared the life out of you. ~~ “You look like shit.” Joshua didn’t even glance up from his cereal when he said it. “Good morning to you, too,” you mumbled, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. He raised an eyebrow. “Rough night?” You poured coffee and took a long sip before answering. “Didn’t sleep much.” “Because of Mingyu? Or because of Wonwoo?” You froze, mug halfway to your lips. Joshua looked up now, spoon suspended midair. “You think I don’t notice things? Come on, Y/N. You’re not subtle.” You sighed. “It’s complicated.” He scoffed. “Love triangles usually are.” “It’s not a triangle.” “Sure. Just a very... emotionally charged V.” “Wonwoo and I spoke, and we cleared the air, okay?” You added, already tired from the conversation. Joshua grinned. “I know, I was eavesdropping when you guys were chatting.” You rolled your eyes at him. “Of course.”

“So what will you do about your very real feelings for Mingyu?” ~~ “Hey.” Mingyu’s voice was soft when he called you later that afternoon. “You okay?” You hesitated. “Yeah. Just tired.” There was silence on the other end, but you could hear the way he breathed—measured and patient, waiting for you to say more. “I had a weird talk with Wonwoo,” you said finally. “What kind of weird?” “He asked me if I liked you.” A pause. “What did you say?” “I didn’t.” Another pause. “Do you?” “I... don’t know.” You heard Mingyu let out a slow breath. “Okay.” “That’s all you’re going to say?” “I’m not going to force you into anything.” You swallowed. “But what if this—whatever this is—ruins things? Between all of us.” “Then let it,” he said quietly. “If we’re all pretending to be fine, nobody actually is.”

~~ Later that week, Seokmin knocked gently on your apartment door. “Hey, sorry, uh... weird question. Have you seen Mingyu?” You blinked. “No? Not today.” He nodded slowly. “He’s been... off.” You closed your laptop. “Off how?” Seokmin scratched the back of his neck. “Quiet. Moodier than usual. Like he’s trying to disappear.” Your chest tightened. “Thanks for telling me. I’m heading out later; maybe I’ll run into him where he usually hangs out?” Seokmin smiled, “Thank you. You really do know him quite well. I appreciate it.” You found him at the park. Curled up on a bench, camera in hand, lenses strewn beside him like offerings. He didn’t even look up when you approached. “You’ve gone full tortured artist,” you said, forcing a smile. Mingyu clicked the shutter. “It’s quieter out here.” You sat beside him. “You didn’t answer my texts.” “I didn’t know what to say.” You smiled softly at him, “Just be honest.” He glanced over. “I want you. But I don’t want to be the one holding you back from figuring things out.” “You’re not holding me back.” “But you’re still stuck.”

You exhaled. “Yeah. I am.”

“Then say that. Don’t kiss me and pretend everything’s fine.”

You looked away. “I’m scared, okay? This... feels like it could be something real. And if it ends, I don’t know how to walk away from that.”

Mingyu’s voice dropped. “Then don’t.”

You blinked at him.

“Don’t walk away.”

You stayed on that bench until the sun dipped below the skyline.

You talked about everything and nothing. About the time he dyed his hair orange in college. About your first heartbreak. About the stupid article you were writing on “types” and how maybe Mingyu didn’t fit yours but kept checking every box anyway.

By the time you got home, your fingers were intertwined with his, and neither of you wanted to let go.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo’s voice caught you at the door.

Wonwoo’s eyes dropped to your hands interlaced with Mingyu. “I see you two are fine?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again.

“Interesting,” he said.

“Wonwoo, what are you—”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted. Then, smiling, he said. “It’s fine, just be safe, you guys.”

You gave him a small smile, “Shut up.” ~~ That night, as you lay in Mingyu’s bed with your head on his chest, you couldn’t sleep. The silence between you was heavy, like it was holding its breath. “Mingyu?” “Hmm?” “If this ends badly... I don’t think I’ll survive it.” He kissed your forehead gently. “Then we make sure it doesn’t.”

~~ “You’re late.” Joshua said as you entered the apartment, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realise I had a curfew,” you muttered, brushing past him into the apartment. “You said you were coming home after dinner.” You kicked off your shoes. “I changed my mind.” Joshua followed you into the kitchen. “So you spent the night at Mingyu’s again?” You grabbed a glass of water. “Can we not do this right now?” Joshua scoffed. “You said this was a casual thing.” “It was.” “And now?” You didn’t answer. He let out a bitter laugh. “So that’s a yes.” “Shua, I’m not asking for your permission—” “No,” he snapped, “but I am your friend. And watching you sleepwalk into something that’s going to rip you apart isn’t easy.” Your chest tightened. “You don’t know that.” “I know you. And I’ve seen how you get when you fall for someone.” You set your glass down a little too hard. “He’s not like the others.” “Maybe not. But you are someone who falls head over heels and more when you like someone, and I’m scared that one tiny misstep on his part will break you.” You didn’t text Mingyu that night. Or the next morning. Or the one after that. You needed space to think. To breathe. To figure out why everything felt like it was unravelling—when on the surface, things had never been more... perfect. So why did you feel so off?

~~ Three days later, Mingyu showed up at your door. “You avoiding me?” He asked, not bothering with hello. You stared at him. “I just needed time.” “Without telling me?” “I didn’t think I needed to give you a heads-up every time I took a breath.” Mingyu’s jaw flexed. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it.” You crossed your arms. “Then what is this about, Mingyu?” “You’re pulling away.” You stayed silent. Mingyu stepped closer. “You said this was real. That you wanted it.” “I did.” “And now?” You opened your mouth, then shut it because you didn’t know. Not really. Mingyu’s voice cracked. “You can’t keep doing this. Wanting me when it’s convenient. Pretending nothing’s changed.” “I’m scared, okay?” You snapped. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be all-in without ruining everything.” His eyes softened for a moment. “So ruin it with me. Together.” You blinked, stunned. But before you could say anything, Wonwoo appeared behind you. “Hey, just checking—” He froze when he saw Mingyu. His expression shifted, cold and unreadable. “Oh. It’s you.” Mingyu’s eyes narrowed. “Nice to see you too.” You rubbed your temples. “Not now, please.” Wonwoo looked at you. “I’ll be in my room. Let me know if you want to talk. Or if you’re done letting him talk at you.” “Wow,” Mingyu muttered. “What’s his deal?” You turned on him. “Don’t.” “Don’t what? Point out the obvious?” “He’s trying to stand up for me.” “Right, and what am I doing? I’m just trying to get you to stand up for yourself, too.” You swallowed hard. “You should go.” Mingyu blinked. “What?” “I need space.” He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. “Mingyu—” He stepped back, something shuttering in his face. “Right. Got it.” And just like that, he walked out. You shut the door and collapsed against it. Your chest ached in that specific, aching way that only happens when you push away something you want because you’re terrified you’ll destroy it. An hour later, your phone buzzed. Mingyu: I won’t chase you. But I’m not going anywhere either. You stared at the screen, heart thudding. Because that was the problem. He wasn’t going anywhere. And maybe that scared you more than anything. ~~ “You haven’t said anything in ten minutes,” Joshua pointed out, glancing at you from the other end of the couch.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, eyes fixed on the paused movie screen, not actually watching. He raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous territory.” You threw a popcorn kernel at him. “Ha-ha.” “Still no Mingyu?” “Nope.” “And that’s... good or bad?” You let out a long breath. “Confusing.” Joshua nodded slowly. “That tracks.” You finally looked at him. “Do you think I’m the problem?” He tilted his head. “Define ‘problem.’” “Do not make this worse.” He laughed under his breath. “Okay, look. You’ve had shit luck with relationships. You guard yourself. You get in your head. And yeah, sometimes you push people away before they can leave.” You blinked. “Damn. Don’t hold back.” “I’m just saying,” Joshua said, a little softer now. “Mingyu seems like the first guy who’s actually trying to stay. That scares the hell out of you, doesn’t it?” You didn’t answer. Later that night, you found yourself scrolling through photos. Pictures Mingyu had taken—blurry ones from the pub crawl, snapshots of street lights and half-smiles and candid moments. One of you laughing into a glass of wine. You hadn’t even known he’d taken that one. There was something about the way he saw the world. The way he saw you. Like he was already memorising you before he had the right to. Your heart ached.

~~ You couldn’t stop pacing. It had been a whole day since the fight, and your chest still felt tight. You hated fighting with Mingyu — it felt unnatural like the world was slightly off balance. You weren’t even sure how it had escalated so quickly.

One moment you were just trying to be honest, saying you needed some space to process everything that had happened between you two. The next, Mingyu was snapping, clearly frustrated, saying it felt like every time you took a step forward, you took two steps back.

Now, you were standing in your living room, debating whether to go over and knock on his door. Joshua had already given you a pep talk, telling you to just be honest with Mingyu, but it still felt like walking into a lion’s den. You weren’t even sure what you’d say.

“Screw it,” you mumbled to yourself, throwing on an oversized hoodie and making your way to his door before you could second-guess yourself again.

You hesitated for a second before giving three firm knocks. You heard some rustling on the other side, and then the door opened, revealing a tired-looking Mingyu. His hair was tousled, and he was in a plain white tee and sweats, but his expression was guarded.

“What do you want?” He asked, his tone sharper than usual.

You swallowed hard, feeling your resolve falter. “Can I come in?”

He hesitated, eyes scanning your face, before he finally stepped aside and let you in. You walked to the living room, standing awkwardly by the couch while Mingyu stayed by the door, arms crossed over his chest. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

“Mingyu,” you started softly, twisting your fingers together. “I hate fighting with you.”

He huffed, looking away. “Yeah, well, I hate feeling like I’m being pushed away every time things start getting good.”

You bit your lip, gathering your thoughts. “That’s not what I was trying to do. I wasn’t trying to push you away.”

“Then what the hell was it?” He snapped, finally turning to look at you, his eyes a mixture of hurt and frustration. “You do all these things that make me feel like this could be something, then the next day you’re saying you need space? I don’t get it. Am I supposed to just keep guessing how you feel?”

You took a deep breath and moved closer, but kept a little distance. “I... I got overwhelmed. I thought that if I took a step back, I’d be able to figure out what I was feeling without dragging you into my mess.”

Mingyu looked at you incredulously. “You are such a hypocrite, you know that? You keep telling me to be honest with how I feel, to just say it when I’m upset or happy or whatever. And then you get overwhelmed and decide to push me away instead of telling me what’s going on in your head.”

The guilt gnawed at your stomach, and you looked down. “I know. You’re right. I’m... I’m scared.”

“Of what?” Mingyu’s voice softened, but he didn’t move closer.

“Of how much I like you. Of how much this means to me. Because if this goes wrong... it’s gonna hurt. A lot,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes.

Mingyu sighed deeply, rubbing his face with one hand. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, you know. I’m terrified of screwing this up too. But you don’t see me trying to put distance between us every time things get intense.”

You sniffled, wiping at your eyes. “I’m sorry. I just... I didn’t know how to handle it. I never thought I’d care about someone this much again. I just panicked.”

Mingyu finally moved, taking a step toward you. “You can’t keep doing that. You can’t keep pulling back every time you get scared. I can’t take it. I’m all in with you, but I need you to meet me halfway. I can’t keep feeling like I’m chasing after you while you’re running in the opposite direction.”

You nodded, stepping closer until you were right in front of him. “You’re right. I know you are. I’m sorry I keep doing that. I just... I’m scared of losing you, so I keep pushing you away before you can leave on your own.”

Mingyu’s expression softened, and he uncrossed his arms, his hands hovering uncertainly before he cupped your face. “I’m not leaving. Okay? I’m not. You’re stuck with me.”

A small, shaky laugh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch. “I don’t want you to leave.”

He brushed his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “Then stop making it so hard to stay,” he whispered, his voice softer now, more tender.

You nodded, covering his hands with yours. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise.”

His lips quirked into a small smile, and without another word, he leaned down and pressed a gentle, almost hesitant kiss to your lips. You melted into it, your hands sliding up to his shoulders as his fingers curled into your hair. The kiss was slow, tender, like he was reassuring himself that you were really there, that you weren’t going anywhere.

When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but smile up at him, and Mingyu sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re really exhausting sometimes, you know that?”

You let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Yeah. But I’m worth it, right?”

He chuckled, finally wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. “Yeah. You are. Just... stop running, okay?”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your cheek. “Okay. I’m done running.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hold tightening around you. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

You looked up at him, and this time you kissed him first, letting your lips linger on his, soft and unhurried. Mingyu hummed contentedly, his hands sliding up your back. The tension melted away, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right again.~~

The next morning, after showering at Mingyu’s apartment and changing, you kissed Mingyu several times, before you left his place, and walked across the hall into your apartment to find Joshua seated at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal and the look. “You smell like sex and regret,” he said, casually spooning cereal into his mouth. “Morning to you, too.” “Is that Mingyu’s shirt?” You ignored him, heading toward your room. “You know,” he called after you, “I’ve been holding off on the ‘told you so,’ but I’m getting real close to breaking.” You stuck your head out. “Don’t.” Joshua raised both hands. “Just don’t get in too deep if you’re not willing to commit to him. It’ll hurt you both if that happens.” You stared at him. “What if I already am?” He frowned, setting down his spoon. “Then I hope any potential heartache is worth it.” ~~ That afternoon, you curled up on the sofa with your laptop. Article deadline looming. Blank document open. Brain, fried. It wasn’t until Mingyu texted that something sparked: Mingyu: What’s your favourite love story? You stared at the screen. You: Fictional? Mingyu: No. Real. You: Mine hasn’t been written yet. Mingyu: What if we wrote it together? Your chest did that stupid fluttering thing again. Like your heart had gone off-script. You smiled. You: Bold of you to assume you’d make the final draft. Mingyu: You keep rewriting the intro, babe. I’m just trying to stay on the page. You bit your lip, closing the chat. And just like that, your fingers flew across the keyboard. Because suddenly, you had something to say. ~~ Two days later, you knocked on Mingyu’s door with with snacks in attempt to bribe him to edit your lastest draft.

He opened it with sleepy eyes and messy hair, wearing a hoodie that had no business looking that good. “Morning beautiful,” he greeted with a warm smile. You smiled, and held up a USB. “I wrote a my final draft of my most recent article, do you want to help me edit?” Final draft. No red pen needed.”

“Is that why you have snacks?” He asked already smiling. You grinned “Maybe.” “Well in that case, get in here, Hemingway,” he teased, stepping aside to let you in. You watched him read it from across the room. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just kept scrolling, eyes focused, mouth slightly parted.

When he finished, he looked up. “That last line… ‘a spark can form the most unusual of places and encounters’.” You tilted your head. “Too much?” He shook his head. “No. It’s perfect.” You smiled softly. “It’s about you.” “I figured,” he said, walking over, “but it still wrecked me.” You leaned against the counter. “Good. That’s what great writing does.” He stepped closer. “So, does this mean you’ll fight for us?” “I think so.” He grinned. “Good, that’s all I can ask for.” “I think you already are.” And as he kissed you—slow, deliberate, familiar in all the right ways—you let the weight fall from your shoulders. Because maybe this wasn’t the start of a love story. Maybe it was the chapter where things stopped being a fantasy… ...and finally started feeling real. ~~ “You’ve been quiet all evening.” You glanced up from your wine glass. Mingyu was stretched out on the other side of the couch, hoodie sleeves bunched around his forearms, watching you with careful eyes. “I’m thinking.” “That’s dangerous,” he teased, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Want to talk about it?” “I don’t know how.” He nodded like he understood—but you could tell it still stung. You shifted in your seat. “What are we doing?” Mingyu blinked. “What do you mean?” “This thing. Us. It’s not just sex anymore.” “No, it’s not.” “And we’re not exactly friends either.” “I’m okay with not having a label,” he said. “Are you?” You looked down at your glass. “I want to be.” “But you’re not.” “I’m scared that if I name it, I’ll ruin it.” Mingyu sat up slowly. “You think love ruins things?” “I think people do.” That hit harder than you intended, and you both knew it. Later, when he kissed you, it was slow and sweet, like he was trying to remind you it didn’t have to be scary. You kissed him back with everything you had. And maybe that was the problem. Because giving someone everything? It meant they had the power to break you. ~~ The following day, the tension hadn’t left. You both pretended it had. You made breakfast. He teased you for burning the eggs. You laughed too loudly. He smiled too easily. But the silence between the sentences was deafening. When he finally left, the apartment felt too quiet. And when Joshua came home, he took one look at you and sighed. “Okay. Spill.” You sank onto the sofa. “I think I’m falling for him.” Joshua’s eyes widened; he never thought you’d admit it so quickly, but he didn’t interrupt. “And I don’t know if I’m ready.” He sat beside you, unusually serious. “Then don’t rush it. But don’t run from it either.” “I’m not running.” “You’re limping away at full speed.” You groaned. “God, you’re annoying when you’re right.” He smiled and bumped his shoulder against yours. “I only pull it out when necessary.” ~~ It was one of those quiet evenings, the kind where the city seemed to take a collective breath. You were on your way back from the grocery store, bags in hand, when you spotted Mingyu standing just outside your apartment building. At first, the sight of him made you smile – he was leaning against the railing, his broad shoulders relaxed, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the street lamp.

But then you noticed he wasn’t alone.

A girl stood in front of him, long hair cascading over her shoulders, wearing a fitted leather jacket and heels that clicked against the pavement. She was laughing at something he said, her hand brushing his arm lightly. Your steps faltered, and you instinctively took a step back, ducking behind the edge of the building.

Your heart clenched, a weird mix of confusion and something dangerously close to jealousy settling in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel stupid – why did it bother you so much to see him with someone else? It wasn’t like you had a claim on him. But there was something about how effortlessly beautiful she looked, how easily she made him laugh, that made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

A million questions ran through your mind. Did he know her from work? Was she just a friend? Or worse, an ex? You couldn’t help but notice how naturally he smiled at her, the way he leaned down to hear her better, his hand brushing back his hair the way he did when he was feeling a little self-conscious. You felt like a complete idiot, rooted to the spot, irrationally annoyed at how close they seemed.

You peeked around the corner, just enough to see her lean in a bit closer, her hand lingering on his arm. Mingyu seemed a little uncomfortable, glancing down at her hand before giving her a polite smile. They exchanged a few more words that you couldn’t quite hear, and then she waved, heading off down the sidewalk.

You waited until she was out of sight before stepping back out, trying to act natural. You kept your gaze on the ground as you made your way to the entrance, but of course, Mingyu spotted you instantly.

“Hey!” He called out, jogging over to you.

You forced a smile, not quite meeting his eyes. “Hey.”

He seemed to hesitate, studying your face. “What’s up? You okay?”

“Yeah, just tired,” you mumbled, shifting the grocery bag to your other hand.

Mingyu frowned, stepping closer. “Are you sure? You seem... off.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, offering a small smile that felt too tight. “Yeah, just a long day.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Here, let me help.” Before you could protest, he took one of the bags from your hand, his fingers brushing yours. The familiar warmth made your heart ache, and you bit your lip to keep your expression neutral.

As you walked inside, you couldn’t help but feel silly for feeling so... possessive. You weren’t even sure why it hit you so hard. Sure, Mingyu had been flirty with you, and you had shared some intense moments, but did that really mean he wasn’t allowed to have other girls around?

Your mind kept replaying the way the girl leaned into him, her bright, carefree laugh, and the way Mingyu didn’t immediately step away. You hated how insecure it made you feel, and even more so how your mood had completely flipped.

When you reached your apartment, Mingyu put the bags on the kitchen counter and turned to you, concern etched into his features. “You’re incredibly cute when you’re grumpy, but I must still ask, why did you storm off when I called your name?” Mingyu stood in your doorway, his tone curious.

“I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Of course I noticed.”

You crossed your arms, heart thudding. “You seemed busy.”

Mingyu scoffed. “What does that mean?”

“You were laughing. With some girl.”

“Seokmin’s cousin?”

You looked away. “Does it matter?”

“It does when you weaponise jealousy against me.”

Silence stretched between you like a taut wire ready to snap.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” you whispered.

“But you did.”

You met his eyes. “So did you.”

He sighed, stepping back. “We were supposed to be honest. About what we wanted. About how we felt.”

“You said we didn’t need labels.”

“I didn’t think that meant lying to ourselves.”

Your voice cracked. “I wasn’t lying.”

“No?” He said, eyes searching yours. “Then tell me you don’t care about me.”

You blinked.

Tell him.

Say it.

But you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t true.

And silence was the loudest answer of all. ~~ You didn’t speak for a week. No texts. No knocks on the door. No laughter through the walls.

It was excruciating. Even Joshua stopped teasing you.

“You okay?” Joshua asked one night, quietly.

You nodded. He didn’t press.

You sat at your laptop, staring at the blinking cursor. You hadn’t written a single word since the argument with Mingyu. It was as if you had lost your muse.

Worse—you might’ve lost him too. ~~ Another three days passed. You were walking home, umbrella flipping inside out in the wind, when you saw it: A plant. Sitting on your doorstep. A bonsai.

With a tiny note taped to the pot.

“Joshua told me you don’t like when plants have human names, but Lydia 2.0 says she misses you. -M”

You stared at it. Then you cried. Not a pretty, cinematic cry. A real one. Messy. Gutting. Cathartic. Because it wasn’t about the plant. It was about the space he left—and how much of you still lived in it. You knocked on his door the next day. No answer. You knocked again. Then again.

Finally, the door opened. Mingyu stood there, in a hoodie and sweatpants, eyes tired, expression guarded.

You held up the note. “You’re still annoying, you know that?”

“Glad to know I still have that effect.”

You exhaled. “Can we talk?”

He stepped aside. You both sat on the floor. No pretence. No distance. Just you two, knees touching.

“I miss you,” you admitted.

Mingyu nodded. “I missed you, too.”

“I panicked,” you confessed. “I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling, and I ran. I always run.”

“And I push,” he said. “When I want something, I push hard for it.”

You looked at him. “This thing between us... it’s not just physical anymore.”

“No,” he said softly. “It’s not.”

You reached for his hand. “So what now?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Now, we start over. No rules. No games. Just us.”

You bit your lip. “And if I mess up again?”

“Then I’ll remind you why you chose me the first time.”

You laughed through your tears. “You’re really good at that, you know?”

Mingyu smiled, leaning forward until your foreheads touched.

“Let’s just take it slow,” you whispered.

He nodded. “Slow sounds perfect.”

And in the quiet of his apartment, with your hand in his and hope blooming in the wreckage. You realised this wasn’t a new chapter. This was the real beginning. ~~ “So, what’s the plan for the housewarming?”

Mingyu’s voice drifted through the doorway as you padded into his kitchen, still half-asleep in your oversized T-shirt, hair sticking up in odd angles. You squinted at him, blinking the sleep out of your eyes.

“What housewarming?” You mumbled, fumbling for your mug and the coffee pot.

Mingyu gave you a lopsided grin. “The one I said we should do this some time next weekend? Seokmin and Seungcheol hyung are finally settled in. So I was planning to invite some of our friends, it’d be a nice way for everyone to see the new place, and we can also invite your housemates too?”

You took a long sip of coffee, the caffeine finally beginning to wake you up. “Oh. Yeah, sounds good. Just drinks and stuff?”

“Yeah, keep it chill—drinks, music, maybe a game or two if Seokmin gets bored enough,” Mingyu replied, leaning back against the counter with that casual confidence of his.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know Seokmin’s going to demand karaoke. Are you prepared for that chaos?”

Mingyu snorted. “I’m mentally preparing. I’ll make sure we have enough soju to tolerate his high notes.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sounds like a solid plan. Who’s handling the drinks and snacks?”

He gave you a thoughtful look. “I’ll handle the drinks, you take care of the snacks? That way I don’t accidentally buy a bunch of instant ramen and call it party food.”

You chuckled, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’ll make a list. You’ll just have to carry all the bags.”

Mingyu smirked. “That’s what I’m here for—manual labor and looking pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the fond smile tugging at your lips. “You do one of those things better than the other.”

He made a face. “Wow, that’s harsh. I’ll have you know, I can carry all the groceries in one trip.”

“Sure, Hercules,” you teased, pouring yourself another cup of coffee. “Are you inviting everyone from the building or just the usual crowd?”

“Just the usual. Maybe a few others from the floor if Seokmin gets carried away. You know how he is—an introverted social butterfly in a chaotic package,” Mingyu replied, shaking his head fondly.

You hummed in agreement. “I’ll handle the playlist then. Can’t trust you to not play EDM the whole night.”

Mingyu put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “I have taste, okay? Just because I like a good bass drop doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate your acoustic love songs.”

You rolled your eyes. “I swear, if I hear one remix of a ballad, I’m kicking you out of your own party.”

He laughed, giving you a soft look. “Deal. I’ll keep it classy. Promise.”

As you both continued planning, Mingyu pulled out his phone, showing you a few decoration ideas. You couldn’t help but notice how excited he seemed about hosting—how he wanted everything to be perfect. It was endearing, really.

“So, we’ll get some fairy lights, right?” Mingyu asked, scrolling through a list of supplies.

You nodded. “Definitely. Maybe some cute string lights too, for the balcony. And I’ll put together a few cocktail recipes—something easy for people to mix themselves.”

Mingyu grinned. “You know, we make a pretty good team.”

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Yeah, we do.”

He leaned closer, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just make sure you save a dance for me, alright? Even if Seokmin’s singing ‘I Want It That Way’ at the top of his lungs.”

You snorted. “I’ll consider it—if you promise to at least try not to drink every cocktail I make.”

Mingyu chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “No promises. Your drinks are dangerously good.”

You gave him a soft smile, warmth spreading through you at his touch. As the two of you continued planning, you couldn’t help but think that this housewarming wasn’t just about the new place—it was about starting something new between the two of you, too.

~~ You were sitting on the living room couch, scrolling through your phone when you heard the front door open. Wonwoo stepped inside, holding a takeout bag, his shoulders looking a little less tense than usual after a long day at work. You looked up and gave him a small smile as he kicked off his shoes.

“Long day?” You asked, setting your phone down.

Wonwoo nodded, letting out a quiet sigh. “Yeah. Presentation ran over time, and then the client had about a thousand questions.”

You gestured for him to sit next to you, and he plopped down on the couch, stretching his legs out. “Well, I’ve got some news that might cheer you up,” you said, a hint of excitement in your voice.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What now? You won the lottery or something?”

“Better,” you grinned. “There’s a party this weekend. Mingyu and his roommates are hosting a housewarming.”

Wonwoo gave you a skeptical look. “A party? At Mingyu’s place?”

“Yep,” you confirmed. “Seokmin and Cheol are finally settled in, and Mingyu thought it’d be a good idea to invite everyone over. Drinks, music, probably some weird games if Seokmin has anything to say about it.”

Wonwoo snorted, shaking his head. “Sounds chaotic. But it could be fun.”

You nodded. “Exactly. Plus, it’s a good way to get to know everyone better. I already told Mingyu we’d be there.”

He gave you a sideways glance. “You sure about that? Joshua’s been swamped lately. Don’t know if he’ll be up for it.”

You mock pouted at him. “Come on Wonwoo, please?” “Fine, against my better judgement, fine.”

Wonwoo took a breathe and gave you scrutinising look. “So... what’s the deal with you and Mingyu?”

Your smile faltered slightly. “What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms, clearly not letting this go. “I mean, you’re now planning a party together? Isn’t that something incredibly couple like? Are you two a thing now or what?”

You hesitated, not sure how to put it into words. “We’re... figuring things out. It’s not really labeled or anything.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “You sure you’re not rushing into something? You haven’t really known him that long.”

You bristled slightly. “It’s not like that. We’re just spending time together, seeing where it goes.”

“Spending time, huh? You know that’s how people get feelings right?” Wonwoo said cautiously.

You frowned. “I’m not some lovesick idiot, you know. I know how to take care of myself.” Wonwoo raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just looking out for you. I’ve you get hurt and cry over idiots, I don’t want crying over yet another guy.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a tiny seed of doubt planting itself despite your best efforts to ignore it. “Mingyu’s not like that, he’s kind, warm and compassionate.”

Wonwoo gave you a half-smile. “You sure not love sick?”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just nodded. Wonwoo gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading to his room.

Left alone with your thoughts, frustration bubbled under your skin. You didn’t want to doubt Mingyu, but Wonwoo’s words kept bouncing around your head. To dispel the tension, you found yourself cleaning the living room with more force than necessary, wiping down the coffee table and fluffing the pillows like they’d personally offended you.

After vacuuming the floor and reorganizing the bookshelf twice, you stopped to catch your breath, realizing how ridiculous you were being. You were annoyed—not just with Wonwoo, but with yourself for letting his words get to you. You couldn’t help it. Mingyu made you feel safe, seen and cared for, and Wonwoo’s word sowed a seed of worry in your mind.

The sound of a knock at the door pulled you out of your thoughts. You opened it, and there stood Mingyu, leaning against the frame with a casual smile.

“Hey, the apartment door was open,” he greeted, his voice soft.

“Hey,” you replied, trying to muster a smile.

Mingyu’s eyes roamed the room, noticing the freshly cleaned space. “Wow. Did you go on a cleaning spree?”

You shrugged. “Just needed to do something to clear my head.”

He gave you a curious look, his smile fading a bit. “Something on your mind?”

You bit your lip, debating whether to bring up what Wonwoo said. “Just... thinking about stuff.”

Mingyu stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

Your heart squeezed at the simple, sincere gesture. You leaned into his touch, letting out a long breath. “It’s nothing, really. Just overthinking, I guess.”

He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin. “You sure? I don’t like seeing you stressed.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine. Just... needed a distraction.”

Mingyu’s lips quirked up in a gentle smile. “I’m good at distractions.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. Mingyu’s presence had a way of making the chaos in your mind feel a little quieter.

“Stay?” You whispered.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Always.”

You let out a small sigh of relief, and without thinking, you closed the distance between your lips, kissing him softly. Mingyu responded immediately, his hands slipping to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was slow, unhurried—like he was taking his time to reassure you that he wasn’t going anywhere.

When you finally pulled back, Mingyu gave you a soft smile, brushing his nose against yours. “Feel better?”

You smiled, your heart fluttering in your chest. “Yeah. A lot better.”

Mingyu pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling you into a warm hug. You closed your eyes, letting the comfort of his embrace push away the doubts that had threatened to take over.

478 notes · View notes

jungwnies · 2 months ago

Text

f1 rookies | finals season

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, isack hadjar, jack doohan, gabriel bortoleto, and liam lawson ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : the 2025 f1 rookies try to help their high school senior girlfriends with essays in subjects they’re terrible at...except for one smarty-pants.

୨ৎ : genre : comedy & fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 2061

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : no race this weekend ... unfortunate.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you sighed dramatically, forehead pressed against the cool surface of your desk, your statistics textbook open to a page that looked more like ancient runes than math.

kimi peeked into your room, hair still damp from his post-training shower. “you okay?”

“no,” you groaned. “i have to write a proof essay for stats and i don't even know what the question is asking. like. what even is a chi-square test? is it edible?”

kimi padded over, curious despite the visible fear creeping into his eyes the closer he got to the math. “show me.”

you pushed the textbook toward him like it was radioactive.

he sat beside you, peering at the assignment sheet, lips moving silently as he tried to read it.

“…it’s just numbers,” he said finally, like he was offering wisdom from the gods.

“not just numbers!” you cried. “it’s probabilities. it's… math with extra steps and suffering.”

he frowned, tilting his head. “okay. maybe… we do it like a race.”

you blinked. “a race?”

he nodded, warming up to the idea. “look — the data points are like racers. the chi-square thingy tells you if they finished where they were supposed to finish or if something weird happened. like… if max verstappen somehow finished last.”

you stared at him.

“that’s actually—” you blinked. “that’s… kind of good.”

kimi perked up immediately, straightening in his chair. “yeah?”

“yeah! like expected vs. observed outcomes.”

he grinned, proud like he just set a world record. “see? i’m a genius.”

you giggled, reaching out to ruffle his damp curls. “you’re a genius and my emotional support calculator.”

he flushed slightly, smiling as he leaned over your notes. “okay, now write that down. but make it sound smarter.”

together, you cobbled together a rough outline — him offering racing analogies every five minutes, you translating them into statistics lingo — and slowly, your essay started to take shape.

by the end of the night, you were half asleep on his shoulder, your laptop still open, and kimi was scrolling through chi-square memes on his phone like he was actually invested.

“next time,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead, “pick an easier subject. like, uh… tire pressure.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

you flopped onto your bed dramatically, clutching your crumpled list of socratic seminar questions to your chest.

ollie sat at your desk, spinning lazily in your chair, sneakers kicking the floor. "alright, hit me," he said confidently. "what’s the topic?"

"free will versus determinism," you mumbled.

the spinning stopped. "versus… what now?"

"basically if we’re actually making our own choices or if everything’s already determined by fate or whatever."

he blinked. "that’s—" he paused. spun half a turn. "that’s horrible."

"right?"

you sat up, tossing the paper at him. he caught it clumsily, holding it like it was evidence in a murder trial.

"okay," he said bravely. "let's prepare. like sparring. you ask the question. i'll answer. we'll crush it."

you grinned, feeling slightly more hopeful. "alright. first question: do humans have free will?"

he sat up straighter, nodded like a professor. "yes. obviously. i chose to have cereal for breakfast instead of toast."

you stared.

he stared back.

"expand on that," you said, trying not to laugh.

"i… woke up. thought about toast. but then thought about cereal. then chose cereal. therefore: free will," he said, counting on his fingers like he was delivering the sermon on the mount.

"that’s not exactly the level they’re expecting," you said gently.

he looked personally offended. "what do they want from me? a thesis?"

you giggled, crawling over and tapping his forehead. "less toast. more philosophy."

he groaned dramatically, throwing himself backward into the chair. "you know what? tell them life is like… racing."

you blinked. "go on."

"you think you're choosing everything — when to brake, when to turn — but a lot of it’s already decided by where you start, how good the car is, who’s around you." he shrugged. "you're choosing. but also, you’re not."

you stared at him, jaw dropping slightly.

"wait. that’s… actually brilliant."

he looked smug. "yeah. i have like… two brain cells. but they’re powerful."

you burst out laughing, shoving his chair lightly. "you're my philosophical weapon, bearman."

he grinned, reaching out to boop your nose. "go in there, say something about cereal and racing, and you’ll win life."

ʚ・isack hadjar

you sighed dramatically, slumping over your laptop. “isack. i’m going to fail biology.”

he flopped onto your bed like a ragdoll, arms spread wide. “what’s the topic?”

you pointed to your screen. “i have to write a research paper on parasitic mind control.”

he sat up immediately, looking way too excited. “like zombies?”

you nodded grimly. “fungus that takes over ants' brains. worms that control fish. it’s horrific.”

isack beamed like you just told him christmas came early. “that’s so sick.”

you gave him a look. “yeah. sick. and confusing. and complicated. and i have no idea where to start.”

he scooted closer, peering at your half-typed notes. "okay okay okay. listen. this is easy."

you raised an eyebrow. "you failed high school biology."

"details," he said, waving a hand. "first, write something dramatic. grab their attention."

you frowned. “like what?”

he grinned. "start it like: 'imagine you're walking through the jungle… and a fungus eats your brain from the inside out.'”

you blinked. "that's… actually kind of good?"

"i'm french," he said smugly. "we know drama."

you laughed, slumping against him. "okay, what about the actual science part?"

he shrugged. "google it?"

you gave him another look.

he grinned wider. "or we make it up."

"isack."

"kidding! kidding!" he said, throwing his hands up. "we'll be semi accurate."

you sighed, grabbing your textbook again. "alright, fine. help me brainstorm."

two hours later, your "brainstorm" session had devolved into him pitching increasingly insane theories about zombie ants building secret underground cities and whether or not humans were already infected without knowing it.

(you were 60% sure he wasn’t joking.)

by the end of the night, your essay actually had a strong intro, a rough outline, and a lot of isack’s terrible but weirdly inspiring ideas scribbled in the margins.

he flopped onto the bed dramatically as you typed. "you're welcome for the nobel prize."

you laughed. "you’re lucky you’re cute."

"obviously," he said, already dozing off beside you.

ʚ・jack doohan

you groaned, flopping onto your desk dramatically, your french textbook sliding dangerously close to the edge.

jack leaned over your shoulder, chewing gum casually like he wasn’t about to experience a full-blown existential crisis. "what's wrong?"

"i have to write a whole essay in french," you moaned. "about my childhood memories. and i can barely even say bonjour without crying."

he grinned. "alright, alright. let’s do it together. how hard can it be?"

you gave him a flat look. "do you even speak french?"

jack paused.

then, without missing a beat: "no. but i know how to say croissant."

you buried your face in your arms.

"okay, okay," he said, standing up dramatically. "don’t panic. i have resources."

you peeked up at him. "resources?"

he pulled out his phone, typing aggressively. "pierre gasly. we’re calling for backup."

you stared at him. "jack. you can’t just facetime pierre for my homework."

"watch me."

three rings later, pierre’s blurry, confused face appeared on screen. "mate? everything okay?"

jack grinned, tilting the phone so pierre could see you buried under a pile of french worksheets. "yeah bro, can you help my girl with her french essay? she's suffering."

pierre blinked. smirked. "of course. what’s the topic?"

"childhood memories," you mumbled from under your arm.

pierre laughed. "easy. start with quand j'étais petit(e), je… then you just lie for the next five sentences."

jack nodded like he was absorbing ancient wisdom. "got it. lie. good plan."

you giggled despite yourself, sitting up. pierre rattled off a few starter phrases, jack repeating them horribly with a thick aussie accent that made you laugh so hard you almost fell off your chair.

thirty minutes later, you had the rough beginnings of an essay — half of it thanks to pierre, half of it thanks to jack’s chaotic moral support.

when you finally hung up, jack grinned, ruffling your hair.

"see? teamwork."

you beamed at him. "you’re ridiculous."

"and you’re gonna ace it," he said confidently. "just… maybe don’t pronounce anything the way i did."

ʚ・gabriel bortoleto

you slumped dramatically against the back of your chair, spinning aimlessly as your world history textbook lay open on your desk.

gabriel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling knowingly. “homework?”

"yeah," you groaned. "i have to write a five-page essay about how the roman empire influenced modern society."

he perked up instantly. "i love the roman empire."

you blinked. "of course you do."

he jogged over, pulling up a chair like he was about to host a ted talk. "okay, first of all — aqueducts. engineering marvels. you have to mention aqueducts."

you scribbled it down obediently. "aqueducts. got it."

"and roads," he added, already starting to gesture with his hands. "they basically invented the highway system. you ever think about that? roman highways."

you nodded, typing faster.

"and then there’s the legal system!" he continued, eyes sparkling. "so much of what we use today — courts, contracts, property laws — came from roman principles."

you stared at him, slightly overwhelmed. "how do you know all this?"

he shrugged, grinning. "i read. also, tiktok sometimes. but mostly reading."

you giggled, glancing at the growing list of topics he was rattling off. "okay, but i need, like, structure."

"structure!" he clapped his hands dramatically. "introduction: why the roman empire mattered. body paragraphs: engineering, law, military, politics. conclusion: the vibes are still alive today."

you snorted. "did you just say vibes in an academic plan?"

he winked. "scholarly vibes."

you tried to focus, typing as he ranted — but soon enough he was deep-diving into random side topics like roman concrete, weird emperors, and the fact that vending machines were technically invented by ancient engineers (somehow???).

“gabriel!” you finally laughed, cutting him off mid-rant about julius caesar's calendar reforms. “stay on topic!”

he blinked innocently. “i am on topic.”

you giggled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “you're my favorite chaotic historian.”

“and you're welcome for the best essay of your life,” he said, proudly tossing your pen onto the bed.

ʚ・liam lawson

you groaned, dramatically sliding down the couch until you were nearly horizontal, a stack of history books balancing dangerously on your stomach.

liam glanced over from where he was gaming on the floor. "what's wrong now, princess?"

"i have to write an essay about the economic effects of the industrial revolution," you mumbled. "for advanced history."

he paused his game.

turned.

and gave you the most falsely confident smile you’d ever seen.

"easy," he said, tossing his controller aside. "i know all about that."

you blinked. "you do?"

"yeah," he said, nodding seriously. "the industrial revolution… that’s when people invented factories. and, uh… steam. steam was big."

you stared.

"lots of steam," he added, deadpan.

"liam."

he grinned. "okay, fine, i don’t know shit. but i am great at making things sound convincing."

you laughed, tossing a pillow at him.

he crawled over, plopping next to you, skimming your textbook like it was written in alien language. "alright, so… just say that people started making stuff faster. like, mass production. and the economy got booming. profit. money. cha-ching."

you scribbled a few notes, giggling. "you’re literally just saying capitalism noises."

"exactly!" he said proudly. "that's history, babe."

you groaned, but couldn't stop smiling. he peeked over your shoulder at your half-written paragraph.

"also mention… pollution," he said, squinting at a random heading in your book. "people were coughing and stuff. very historical."

you laughed harder, shoulders shaking. "you're the worst tutor."

"and yet, you're smiling," he teased, bumping your shoulder.

you shook your head, finishing your messy draft while he threw in random "facts" like, "probably some guy tried to steam-power a horse" and "definitely child labor, don't forget that."

when you finally set your pen down, exhausted but a little triumphant, liam wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"see? history made easy. just add steam, money, and mild suffering."

you leaned back into him, laughing. "remind me to never let you help me again."

he smirked against your hair. "you’ll come back. i’m irresistible."

511 notes · View notes

yrluvjane · 3 months ago

Note

i really need the marauders (poly or your choice) being loverboys to the reader!!!!!

JAMES POTTER falls in love with you a hundred times a day.

It happens when you’re laughing at one of his stupid jokes, your nose scrunched up in that way that makes his chest ache. It happens when you’re half-asleep in the common room, your head lolling onto his shoulder as you mumble about how warm he is. It happens when you steal his glasses just to see him squint, when you fix his tie before class, when you roll your eyes at his theatrics but smile anyway.

He tells you constantly—shouts it across the Great Hall, whispers it into your skin when he thinks you’re asleep, writes it in the margins of your shared notes.

“You’re it for me,” he says, grinning, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “Merlin’s pants, I’m so gone for you.”

And when you kiss him, he melts like he’s never been kissed before.

SIRIUS BLACK loves like it’s a rebellion.

He traces the curve of your smile like he’s memorizing it for battle. Holds your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. Presses his forehead to yours in the dark and breathes you in like you’re holy.

“You’re mine,” he growls, but it’s not possessive—it’s a promise. A vow. I am yours, too.

He steals your jumpers just to smell them later. Leaves wildflowers on your pillow after detentions. Sneaks into the kitchens at 3 AM to bring you treacle tart because “You sighed in your sleep, love. Clearly emergency pudding was needed.”

And when you laugh at him—really laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkled—he feels like he’s won something greater than any war.

REMUS LUPIN loves you quietly, but never gently.

He remembers how you take your tea (two sugars, splash of milk). Notices when you’re cold before you do (and wordlessly wraps his scarf around your neck). Watches you read over his shoulder, his heart pounding when you bite your lip at the good parts.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, like it’s a secret just for you.

He writes you letters even though he sees you every day. Presses his lips to your scars and calls them beautiful. Lets you trace the constellations of his freckles like you’re mapping the stars.

And when you whisper “I love you” in the dark, he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of the words.

TOGETHER, they’re a symphony of devotion.

James spins you into dances in the middle of the common room. Sirius kisses your knuckles like a knight from one of his childhood fairytales. Remus tucks your cold feet under his thighs without complaint.

They bicker over who gets to hold your hand. Leave love notes in your textbooks. Sneak you into the Astronomy Tower just to watch you glow under the starlight.

And when you sigh, content, curled between them in a pile of limbs and whispered affections—

They fall in love with you all over again.

#poly!marauders x reader #poly marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders fanfiction #poly!marauders blurb #poly!marauders x y/n #poly marauders x you #poly marauders x y/n #poly marauders imagine #poly marauders fic #marauders #marauders x reader #hp marauders #marauders fic #marauders era

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wendichester · 4 months ago

Text

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ so highschool,

summary. strangely enough, dean will be staying in the same place for more than a week. it seems like you caught his eye

pairing. teen!dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 477

notes. i was thinking of turning this small lil drabble into more parts. what do you think? let me know if you're interested ehe ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You hear him before you see him—Dean Winchester, the new guy, the one who showed up a month ago and has already carved his name into the school like he owns the place. Girls whisper about him in the hallways, and guys either want to be him or want to fight him. He’s built a reputation fast: charming, cocky, a little dangerous.

And, apparently, persistent.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean drawls, leaning against the locker next to yours like it was put there for him specifically.

You don’t spare him more than a glance, shoving your history textbook into your bag. “Not interested.”

Dean chuckles, undeterred. “C’mon, you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

You turn to him then, raising an eyebrow. “You were gonna ask me out.”

His grin widens. “Damn, you’re good.”

“And I said no.” You click your locker shut, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “So, if you’ll excuse me—”

Dean steps in front of you, not blocking your path exactly, but making it clear he’s not done. “Hold on, now. You didn’t even let me give my pitch.”

You sigh. “Your pitch?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working on it.” He tilts his head, watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve. “Okay, picture this: you, me, a classic drive-in movie—real romantic, right? You get to pick the film, I don’t even care if it’s some sappy chick flick. After that, we grab burgers, fries, a milkshake to split—hell, I’ll even let you have the cherry on top. Then I take you home like a perfect gentleman.”

You fold your arms, unimpressed. “And how many girls have you used that exact line on?”

Dean smirks. “Would it make you feel better if I said just you?”

“No.”

“Ouch,” he says, placing a hand over his heart like you just stabbed him. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re immune to my undeniable charm.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He doesn’t move. If anything, his eyes soften, like he’s actually looking at you for the first time instead of just working another angle. “Most girls around here fall over themselves the second I flash a smile.”

You shrug. “Most girls around here have bad taste.”

That gets a laugh out of him—real, genuine. “Okay, I deserved that.” He exhales, running a hand through his hair before fixing you with something dangerously close to sincerity. “But listen, I’m not gonna give up that easy.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course, you’re not.”

“Damn right. Because, sweetheart, I don’t just want a yes. I wanna earn it.” He winks, stepping back just enough to let you pass. “So, go ahead, keep turnin’ me down. I’ll be right here, tryin’ again tomorrow.”

And with that, he’s gone, whistling as he walks away, leaving you with the distinct, frustrating feeling that this is far from over.

⋆.˚ ★— read part 2

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ⋆ @chi_raz ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #teen dean winchester #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

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cimmanonrowl · 5 months ago

Text

Focus

It’s hard to please Daddy when it’s finals season and everything feels overwhelming. There were stack of books everywhere, unwashed mugs of coffee piling on your study table, and there seemed to be not enough time to revise for every course. And when Aaron finally had enough of your attitude, he decided to take the matter into his own hands.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x student!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Content: mention of starvation & hair pulling, academic pressure, huge age gap, consenting adults, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex, daddy kink, ddlg dynamic, soft daddy dom!aaron, bratty!reader, powerplay: older man x younger woman relationship.

Note: Read the content warnings and proceed with your own discretion. If it's not your cup of tea, scroll up and have a good day.

The door clicked softly as Aaron stepped into your shared apartment.

The weight of his busy day still clung heavily to his shoulders. It had been one of those days in the office—long hours of reviewing reports, draining meetings with the board; the kind that gnawed at your patience until you only had so little left to give. Some days, he’d prefer to be out on the field so he can freely stretch and move his body. Most days, he doesn’t— simply because he doesn’t want to be away from you.

He kicked off his shoes, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion as he did so. The usual sense of relief for being home hadn’t yet settled in as he glanced around the dimly lit space, his thick eyebrows pinched together in a confused frown.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

“Honey? I’m home,” he called out, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small apartment.

Worry trickled down his spine with the unusual sight. He had hoped to come home to something different— a warm meal, maybe, with the sound of your favourite songs blasting in the background. Or better yet, you wrapped in his favourite lingerie; the one that barely covers your pussy and clings to your body in a godly sight, kneeling on the living room floor with a sweet smile, ready to take his cock deep down your throat until he was shaking and begging to finally take your tight cunt.

Just anything– anything to signal that you had taken a break, that you weren’t still buried under the mountain of stress he’d seen building in your eyes over the past few days.

But the apartment was as silent as it had been when he left that morning.

Aaron’s brow furrowed as he made his way down the hallway, the muted light from your own study spilling out into the corridor. He had an idea, a feeling more like, as to what might greet him as soon as he sees you.

Goddamn, this girl.

The door creaked quietly as he pushed it open. And he felt his heart sink as he found you exactly where he had left you that morning— hunched over your desk, the same thick textbook open in front of you, surrounded by the same clutter of mess. The only difference was the growing pile of empty coffee cups at your side.

Had you even moved all day?

“Honey…” he tried again, softer this time, as he leaned against the door frame.

You didn’t respond. Your eyes were locked on the page in front of you, and he could see from the tension in your shoulders that you were anything but focused.

Aaron’s gaze traveled over your form, noticing the same clothes you’d worn earlier, and the half-eaten sandwich he had left on the corner of your desk that morning. His chest tightened, concern quickly overshadowing the fatigue he had brought home with him. He could make out the tension looming over your crouched figure.

“Honey…” his voice came out a whisper, curiously watching you as you murmured the words you were reading in your textbook, memorizing every word earnestly.

Aaron stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the way your hand was gripping your hair, pulling the strands tangled tightly around your fingers. You didn’t even seem to realize you were doing it— too caught up in your own world to understand what you were doing.

“Hey!”

You jumped, your hand releasing your hair so suddenly that you winced as a few strands were pulled free.

“Aaron! Y-you scared me!” your eyes finally lifted to meet his, wide and startled, as if you were seeing him for the first time that day.

He crossed the room in quick strides, worry etched into his features as he reached out to pull your hand gently away from your head. His thumb brushed over the raw area where your hair had been yanked, and he felt a pang of guilt for not noticing sooner.

“Darling, you’re doing it again,” he said quietly, his voice tight with concern. “I thought we talked about this.”

You blinked slowly. “I—I’m sorry. Yeah. I didn’t notice. I didn’t mean to.”

“You’ve been here all day, haven’t you?” he scanned his eyes over the desk for any sign that you had taken a break, had eaten something, anything. The half-eaten sandwich was evidence enough that you hadn’t.

“I was just trying to finish this stupid chapter,” you mumbled, your voice small, almost ashamed. “I didn’t realize how much time had passed. I’ll eat after, I promise.”

Aaron sighed heavily. “You didn’t eat. You didn’t move. You’ve been sitting here, pulling your hair out over these stupid finals all day, and you didn’t even notice?”

Blood rushed through your warm cheeks. And you felt the sudden urge to yell at his face.

Stupid finals?

Stupid?

You looked down at your hands, irritation slowly flooding in as his words sank in. He wasn’t wrong— you’d been so consumed by the pressure to finish everything as quickly and efficiently as you could, to get everything right, that you had lost track of everything else. But stupid… really? What you were doing was far from that word. How insensitive could he be?

You bit your lower lip, trying to control your rising temper.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered with a heavy heart, feeling the weight of his words like a stone in your chest. “I just wanted to do well. I didn’t mean to…”

Aaron’s expression softened at your words. He’s as frustrated as you were yet he’s concerned more than anything else. He crouched beside you before reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, sighing softly as his warm gaze lingered over your face.

You look tired, he noticed.

“Baby…” his voice was soft it almost made you tear up. “I know you’re stressed, but this isn’t healthy. You know that, right? You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

You nodded slowly. “I know. I just… I don’t want to mess up. I want to make you proud, Daddy...”

“Oh, sweet girl. You already do,” he took your hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “But you’re more important than your grades. Daddy needs you to take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he added, gently rubbing the spot where your hair had been pulled.

“But… I don’t want to slack off...”

Your pout deepened as Aaron frowned down at you.

“You’re the most hard working girl I know in this world, baby,” he said seriously. “What I need you to do is promise me that you’ll take breaks, eat on time, and stop… this…”

Whatever this is, you knew what he wanted to say.

“But—”

“Are you talking back to me?”

Hesitation clung to you with the sudden drop of his voice. The promise felt heavy on your tongue. There’s still a lot to do, deadlines to beat, too much reading to finish, papers to write and revise. You know with the current state of events, you can’t carelessly promise anything to him, but the way Aaron’s eyes squinted at your defiance was enough to make you nod quickly.

“S-sorry, Daddy. I promise.”

Aaron searched your face for a moment longer, then finally relaxed, though the worry didn’t entirely leave his eyes.

“Good. Because if I come home tomorrow and find you in the same spot, I’ll drag you out of here myself and punish you, baby. And no more coffee after 5 p.m.,” he added, eyeing the empty cups with disdain and disapproval.

You managed a small smile, the first genuine lightness you’d felt all day, and nodded again. “Yes, Daddy. No more coffee.”

“There’s my good girl.” Heat dusted over your cheeks as you giggled at his praise, and this time there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. “Now, enough of that, come on. We’re ordering takeout, and you’re taking a break. No arguments.”

Panic settled on your heavy bones.

“Huh- what–” you stammered, peering over your books and the half-finished paper on your laptop. “Daddy, I nee– just one more chapter, please. I need– just another paragpra–”

The stern look he gave you made you stop. He didn’t have to say anything. Just seeing the scowl on his face; his thick eyebrows tugged together, his eyes narrowing in silent warning, was enough to put you back in place.

You pursed your lips immediately, and finally let him lead you out of the study, the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease just a little.

That night, Aaron let you use his cock for relief. He’s always been true to his words. He ordered a take out from your favourite Chinese restaurant down the block, ran a bubble bath and joined you shortly to wash your body, massaged your scalp and shoulder, showered you with praises for being his good girl, for being hardworking and smart, and for being the prettiest girl in the world. Then you let Daddy fuck your wet, needy cunt with his thick fingers until you came and writhed against his soft touches.

It was almost midnight when you heard your neighbor pound angrily on the thin wall separating your apartments, screaming in frustration to tone down your fucking. Which you only giggled. Daddy gave you permission to ride his big, fat cock the way you like it. And you did. But it was only after he lapped and ate your pussy like a starved man that he made you cum twice on his tongue, until your legs were spasming uncontrollably from the blinding pleasure.

The next few days were just as rough.

It was an underestimation on some angle, but nothing but the truth as a whole. You and Aaron were arguing nonstop. He was scolding you too much. You cry nearly every night. But he never stopped breathing down your neck: reminding you to take a break, eat the food he ordered for you from his office, drink your vitamins, don’t drink any more coffee, eat the fruits he bought instead of potato chips, rest your eyes, take a bath, take a walk, threatening to punish you if you don’t.

“Are you seriously fucking kidding me?” His voice was flat, his weariness laced with something sharper, though you couldn’t tell if it was frustration or concern. Maybe both. Or maybe he’s seriously just pissed off.

Slowly, with brows pulled in a tight frown, you glanced over your shoulder.

You didn’t hear Aaron walk down the hall, didn’t hear the way his pace slowed just outside the door, or how he lingered there for a moment, leaning against the frame to watch you in annoyance. His frustrated sigh filled the room, deep and full of exhaustion, but that you heard.

Your hand went limp, your fingers still tangled in your hair as you stared back innocently at him.

Aaron stood there, quietly observing you from your seat, still in his work clothes— his tie loosened, shirt untucked from where he’d probably tugged at it during his long day. His expression, however, was fully focused on you, and the hint of gentle smile he usually carried whenever he comes home to you was absent, replaced by a frown etched deep in his rugged features.

“What, Daddy?” you asked in a small voice, as though you hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

You felt the pull of your own hand still gripping your hair. Slowly, you released it, lowering your hand to your lap.

Aaron let out a sigh, running a hand through his own tousled hair before crossing the room to you. “It’s almost eleven,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm.

“Have you been sitting here all day?”

What?

You blinked, looking around for a clock to confirm what he was saying. You barely remember anything that happened. All you can recall was being kissed on your forehead before he head out to work, reminding you to eat the breakfast he prepared for you, and to keep your promise. But now the light outside had faded into complete darkness, the street lights illuminating the crossroads outside, streaks of moonlight painting the night sky.

Almost like an afterthought, your stomach growled faintly. You suddenly realized you hadn’t eaten since… that morning…

Maybe.

“I… I guess so,” you murmured, as if admitting it out loud will make everything worse.

He crossed his arms, thick muscles bulging against the tight fabric of his dress shirt.

“You guess so? Try again, little girl.”

“I—” You wandered your eyes over the pile of untouched notes, the cold cup of coffee still sitting on your desk, and the empty plate from a hastily eaten sandwich. “I… I didn’t, sorry. I didn’t notice the time.”

Your mind was wrapped too tightly around the fact that you still have one more essay to finish before the due date. It was a frustrating day. You caught yourself a lot of times staring mindlessly at the words printed on your book, though they blurred and danced right before your eyes. You stared at the same paragraph for… how long each? Minutes? Hours? You weren’t even sure anymore.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed as he crouched down next to your chair, his gaze level with yours now.

“I told you to eat proper meals, didn’t I?” He pointed out, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed under your eye, and you realized how dry and tired your skin felt. “And you still haven’t eaten, have you?”

You bit your lip and shook your head slightly. “I wasn’t hungry, Daddy. I just wanted to get through this part—”

“No,” Aaron cut you off, shaking his head as he firmly gripped your shoulders, turning your chair so you faced him fully. “No. Enough of this now, little girl. You’ve been doing this to yourself all week. Staying up too late and skipping meals. This is not good for you.”

Your eyes started to burn—not from exhaustion this time, but from something heavier, something you’d been holding in for days now.

“You don’t understand, Daddy. This is important to me!”

The stress, the pressure, the sense of being completely overwhelmed. You felt like you were sinking, and somehow, it all spilled over the moment Aaron looked at you with those tired, worried eyes.

“I just…” Your voice broke, and you looked away, blinking rapidly. “I have to do well, Daddy. I can’t mess this up. I have one semester left until graduation. I can’t– I have to do well.”

Aaron’s expression softened as he listened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, gently turning you back to meet his gaze. “Baby, Daddy knows how important this is to you,” his voice was calm and steady. “But you can’t do well if you’re running yourself into the ground. You’re hurting yourself, and you don’t even realize it. I’m not doing this to sabotage you, honey.”

His thumb brushed over the spot on your scalp where your hair was still tender from your unconscious pulling, and you winced slightly.

“Sorry—” you apologized quickly. “I don’t realize I’m doing it, daddy. I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed at that, and he lowered his hands, his worry etched into every line of his face. “Just promise me you’ll stop,” he whispered, as if the words themselves could break you. “Or else I’m putting mittens on these little hands of yours.”

You nodded quickly, stifling a giggle. “I promise, daddy. I didn’t even realize I was doing it—”

“I know,” Aaron cut you off gently before you could finish. He stood up then, his hand dropping to yours, tugging you softly up to your feet. “C’mon. You’re done for the night.”

“But—” You glanced back at your desk, at the still-open textbooks, the unread chapters waiting for you. “I’m not done. I have so much left—”

“What do you still need to do?” He asked, following your gaze on your table.

“I’m halfway through this paper and I still have to revise them. Then…” your lower lip prodded a little as you stared up at him. “I need to review for my deptals. I just finished making flashcards on my iPad, Daddy, but I haven’t checked them yet…”

“Then we’ll do that tonight,” he said as he steered you out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen. “First, you need to eat. And then, we’re going to bed.”

“Daddy, I just said I need to revie—”

“Yes, yes, you will, honey.” He squeezed your hand gently as he led you to the kitchen table. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You’ve got Daddy. I’ll help you tonight. So be a good girl for me and eat first.”

You sat down heavily in the chair as Aaron started pulling out some leftovers from the fridge, reheating them with quick, efficient movements. He didn’t ask you to explain yourself or demand an apology. He just moved around the kitchen with an ease that came from his conscious effort to know you— knowing when to push, and when to just be there quietly.

When he placed the food in front of you, you hesitated for a moment before picking up the fork.

“Daddy…”

He hummed. “Yes, my love?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled between bites. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Aaron pulled up a chair beside you, leaning forward on his elbows as he watched you eat; a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “I know you didn’t, little one. But you did. And I’d rather see you take care of yourself than get another A.”

“You’re just saying that, Daddy. You said I’ll always get a reward if I do well in school. You were bribing me.”

“Maybe…” he grinned, the tiredness in his eyes easing a bit. “But I still mean it.”

As you continued eating, Aaron reached across the table, brushing his fingers against your hand again. “Remember your promise?”

“Yes, Daddy. I’ll try harder not to do it anymore.”

“Good girl,” he leaned back on his chair with a relieved sigh. “Now, finish your meal. What would you say if Daddy help you study?”

You smiled wider at that, nodding your head quickly. “I’d like that, Daddy.”

“What if you sit on Daddy’s big cock while I ask you your reviewer questions? Would my little girl like that?”

Heat pooled in between your legs as you listened to the vulgarity of his words. He gave you a small smile, reaching his hand to your face before gently tucking the stray hair behind your ear.

“S-sounds good, Daddy,” you said weakly, blushing as you crossed your legs under the table. “D-do I get to come?”

“If you answer the questions correctly, yes you will,” he said lowly, lightly caressing your exposed neck with his thumb.

A low whimper rumbled on your throat.

“But wha– what if I don’t, daddy?”

“Then we’ll just have to see, don’t we, little girl?”

Aaron laid on his back, looking so comfortable and snug as ever, with the soft glow of your iPad casting a faint light in the dimly lit bedroom. The night shirt he previously worn was already discarded on the floor, completely unforgotten. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he scrolled through the flashcards you’d painstakingly made for your departamental exams, his fingers gently swiping the screen.

“Alright, honey,” Aaron said, his voice low and focused. “Define ‘morphological productivity’ for me.”

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to pull the answer from the jumble of concepts crammed into your brain. A low whine escaped your lips under the intensity of his gaze; exactly just as you felt his thick cock twitch against your walls.

“Daddy… f-feels so good…” you shook your head weakly as the pad of Aaron’s calloused palm traveled your bare thighs.

“I know, honey. But I need you to be a good girl and focus right now.”

Your heart raced, though it wasn’t just from the pressure of not knowing the answer to his question. His presence—so close, so steady—and the familiar heady smell of his bodywash was making it harder to focus. The warmth of his body underneath you, his big cock inside your wet cunt, the way his voice dropped whenever he asked a question, all of it felt heavier, more instense than usual.

“Morphological productivity…” Your mind raced to remember the specifics. “It’s when the… morphology is productive—oh fuck!”

Aaron barked a hearty laughter, sending shivers down your spine with every twitch of his cock inside your hole.

“Just joking, Daddy…” You pouted adorably, slowly grinding your hips to feel more of his girth. “It’s… it’s… t-the guide that control how words are formed and structured in a l-language, r-right?”

“Hmm. I don’t know, baby. Can you give me an example?”

“One e-example is affix… affixation…” You moaned softly, stopping your hips from grinding back and forth as Aaron gripped your thigh in a silent warning. “Sorry, Daddy. F-for instance, you can add ‘-ness’ to the root word ‘happy’ to make ‘happiness’ and it still makes sense.”

Aaron gave a small nod, his lips curving slightly in approval, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Close enough,” he said, his voice steady.

His eyes flicked toward your bare chest before returning to the iPad, and you felt wetness pooling in between your legs intensify.

“Next, baby,” he said, swiping to the next card. “What’s the difference between a free morpheme and a bound morpheme?”

You shifted slightly, pressing both your palm on his stomach, trying to stifle a moan.

“A free morpheme can stand alone as a word,” your voice came out a little softer, distracted by the way his fingers moved so casually across your thighs. “Like ‘book’ or ‘run.’ A bound morpheme can’t… it… it h-has to be attached to something else, like pre… oh, Daddy… pre…fixes or s-suffixes. Like ‘-s’ or ‘-ing.’”

Aaron’s eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His gaze was heavy, like he was weighing more than just your answer, and the quiet that followed hung between you, thick. You could feel the heat of his body underneath you, and his pulsating cock inside.

“C-correct,” he murmured, but his voice had dipped lower.

His fingers lingered over the screen, not moving to the next flashcard right away. The air between you seemed to hum, each small movement or breath amplified in the quiet room.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. The weight of his gaze was now making it difficult to focus on anything but the heat of your skin together. Studying had always been stressful, but this… this was different. His serious, deliberate tone, the way he was so focused, so intent on helping you, made it all the more difficult to not cave in to your crushing desire.

“Now, this one should be easy. What is a washback?” he asked, his voice still low, though his eyes hadn’t left yours.

You hesitated, distracted by the way his lips formed each word. “It’s also… uh I think it’s also called the washback effect. It is the influence of an assessment on teaching and learning. It can be both beneficial or harmful, and is a common phenomenon in institutional learning.”

“Mm-hm,” Aaron hummed in approval, his eyes darkening slightly as he nodded. “Good girl.”

He didn’t move to the next flashcard right away. Instead, his hand shifted slightly inches slightly to your hips, his thumb rubbing soft circles. It was such a subtle motion, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Daddy… please…” You bit your lip, trying to refocus. “Are you… Are you going to ask me the next one?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, betraying your growing distraction.

Aaron’s gaze flicked to your lips for the briefest second before he looked back at the iPad, though the movement wasn’t lost on you. He cleared his throat, as if remembering the task at hand, and swiped to the next card, though his thumb lingered on the screen a little longer than necessary.

“Define… vowel harmony,” he said, his voice slower this time, before gently bucking his hip like his simply adjusting his position.

You whined loudly, the tip of his cock hitting the special spot inside, your mind scrambling to pull the answer from the depths of your memory.

“It’s… uh… Daddy… stop m-moving…” You swallowed, your voice catching in your throat. “It’s when… when… vowels within a word need to m-match in some way. Just… just l-like in certain languages, all the vowels in a word have to be either front or back vowels.”

Aaron nodded, his lips curving just slightly in a faint, knowing smile. “Very good.”

His hand shifted again, this time closer, brushing down your inner thigh, right where your bodies meet. The heat from his touch seeped through every fiber of your being, flooding your senses with heat and desire. And lust. Overflowing heat and lust.

Your breathing quickened, your mind no longer on linguistic theories or exam questions.

“Do you want to keep going?” Aaron asked, though his voice had lost the strict, studious edge it had earlier. His hand still rested on your inner thigh, his fingers ghosting against your throbbing clit, as if waiting for your answer to decide where they might go next.

“D-daddy…” you said in a whisper, slowly grinding your hips again. “N-need you… plea…please… daddy…”

Aaron didn’t move for a moment. He kept watching your desperate movements with that same heavy gaze, his fingers slowly teasing their way to your needy cunt, sending another shiver through your body.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he set the iPad aside, his hand resting fully on your hip now.

“My little girl’s been studying hard…” his voice was low and rough, the pad of his big, calloused hands against your skin. “And you’ve got all these answers down.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body instinctively leaning into his touch. The anticipation was almost suffocating in the best way, choking you. He started to rock his hip slowly, the trail of hair from his cock grinding against your clit in a heady way.

“F-fuck…” your voice trembled as you impatiently increased your pace. “Y-yes, D-daddy… please...”

He sat up to lean towards you, his lips just a breath away from your ear. “Baby, you’ve earned a break,” the words filled with a promise that made your pulse quicken. “I’ll fuck you nice and good, hmm?”

As Aaron’s lips brushed ever so lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck, your world crumbled and you couldn’t focus on anything else.

His lips trailed down your exposed neck, his nose pressed against your skin, taking in your scent as he left a soft trail of light kisses. A heavy sigh escaped your lips when you felt his hands tighten around your waist, guiding you in back-and-forth motion. The way his big and girthy cock was stretching your leaking cunt was intoxicating. You whimpered in embarrassment, hiding your flushed cheeks at the crook of his neck as you felt the tip of his cock deep into your belly.

“D-daddy… can you move, please?” you whispered in a weak voice.

“You want Daddy’s cum inside you, sweet girl?”

You nodded, feeling Aaron move gently to fix his position. “I d-do, Daddy… s-so much… please...”

“Then you’ll get it, princess.”

With a yelp, Aaron’s girthy cock rammed in and out of your waiting cunt. The shrill sound that escaped your lips made Aaron smirk in satisfaction. This is where you belong; in his arms, perched on his lap with your warm, velvety walls wrapped tightly on his cock, his name leaving your lips like a desperate prayer.

Deep grunts and small whimpers tangled in the air like harmony. Your voice was raw, and your throat dries as he assaulted your greedy, little cunt with deep thrusts. His breathing was ragged and heavy.

“Da…Daddy…” Your fingers tightened on his hair, pulling a little with every plop of your sweaty skin. “C-close, ‘m close… Daddy…”

Aaron let out an amused laugh. “No, not yet. Wait a l-little more, you can do that f-for Daddy, princess?”

You whined.

“N-no… I-I want… Daddy… come, p-please… Want to c-come…”

A sharp slap on the side of your thigh stilled you.

“Who fucking own you, little girl?”

“Y-you... Daddy…”

“And who fucking own this greedy cunt, huh? Who get to say when you’re allowed to fucking come?”

A particular thrust set your nerves on fire. “Y-you, Daddy! Only y-you… fuck… that feels g-good! There- t-there! R-right there! H-harder, Daddy! Fuck– f-fuck me!”

“There’s my good girl.”

You felt the familiar coil twisting in your belly. The squelching sound of your wet hole being pounded hard and fast was dirty and somehow humiliating. He kept hammering his hips into you, the tip of his throbbing cock nudging the most sensitive spots deep inside your body. Parts you never knew existed until you met Aaron. He has always loved you hard and always fucked you even harder. Like you’re nothing but a fleshlight. A toy. A fuckdoll he could use just the way he wants it.

“Y-yes! Yes! D-daddy! Right-r-right there! F-fuck!” Your release inched closer, roused by his pained grunts and heavy breathing. “Please! P-please! Please, Daddy! Come in-inside me! Breed m-me… please! I’m a g-good girl, r-right? Fuck m-me full of c-cum, please! W-want it s-so bad— want y-you so bad!”

“Come, princess. Go on. Let go.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like an avalanche. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head. Aaron’s loud grunt and your whiny moan pierced the silence of the night, his fat cock spurting ropes and ropes of warm cum into your waiting womb. Shivers ran down your spine, your bones weak, legs trembling.

“That’s it... good girl... my sweet girl...” Aaron murmured against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “Just take it, princess. Daddy loves you.”

A loud pounding on the wall startled your calming heart. It even made Aaron jump a little. Seconds ticked in and the familiar voice of your angry neighbor echoed inside your sweaty, sex-filled room.

“Stop fucking in the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake! Some people have fucking exams tomorrow unlike you fucking horny crackheads! Fuck!”

You could only giggle in exhaustion.

Guess who’s back, bitches! (affectionately) Please give me some love and appreciation in the form of your thoughts or reactions. Also, don’t forget to drink your water and keep slaying, babes!

Tag list: @downbad4reid ,@roseydoesypoesy, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @justyourusualash, @hotchsmutrecs, @msfreedom, @birdysaturne, @gghostwriter, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @fore45fore, @actualdeemon, @diksy1112, @jethro-mcgee-tony, @hotchnerbau, @iniyalovesall, @222hwilsss, @balariie, @oliviabbb, @ncis0mrs0gibbs, @jasonswhitetuftofhair, @m4pl, @zaddyhotch, @fandom-garbage, @obsessed-oops, @ujws5, @babybluelrh98, @anime-lover-forever-1127, @hazel-babbit, @3amcloudss, @seraphinlover

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner x you #daddy!aaron

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itneverendshere · 28 days ago

Note

Hi Gigi, I hope you’re having a great day. I love your works so much, especially hockey Rafe in your brother’s bsf fic. I was wondering if I can request, like, Rafe coming to her dorm after a hockey practice, and then them taking a shower together, and it gets smutty

only if you want to. Thank you for reading my request :)

pleasure’s a place only we know - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's sister x hockey!rafe warnings: smut.

Your laptop hummed loudly next to your textbook, and your note pages were scattered on your desk. You’d been at this for hours — your brain had turned into scrambled eggs, and the stats exam looming tomorrow wasn’t helping.

Another sigh.

Your leg bounced under the desk. Rafe hadn’t texted, not that you were waiting on it. (You were.) He had practice, or lifting. Or some team thing.

Or maybe he’d forgotten you existed because finals week had turned you into a snapping, sarcastic monster.

Fair.

You shoved another handful of pretzels into your mouth, eyes skimming the same paragraph for the fifth time, absorbing nothing. The numbers blurred together — standard deviations, variances, and z-scores. All useless until they were on a scantron.

Your twist-out had frizzed into something unholy, your satin bonnet had disappeared somewhere between your fourth meltdown and the last pack of fruit snacks. You leaned back, stretched, and stared up at the ceiling, hoping God would beam down a cheat sheet through the asbestos tiles.

You knew you were smart. You weren’t failing. But something about finals season had you on a anxiety roll. You were short with everyone, hadn’t called your mom back in two days. And poor Rafe — bless his heart — had gotten the brunt of it.

You were an overstimulated gremlin with zero patience for anyone who wasn’t your stats professor handing you the answer key. You’d snapped at Rafe yesterday when he’d dropped off a smoothie from that place with the good ginger shots. He’d blinked, kissed the top of your head, and dipped before you could apologize.

You hadn’t texted since.

You told yourself you needed space. He’d understand. Except now it was late, the hallway outside was quiet. You cracked your knuckles, got up to pee for the third time in an hour, and when you came back, he was standing in the doorway like a literal hallucination.

Rafe.

Hoodie damp at the collar, hair wet from sweat, duffle bag slung low on his shoulder. His eyes flicked over you — sleep shorts, tank top, socks with little ducks on them — and something in his jaw relaxed.

“You could knock like a normal person.”

“You always leave it unlocked,” he said, stepping inside. “Reckless behavior for a smart girl.”

“Cute. You memorize that on the bus?”

“Missed you too."

You sat back in your chair and turned toward your screen, scrolling through notes even though you weren’t reading.

“What do you want?”

He dropped the bag and crossed to you slowly. “You didn’t text me. You ghosted me after I fed you.”

“I was busy.”

“You were mean.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know,” he said, standing behind you now. His hands came to rest on your shoulders. Your eyes closed when his thumbs pressed gently into the knots at the base of your neck, and you exhaled before you could stop yourself.

It felt good. It felt so good and you didn’t deserve it.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be nice to me when I’m being a bitch.”

He laughed. “Can’t help it.”

You turned in the chair then, knees bumping his thighs, and looked up at him. There was sweat still clinging to the curve of his jaw. His hair was wild, that annoying, effortlessly hot that made you irrationally angry.

“You been here all day?”

You turned and kept typing. “No, I ran a marathon and then solved world hunger. Obviously, I’ve been here.”

“I brought you food.”

You pointed at the desk without turning around.

“Add it to the offering pile. You smell like a hockey locker room, by the way.”

You knew you were being impossible.

“I know. Join me in the shower?”

You gave him a full glare. “I’m trying to pass stats. I’ll bathe after.”

“I’m serious. Come with me.”

“I’m serious, too. Go wash your ass.”

“You have two options,” He conceded, calm as anything. “You get up and walk to the shower like a functioning person, or I carry you.”

You didn’t bother looking up. “You wouldn’t.”

He stepped closer. “Try me.”

“I swear to God, Rafe—”

“Nope. God’s off-duty. You got me tonight.”

You turned slowly in your chair, posture full of defiance, even if your spine ached from being hunched for hours and your brain was one bad stat problem away from full shutdown.

“I’m studying.”

“You’re spiraling.”

You held up a finger. “First of all—”

You didn’t get the sentence out before he was dragging back your chair, and you were squawking, legs flailing as he picked you up.

“Rafe! I’m serious—”

“So am I.”

He adjusted you in his arms, one hand bracing your thigh, the other supporting your back like he’d done it a hundred times. (He had.)

“We’re showering. Either you’re in the mood for soap and peace or soap and attitude, but the soap’s happening.”

You kicked your legs weakly. “Put me down!”

“Say please.”

“Please choke.”

He grinned. “That can be arranged.”

You smacked his chest as he carried you through the narrow dorm bathroom door. He set you down on the counter like a princess and started pulling off his hoodie.

You crossed your arms in defiance, pretending you weren’t ogling his physique.

“This is manipulative behavior.”

“Yep,” He nodded, shirt now gone, abs on full display. “Textbook boyfriend manipulation.”

“Gross.”

He stepped closer. “You need a break, baby.”

You didn’t want to melt — you really didn’t — but the nickname came low and quiet, with enough scratch to it that it softened your body.

You rolled your eyes and grumbled a “Fine.” You sighed and peeled off your tank top, glaring at him while doing it. “If I miss a practice problem because of you—”

“Then I’ll make it up to you.”

You paused. “How.”

He kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, “With my mouth.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is sex all you think about?"

He shrugged in mock innocence. “You're getting naked. Can you blame me?"

You couldn’t think of anything except how much you missed him, and how awful you've been these past few days. Rafe was between your legs, hands braced on the counter on either side of you, effectively caging you in.

“I’m only doing this because I was gonna shower eventually.”

Rafe held off from smiling.

“You say that like I didn’t carry your whining ass in here.”

You glared. “I didn’t whine.”

His nose skimmed yours. “You did. Like a baby possum.”

You slapped his chest, half-heartedly, and he chuckled, the sound vibrating through your skin. You didn’t want to smile, but you did anyway.

“I have four brain cells left max, and you’re wasting all of them on this,” You pouted as he gently pulled your shorts down. “I need to finish the—”

“Nope,” he interrupted, “You’re done for tonight. Stats can wait.”

“You’re so full of—” You started, but the words died in your throat when you lifted your hips without thinking, letting him pull them off.

His eyes dragged over you with that intense thing he did that always made you feel seen in unfair ways.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You were trying to fill the silence. “I haven’t shaved, my hair’s a mess, and my back looks like a little old man’s from hunching over that desk.”

Rafe dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the center of your chest, one to your sternum, and then the underside of your breast.

You squirmed, fingers digging into the edge of the counter.

“Don’t try to soften me up.”

“Not trying. It’s working anyway.”

Your underwear was gone too, your mouth opened to sass him again—reflexive— but he kissed you, with no real warning, shutting you up immediately. You tried to breathe through it, but you were already rolling into him without conscious thought. You moaned like you hadn't been touched in years, and Rafe only pulled back to gloat against your lips.

“There she is.”

“Asshole,” you breathed, chasing his mouth again.

He grinned against you, hands sliding around to your ass, pulling you flush to him.

“You still pissy?”

You nodded — lying. “Yeah.”

He tilted your chin up. “Good.”

He dragged his lips down your throat while your hands scrambled at his waistband, needing him as close as possible.

“Take your pants off,” You demanded, breathless.

“You’re so bossy when you’re stressed.”

“And you’re so slow when you’re horny.”

Rafe walked back to strip off his sweats in one tug, briefs going with them. Your breath caught at the sight of him, already hard, as if he’d been waiting all day to put you in this exact position.

“You staring, or you joining me?” he asked, reaching past you to flip the shower knob. Steam billowed out instantly, curling into the corners of the cramped dorm bathroom.

You blinked. “I’m still mad.”

“I know,” His hands skated up your sides. “But that mouth’s gonna be too busy to talk soon, so I’m not worried.”

His hands slid down until he was lifting you off the counter.

“You’re such a cocky—”

He interrupted with another kiss, a growl buried in your throat. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, arms going tight around his shoulders. By the time he stepped into the shower, you were melting all over him, steam clinging to your skin.

“You gonna relax now?” He baited, setting you down carefully under the spray. His fingers moved methodically—slicking your hair back, thumbs rubbing behind your ears the way you loved.

The water was hot, the tile freezing under your toes, but the second he wrapped his arms around your waist, you exhaled as if someone had pulled a string in your spine.

His lips ghosted across the back of your neck, down your shoulder, while his hands slid over your stomach, your hips, fingers finding the spots that always made you gulp. You tilted your head forward, letting the water cascade over your shoulders while Rafe’s hands kept roaming.

You loved that he knew how to dismantle you, that he wanted to. You were all jagged corners, brittle ego, and sharp tongue — and he still chose to be gentle with you.

His hands slid lower, palms dragging down your warm thighs, parting them with muscle memory.

“Rafe…” You warned, though it wasn’t convincing.

“Shhh,” He kissed the shell of your ear. “Lemme take care of it.”

You should’ve said no, remind him you needed to study. That you were too overwhelmed, and this wasn’t the solution. But your body was already leaning into his, your thighs widening under his touch, head lolling back against his chest.

You gasped when his fingers slipped between your legs.

He chuckled and kissed the top of your shoulder. “You don’t sound upset."

You whined when he pressed firmer, your hips tilting toward his hand. “I didn’t shave.”

“I don’t fuckin' care,” He grunted, licking a stripe up your neck. “You could be covered in moss, I’d still want you.”

You choked on a laugh and a moan at the same time — of course he’d say something sweet while his fingers moved expertly, coaxing you open. He pushed you back until your spine met the cold tile, his other hand braced next to your head, creating space that felt both protective and possessive.

You didn’t think about the worksheet waiting on your desk or the unread slides you had pretended to skim. All you could do was arch into him, your thighs twitching as he moved his fingers slowly enough to make you curse and clench around nothing.

You could feel him grin against your collarbone, teeth grazing skin as he teased. You were pulsing, melting. Slipping into that headspace where everything else went far away.

His mouth was at your ear now. “Gonna make you feel good, then put you to bed. You’ll wake up smarter.”

You drew in a breath, the last sound before he dipped lower, dropping to his knees on the slippery tile. One hand still braced your thigh, the other holding your hip as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Rafe—” It was more of a plea than a warning. “Stop teasing—”

“Not teasing,” he said, dragging his mouth just shy of where you needed him. “Savoring.”

You whimpered, frustration bleeding into want. He was so annoying when he was like this — patient, too good with his tongue for your own sanity. He kissed the inside of your thigh first, and then his mouth found the place his fingers had left. The tenderness and hunger braided together in a way only he ever managed.

He was slow with it. Messy and confident, a rhythm that made your knees shake and your eyes flutter. He licked a stripe up, then back down. You choked on a noise and slapped a hand against the tile, the other tangling in his wet hair because you had to hold yourself up.

You looked down, your boyfriend was staring up, starry-eyed, mouth dragging lazy, practiced patterns.

“You’re actually—this is—”

He hummed against you, and your whole body jolted. “Focus.”

You wanted to kill him.

Your head fell back with a thud against the tile, and all that tension — the cramming, the guilt, the late-night panic attacks and stale pretzels and short tempers — it all disappeared once Rafe flattened his tongue and dragged it over your clit, slow enough to make you sob.

“Oh my God, Rafe—”

“Told you I’d make it up to you.”

He dove back in, mouth working overtime and only pausing to suck before switching back to his tongue.

When you thought you were going to embarrassingly come too soon, he backed off, slowing his pace, dragging it out. Again. And again, until you were trembling, thighs clenching around his shoulders, toes curling on the cold tile.

Then he started again, this time with two fingers sliding in, slow and deep, curving while his mouth kept working you over. You cried out, loud, not even bothering to keep it together anymore.

It was obscene. The wet sound of his mouth on you, the way his fingers moved in tandem — he was so fucking good at this, and you loved him for it.

He looked up at you with that look and said, “Sit on my face.”

You blinked, heart stuttering. “What?”

“You heard me. C’mon.”

You gawked, mind blank, but your body already knew. He reached up and tugged your other leg, guiding you with confident hands.

He adjusted his position “Take it out on me.”

You didn’t realize you were already straddling him until your knees settled around his neck. One of his hands gripped your ass, the other guiding your thigh up over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Rafe—”

“You want me quiet? Shut me up.”

His mouth met you instantly, needy, like he’d missed it for the past ten seconds, dying to taste you again. You were gone, no thoughts, no complaints, lost in pleasure and the obscene sound of him devouring you like a meal.

He pushed you further into his face, anchoring you with that ungodly strength — big hands gripping your ass, keeping you right where he wanted you, diving right in. You gasped automatically, one hand flying to the foggy glass wall for balance, the other tangled in his soaked hair.

“Rafe—holy shiiit—”

He moaned against you, the vibration hitting you, and then his tongue was everywhere — stroking, circling, dipping, sucking.

You tried to lift off a little, but his grip tightened, pulling you back down with a growl.

“Don’t run,” He tsked into your skin, voice ragged. “Take it out on me. Use me.”

You started to move tentatively, slow grinds against his face — but he loved it. You could feel it in the way he groaned, how he pressed into you harder, mouth moving, chasing every drop.

His nose rubbed perfectly where you needed it, tongue fucking into you with such precision it made your vision go white. The steam made everything hazy, dreamlike.

“Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

You rode his face like it was the last thing you’d ever do—hips rolling, thighs shaking, hands scrabbling for purchase. He let you use him, wanted it. And when the orgasm hit, you shouted, the sound bouncing off the tile walls.

Rafe didn’t stop. Not when you came, not when your legs trembled, not even when you started begging, high and breathless.

“Please—Rafe—I can’t—”

He didn’t care.

He held you down, tongue still working you through the comedown, drinking it in like he was parched. When you finally slumped forward, gasping and spent, he let you slide down slowly, arms catching you with infuriating gentleness.

He kissed the inside of your thigh one last time, a man grateful for worship. “Feel better?”

You couldn't speak, throat sore from all the noises he pulled out of you.

Rafe pecked the hinge of your jaw. “Still stressed.?”

You coughed a laugh and collapsed against him. “Shut up.”

He flashed you that grin that sent heat rushing up your neck, strong arms still wrapped under your thighs.

“Round two, then."

357 notes · View notes

sebscore · 2 years ago

Note

Forget the wags, could you write something about all the drivers having massive small crushes on reader and like there’s loads of edits on social media of them looking at her with heart eyes or just general ship edits or I mean ship fan fiction that they have to read in a team challenge or something..👀

LATE NIGHT TALKING

pairings: f1 drivers x driver!reader (indirectly)

warnings: swearing. drunk drivers. lando talking about a woman.

author’s note: I AM BACK FINALLY! also I wrote this in my notes app so pls be patient 😭😭 and this is probs the closest thing I’ll ever write to romance for this series lol

masterlist

“Out of all the drivers, who would you date?” Pierre drunkenly, almost-giggly, asked the question to his fellow colleagues.

Charles, George, Lando, Alex, Carlos and Yuki nervously laughed at the shit-faced Frenchman in front of them.

“Out of the entire grid?” Charles wanted clarification.

Pierre nodded. “Like hypothetical, if none of us had partners.” He quickly added.

A silence followed. The seven men thinking of all the possibilities.

“I mean…” Lando was the first one to speak up, every head in the hotel room shooting up at him,

“and this stays between us, right?” He followed up, needing reassurance from the others, who swiftly nodded their heads.

“If like, I was single, and I could only date one of the drivers… I would date Y/N.” He confessed.

His words were met with choruses of “same” and “me too”. A small, relieved sigh left Lando’s mouth at the others’ agreement.

“Yeah, you guys are cool and all, but Y/N’s the right answer.” George snickered, awkwardly avoiding eye-contact with the group.

Charles hummed. “I’m also choosing her, but you know, cause I’m not, uh…”

“For the other side of the street?” Alex laughed, taking a swig from his drink.

“Yeah.” The Monegasque’s dimples made an appearance, grinning towards the Williams driver.

“I think she would rather die than date one of you guys.” Carlos said, matter-of-fact.

Charles, George and Lando gave him an unimpressed look, despite knowing he was speaking nothing but the truth.

“She would date me!” The McLaren driver tried saving his own ego and pride.

“She would not.” The six others immediately shot him down.

Lando scoffed at that, sitting up more straight on the bed. “Why? It’s like textbook childhood friends to lovers, or whatever Lily said at that party once.”

“You kinda sound like you want to date her.” Pierre made eyes at him, causing the younger man to lightly push him away.

“I don’t! But I’m just a little offended that you guys don’t think I could, like, you know… bag her.”

“Bag her? She’s not a fucking product.” Alex judged his choice of words, a slight disgusted expression on his face.

“You know what I mean, Albon.” Lando brushed it off, not having bad intentions. “I just think she would be a nice girlfriend to have.”

“I think so too,” Charles agreed, “she’s a lot of fun.”

“I mean- you would never get bored with her.” George hesitantly added to the conversation, feeling a little uneasy about imaging himself with his colleague.

“True.” The seven of them chorused.

“Hey, maybe we should change the topic- it’s getting weird…” Carlos suggested. The atmosphere in Charles’ large hotel room having changed drastically ever since the question had been asked.

“Yeah, good idea.” Lando cleared his throat, uncomfortably shifting on the bed.

“I would choose Pierre to date.”

“Yeah, we know, Yuki.”

#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #female f1 driver #f1 x you #f1 x oc #f1 imagines #alex albon x reader #pierre gasly x reader #george russell x reader

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ireid · 2 months ago

Text

THE NOTEBOOK | spencer reid x female reader

summary: you and spencer reid are married and you have a daughter, mia. one day you decide to stay home while the both of them went out to spend some time together. you decided to do some decluttering and you find his notebook. you read all the letters he wrote to maeve.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

word count: 4,8k

content warnings: fluff/angst. mention of someone passing away.

author's note: i wrote this after a movie i saw a few days ago. my dear friend jem (@/blvrrface on twitter) wrote this with me. a bot about this will be out soon, too! my cai account is @/ohmyreid. you can get updates on my twitter account @/spookyrydel. it's my first time writing a one shot so i hope you all will enjoy! 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

“You sure you don’t wanna tag along?” Spencer asks you, as he was fixing Mia’s curly hair in a (really messy) braid. You nodded.

“Positive. You two can go and have your fun. You have been out for a few days. I’m going to give you some daddy-daughter moments alone.” You reply, giving him a sweet smile, before looking down at Mia, who was already pouting.

“But mommy–” she starts, giving you her usual puppy eyes. “You don’t want ice cream?” You sigh, before booping her nose with your finger. “Not today peanut. Mommy has things to do.” “Actually mommy just wants to relax.” Spencer says, slightly teasing you. You raise your eyebrows.

“That, too. And I told you I want to clean up a bit. We have too many things in our closets.”

“Don’t–” He starts saying, pointing his finger at you, knowing he was starting to be sassy. You interrupt him.

“I’m not throwing away your Doctor Who action figures. Don’t worry.” “I wasn’t about to say that.” He lied, trying to hold back a smile. “Come on sweetie, we are ready. Let’s go get some ice cream and then we’ll go to the science museum. And mommy will miss all the fun.” He says, before Mia sticks her tongue out at you. You laugh.

“I will miss all the fun, I know.” You sarcastically say, gently fixing Mia’s hair since Spencer made a mess. “But I will wait for you two to come back home. And we can watch Barbie?” “Barbie in the nutcracker?” Mia asks, pouting again. As if you two are able to say no to that adorable face. You smile.

“That one. Come on, go before it’s late. Have fun without me.” You say, giving Mia a kiss on her forehead, making her giggle.

“We will.” Spencer smugly says, holding Mia’s hand. Before leaving he gives you a quick peck on your lips. “Relax a bit too. You deserve it.” “Do I?” You ask, raising your eyebrows, before giving him another quick kiss. “And you have fun. You deserve it, too.” “Bye mommy! We will see you later! I love you!” Mia says, waving at you.

“See you later peanut. Be good for daddy, okay? Love you more.” “What about me?” Spencer asks, with a fake pout. You laugh.

“Yeah, love you too. Come on, go.”

He smiles. “Love you more. See you when we come back”. He says, before they both leave.

You sigh. It feels weird being home alone, it barely happens. But sometimes you need time for yourself– and those closets won’t be emptied on their own. It was supposed to be a quiet, simple kind of day. It barely happens that you are home alone so you decided to take care of yourself, clean up your house a bit and just make beauty masks, have a glass of wine and watch some trashy tv show.

You started with yours and Spencer’s closet, putting away some old clothes to give those to people that needed them. Then you cleaned up Mia’s closet too, a nostalgic feeling spreading through your bones. It seemed like yesterday that she was born and she is already four years old.

Strange how time passes.

Now you were just trying to clean up the guest room closet. The one that had slowly morphed into a museum of Spencer’s past—boxes of books, stacks of old FBI files, that one cardigan he swore he lost but you knew was buried somewhere under a psychology textbook from 2003…

But then something catches your attention.

It was tucked beneath some old clothes. The cover was worn leather, the spine frayed. No title. No label. Just a rubber band wrapped twice around it. It was a notebook that belonged to Spencer.

You didn’t mean to look. You really didn’t. But curiosity got you so you opened it.

You immediately saw her name.

Maeve.

And the first line of the first page felt like it reached into your chest and twisted something deep inside.

“Maeve,

I never got to say goodbye. So I will write to you instead. Hoping you’ll read this whenever you are (I hope it’s in Heaven).

I’m not sure if this helps or hurts. Maybe both. But I have to keep you somewhere, and, even if I have an eidetic memory, my memory isn’t reliable when it comes to feelings. Mostly when it comes to you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I met someone a few weeks ago. I was drinking my usual too-sweet black coffee when I heard someone arguing over the phone. I didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable but when she hung up she was crying. So I offered her a hot chocolate and asked her what’s wrong. I usually don’t do these things but I felt really sorry for her.

She’s… she’s not like you. I don’t mean that in a bad way. She’s loud. And messy. She sings off-key in the street while we walk and doesn’t know what to do with silence.

But when she smiles at me, it’s like I finally learned a new language after years of only speaking grief.

Sometimes I wonder if you’d be angry. If you’d think I moved on too fast. But then I remember what you told me in my dream—that you wanted me to live. I’m trying, Maeve. I’m really trying.”

-----

“Maeve,

Something unexpected happened. I couldn’t even believe my own ears when I asked her to go out with me. We did hang out sometimes in that coffee place we met and then walked around, but it wasn’t something super serious.

I asked Penelope what to do in this kind of situation and she told me that I should ask her out for a romantic dinner. Is that how it works?

I also read an academic article just in case.

I really don’t know. I didn’t even get to have a romantic dinner with you. I’m still a newbie in these kinds of things.

But she said yes. No, she said exactly: “A date? That would be awesome”. That’s what she said. I guess she is excited, right? Because I didn’t get to sleep last night. At all. What if she doesn’t like me in that way? What if I’m not ready?

Is it too early for me to move on from you? I wish you could answer. It has been two years but it still feels like yesterday when I lost you. What if I’m using her just to feel the void that you left? I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t think I would be able to forgive myself.

But I really like her. I like her smile, her hair. I like her sense of humor, even if sometimes I can’t totally get it. My stomach hurts when I think about her. Scientifically speaking, this is the result of the abnormal anxiety that I have been feeling since the moment I asked her (three days ago), but romantically speaking… I think those are actually butterflies. Or whatever romantic people call them.

I’m going to pick her up in half an hour. I really don’t like driving but I want to be a gentleman. I got her flowers, too. She mentioned that she didn’t like roses so I got her tulips. I hope she’ll like them.

I hope she’ll like me.

She feels like when you are cold and a ray of sunshine gently hits your face.

I hope I’m not sounding too sappy.

I still miss you. I hope you and Merton are good friends up there.”

————

“Maeve,

I’m sorry if I reach out twice in the same day, but I just wanted to tell you that the date was magical. I brought her to an Italian restaurant and the food was delicious. She is the most beautiful person in the whole world (don’t be mad, I think you were really beautiful, too. You must still be).

She really liked the flowers and I guess she really likes me too since we kissed.

I mean, she kissed me. I couldn’t stop rambling when I brought her home and she decided to shut me up in the sweetest way ever.

I’m glad she did it. I wouldn’t have the courage to do that.

I can still feel her cherry lipstick on my lips.

I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight.

I can’t wait to kiss her again.

I hope you are doing fine with all the angels in Heaven. Thank you for being here for me.”

-----

“Maeve,

She stayed the night last week.

We didn’t sleep. Not in the way you think. We talked. For hours. She fell asleep on my shoulder while I read her a short story by Stephen King. I think you’d like her. She listens.

But she also argues. A lot. With this look on her face like she’s daring me to be smarter than her. Sometimes I let her win.

I laugh around her. Do you know how strange that feels? Laughing again?”

-----

“Maeve,

We just had a fight. Our first big fight.

It’s so strange to say —

I mean, we argued before, but nothing too serious.

Now we fought, she cried and I was just frozen in place, I didn’t know what to do.

She told me that every time I’m out for work she worries too much, because anything could happen to me.

I hate having an eidetic memory because I remember every single one of her words, she said: “Didn’t you wish to become a teacher? As you always said? Because I don't understand why you keep putting yourself in danger every day. You want to have a family some day, but you don't even know if you will come back home when you walk out of that door”.

I said that I get her point of view, but I also told her that she doesn’t understand me — she cut me off immediately after this. She said that I’m the one who doesn’t understand, and that she needs some time alone.

Did I screw it up, Maeve?”

⸻

“I wanted to update you about my last letter. I didn’t screw it up, apparently.

Right after I wrote to you I decided to act on it and try to fix things, so I went to her place with her favourite food and I told her I’m sorry if it seems like I don't care about what she thinks.

She told me that she was sorry too, that she understands that I love helping people, and that she will try to understand, even if she won't ever accept that I put my own life in danger.

But I think that's because she cares about me, right?

We ate the food together and cuddled in bed, I didn’t even think about the germs!

I think I love her.”

-----

“Maeve.

We have been together for six months now, I love her. Not in the same way I loved you, but I’m in love with her just the same as I was with you. You just can't love two people in the same way, you know? But she makes me happy, she makes me breathe again. I just love her.

When she kisses me she always smiles, and then she jokes and makes fun of me all the time — but she doesn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s refreshing, you know? She keeps me on my toes, and challenges me every time.

Sometimes I’m scared we are too different, but then she snuggles on me whispering how much she loves me, and I feel at peace again. Maybe we are meant to be.

Did you send her to me, Maeve? Thank you if you did, you gave me back my life.”

-----

“Maeve,

She moved in today, we have been together for one year. Is it rushed?

Maybe, but it feels right with her.

I always imagined my life with someone calmer, but maybe I was meant for noises all around me.

You should hear how she sings when she is cooking. She is the worst singer I have ever heard — but somehow I would listen to that tune all day, forever.

I guess I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy. How is it going in heaven? Are you playing chess with Einstein? I root for you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I hope I’m not bothering you. Sorry if my letters aren’t really constant but life has been chaotic lately. Remember when I told you that she moved in with me? Now we have been living together for more than a year, but my apartment started being really small for the both of us.

We started house hunting. I didn’t think it could be so stressful. Some houses were too old, some too modern— and you know how I feel about modernity. Some houses were in really dangerous neighborhoods and I didn’t want us to live there. Also what if we end up having a family? I don’t want my kids to be in danger.

Or maybe I’m just daydreaming now. I’m a logical person but when it comes to her even the stars seem closer to me. Which isn’t technically possible— but you get me.

God Maeve, I wish you could have seen the smile on her face when I agreed to purchase that green couch that she loved so much. I didn’t really like it (don’t tell her that) but I’d give up everything just to see her face lighting up, even just a bit.

We have been having small arguments on furniture and decorations for weeks. But at the end of the day, I’m still the happiest man ever and I feel lucky, even if that means that I’ll have to carry too many boxes.

It’s our first night here in the new house— our new house. It still feels weird to say that.

Our new house.

I hope you are happy for me, but I know that you are. I still think you sent her to me as a blessing.

I hope you are still working on your research.

And sorry if I talk about her too much. She is just my everything.”

-----

“Maeve,

I bought her a ring. I didn’t think that diamond rings could be so expensive. But when I saw it I just knew it belonged to her. Actually both Penelope and JJ helped me. They have been trying to investigate for me for weeks and they found out that she was looking for rings and wedding gowns on her Pinterest page.

I have been wanting to do this for a while. We have been together for such a long time.

Today is also the anniversary of your death. It has been five years since that day. I went to the cemetery on my own and I talked to you (to your grave, at least. But I like to think that you were listening). I cried, a lot. I haven’t been crying this much for some time.

I didn’t even get the chance to say I love you back. But I did. And a part of me will always love you, no matter what.

But I love her endlessly. I didn’t think that I would be able to feel something this big and tremendous for someone. She changed the structure of my heart.

I have been having this ring for a few weeks and she is completely oblivious about it. It’s starting to feel heavy in my pants’ pocket but I want the proposal to be special.

I’m probably going to take her to the same restaurant where we had our first date and then to the beach. It’s her favorite place— I mean, I really don’t get the appeal of having sand everywhere, but she loves it.

I think I’m going to do it tomorrow. God, she doesn’t know anything. She thinks we are just going out as we usually do every weekend when I’m not working on a case.

I’m really nervous. What if she says no? I don’t think I will handle it.

But she won’t, right?

I hope you will be here with us at the beach, maybe in between the waves. I need you to be here with me. It’s going to be one of the most important moments of my whole life.

All I want is for her to say yes.

I’ll keep you updated.

I hope you are happy up there.”

-----

“Maeve,

she said yes. I know that you knew, because I could feel your presence there. Maybe I’m crazy but I just know you were looking at us with a big smile on your face.

After dinner I took her to the beach as I wanted to and we were just walking, hand in hand, while she was rambling about what happened today at her workplace.

I wasn’t really listening (which I’m sorry for) because I couldn’t wait to get on my knee and ask her to be my wife.

So I did that.

I tripped over my own foot and my eyes were glossy all the time. I tried to come up with something romantic to say but she kept on saying “oh my god stop” and she just kept on crying.

So I cried too.

Then I asked her to be mine forever and she said yes.

She said yes, Maeve. Can you believe it? Can you believe that someone wants to spend their life with me?

If it’s a dream I hope I never wake up.

She is now talking with her friends on the phone, showing them her rings. I can hear them screaming from here.

I can’t wait to marry her.

I’ll send you an invitation.

Sometimes I still feel guilty but then I look at her and I realize that I feel alive.

Talk to you soon.”

-----

“Maeve,

We just came back from our honeymoon — with “just” I mean it’s already been a week from that day when we stepped foot back in our home. I didn’t have time to write to you, jet lag has been crazy. How can people deal with that?

We spent two weeks around Europe. Paris first, then around Italy and lastly in London.

I thought she hated the idea of walking around cities all day, but she was happy as long as she had a pastry in her hands, even if she made me eat most of it anyway. I think I gained a couple of pounds, you know? I have always been a little too skinny anyway, so maybe it’s for the best. I would call those happy pounds.

The days right before the wedding have been the most anxious days of my life, but the moment I saw her walking down the aisle it was like… breathing for the first time — even if she took my breath away.

She has always been stunning to me, but maybe I fell a little more in love after seeing her in that white dress.

By the way, the honeymoon was magical. We saw so many places and took so many pictures.

I wanted to visit Greece as well, but we didn’t have much time for it. Hopefully we will go there soon.

She also stopped every two seconds to pet every stray cat or dog we met, isn’t she the sweetest?

I wish I could show you the pictures she took of me, and the ones we took together.

Could you see us walking down the streets of Paris from up there? I think we are beautiful together, at least everyone told us so.”

-----

“Maeve,

I’m going to be a dad. I wanted to write something else before being so blunt but I wanted to tell you as soon as possible.

I’m going to be a dad. She is pregnant.

She has been keeping this from me for a few weeks. I did pick up on the fact that she was just drinking water and that she stopped eating sushi (I thought she actually had a stomach bug). Then when I came back earlier from a case in New Jersey she wanted me to solve a riddle. I didn’t even think about the fact that she was trying to make me say the word “baby” for half an hour. Then I realized.

I cried, Maeve. I couldn’t believe it. How is this happening to me? Is this what happiness feels like?

She cried a lot, too. Then we hugged. I wanted to hold her super tightly but I didn’t want to hurt the baby. Our baby.

Can you believe it? I always wanted to be a dad. Is it possible to already love someone so much even if they aren’t even a formed human being yet?

I’m going to protect them from everything. I’m going to be the perfect dad— I have to.

I don’t want to be like mine. I would never give up on my child and on my wife. I want to give them the whole world.

I’m going to wake up really early tomorrow morning so I can go to the library and read as many things as possible on pregnancy and newborns.

Do you think I will be good at this? God, I hope so. I don’t even know what I did to deserve this— all of this. This is something too precious. I hope I won’t ruin it.

I love her, Maeve. And I love those little cells inside her already. I feel like my heart is going to burst.

I can’t wait to meet him. Or her. I don’t care as long as they are healthy.

I didn’t think I would have another chance at this after you passed away but I was wrong.

She proved me wrong so many times, and now she is carrying our child.

I hope you’ll watch over the three (two and a half now) of us from there.”

-----

“Maeve,

I’m really sorry for not reaching out as I once used to. Our little girl is keeping us occupied— and her mom, too. Our baby is actually a girl, did I mention that? I wish I could show you the ultrasound pictures. She looks so small and I can’t wait to hold her.

Her mom’s belly is growing everyday and it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I still can’t believe she is carrying the life we created together.

Sometimes she lashes out at me but I read it’s normal. It’s the pregnancy hormones. But it’s okay, I’m not the one having a tiny human in his belly.

I’m trying to be the perfect husband as soon-to-be-dad for both of them. Sometimes the cravings are too weird and disgusting but I deal with them easily.

Our baby is growing and she is healthy.

I’m loving this journey.

I hope you are proud of me and that you won’t be mad because I moved on from you.

But I know you won’t.

You sent them to me, after all.”

-----

“Maeve,

The most beautiful thing in the world just happened to me.

My daughter. She is born.

Can you believe it? I’m a dad. D-A-D.

God, it still sounds insane to me.

Her name is Mia Diana Reid.

Mia means “mine” in Italian, but I read that it's a shortened form of the Hebrew name Maria, which itself is derived from Miryam. I didn’t really like those names, so we decided that Mia was perfect.

And Diana because, well, you know, it’s my mom’s name. I’m still scared that someday she would wake up without even remembering my name, so giving her that name I think was a sort of coping mechanism.

At least I will always have her.

She was born on August 1st, I think it's a beautiful day to be born in, because she reminds me of the summer.

My wife says that Mia is a leo, and that means that she will grow up confident and sure of herself. I know nothing about astrology, but I trust her, I hope she is right. She is really into those things.

She was a mess after the delivery, so I had to hold her and comfort her, convincing her to rest — not that I’m complaining about it.

When I held Mia the first time it was the most amazing feeling in the world, I didn’t think my heart could take that much joy.

I hope I will be a good father, Maeve. I’m a bit scared about it, but she keeps saying I’m already great at it.

I didn’t sleep at all last night, I just held Mia and I didn’t want to let her go, I’m scared I might wake up just to realise nothing has ever been real.

Hopefully I’m very much awake.”

After all those pages you just stood there, speechless after those words. You kept on touching the pages over and over again. You are not upset, why should you? I mean, he always said the best things about you, it’s not like he said anything hurtful.

Before you can even decide what to do, if talk to him about it or pretend you never saw anything, the front door opens, and you hear your daughter’s voice and Spencer laughing.

Then silence.

You look toward the door, Spencer is leaning there, his eyes a bit wider, then he walks and kneels next to you.

“Love I— What are you doing?”

You stay silent for a couple of seconds and then looks at him, stuttering.

“Spence— Love I— I didn’t want to read it. I didn’t think—“ .

He stops you immediately with a smile and a kiss on your forehead, curling an arm around you and holding you tight against his chest

“Hey. Hey, breathe. I know, It’s okay. It’s nothing. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything, but i just needed a space to talk freely about you when I had those overwhelming moments.” He chuckles a little before continuing “You really gave me an hard time, in the best way possible. I hope you’re not upset.”

You shake your head. “I’m not, I’m not, I just feel bad because I read all those things you probably needed to keep to yourself.”

He shakes his head again laughing “No, those were meant for you as well. Now you know how I really feel — how much I feel.”

That stirred something inside you, and you let out some tears.

After a little you laugh softly through the tears “You really don’t like the green couch?”

He laughs as well “I didn’t. Like at all, baby. But I learned to love it.” Then he kisses your hair “Just as much as I love you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I think this will be the last time I write to you.

Not that I don't miss you anymore, I wish you could see me every day, I think you would be proud of the man I became.

Some days ago she found out about this notebook. Not that she was mad or angry about it, she wasn’t upset at all.

We talked about it, and we hugged a lot too — at least until Mia didn’t interrupt us because she wanted to play with the Barbies after watching the movie and we all had our dolls to role-play (of course I’m Ken and I barely do anything).

You have been a big part of my life, Maeve, one of the most important chapters.

I don't even know how to tell you goodbye, since time hasn't belonged to you for years now. Can you still see the passing of days and nights from up there, or is it always daytime?

When you left, something broke. Not forever, but enough to make me realize that love does not end with absence. There are days when I wonder what would have been if you had stayed. If we had had a wider, slower, less cruel time. But then I look at my family, and I realize that life is not about choosing between one love and another. Sometimes, we are only given to keep carrying everything, despite what life throws at us.

I know that you are always here, even though I cannot see you. Sometimes I feel your hand on my shoulder, and I feel you smile seeing my wife and daughter. I know you like them very much too. In one of the first letters I wrote to you I was wrong, she is not a rebound.

Are you proud of me, Maeve? I hope so.

I have to go now, Mia is calling me - it's time for a bedtime story.

Until we meet again.

Give my regards to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I hope he has written new Sherlock Holmes stories for you (save them for me. As soon as I get there I want to read them too).”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid au #female reader #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fandom

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lucyandthepen · 2 years ago

Text

salted caramel | lmh ( m )

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

read the first part here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is no exception.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking impossible!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh…” you say smartly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that mean?”

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

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

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

“Meaning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s happening to me next time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gotta study all the same.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bingo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“If… who’s right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Just promise me.”

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

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

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would if I could.”

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

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

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

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

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

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

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

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

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

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

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

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

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this even about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No kidding.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that have to do with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop doing that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A mouth made for you to kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you not want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At least give me a full minute.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… still a no for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to hear it anyway.”

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

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

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

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

“Mark, what—”

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

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

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

“What’s your passcode?”

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

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

“What’s funny?”

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

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

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

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

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

“With my life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Hyuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m doing it right now.”

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

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

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already am.”

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