#mark lee drabble

[remtrack]

i'll peel all your tangerines ★ mark lee.

tags. fluff, drabble. childhood friends to lovers. 390 words.

inspired by when life gives you tangerines. i also imagined this mark while writing...

"oh my god, you follow me everywhere!"

from elementary school, all the way to university — mark lee follows you everywhere. it started with playing in the same sandbox. now you're both adults in university, yet he's still here. always.

"wanted to have lunch with you," he says. you could even hear the pout in his tone.

"you're such a loser."

you sigh, shutting your book and placing it on the grass beside you. you're sitting behind the ncit library building, where maple trees veil over every spot. you lean against the branch, mark mirroring your action. he's still pouting.

still, he unwraps two bento boxes — of course, he brought two. well aware of your skipping-lunch-tendency. mark picks the shrimps off your box only to peel them and place them back into yours. he then peels a tangerine, popping one slice into your mouth.

with your mouth full you utter,

"are you going to follow me until i'm all grey and wrinkly?"

"if you'd let me."

oh. you couldn't stop your eyes that trail towards his lips, gaze lingering. a hue of pink spreads across your cheeks, to which mark takes notice.

"why are you all red?"

you pat your cheeks with your hands, "i'm always this red!"

"no you're not."

he inches towards you, bringing a palm towards your forehead. "are you getting sick? is your dorm room too cold?"

immediately, you shake your head, avoiding eye contact. but mark isn't mark if he doesn't constantly worry about you.

"what's wrong, yn?"

"i..." you mutter. "wanna kiss you..."

ahhhh. mark's blinking, processing your words. shame fills you, as you mentally curse yourself for saying the words out loud. now the poor guy in front of you is short-circuiting.

"you don't have to —"

mark's lips crashes against yours. it's clumsy, nervous, and it tastes like tangerines. but you kiss back anyway, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

it's perfect. he's perfect.

when you pull away, his eyes are glazed over, affection swimming in his brown hues. he caresses your cheeks with the tenderness only he's ever given you.

"this is so stupid but," he whispers, "i'll peel all your tangerines until we're grey and wrinkly. if you'd let me."

you chuckle,

"and i'll eat them all."

[chenlezip]

photobooth ♡

⤷ summary : photobooth with mark <3

annas note : stole this idea from my wife @hyckvr sorryyy... go check out her haechan one !! here take a shot everytime i write photobooth.... ??? my bad >_<

you spent the day at the arcade with your boyfriend, mark, taking a break from the stress of your lives. you smile as you drag him into a photobooth there, putting money into the machine and sitting on his lap as he sits down on the singular chair that was placed inside.

you hold up the plushie he won for you, cuddling into him as it took the first photo. "what pose next?" you ask him softly as he chuckled, "heart?" he suggested as he put a hand heart on your cheek. you puffed out your cheeks as it snapped the photo. for the third photo, you did the same with him, a big grin on his face.

snap. now the last photo.. mark decided to gently take hold of your cheek, leaning in and giving you a soft kiss on your lips. you blush and melt into the kiss, hearing the photobooth snap the photo of you both. you pull away, "cute." mark murmured as he saw the hint of red covering your cheeks.

you exit the booth and wait for the photo strips, picking them out as soon as they were done. you admire the photos, especially the last one, seeing the way mark had held onto you with love as he kissed you.. you smile, "this one is definitely my favourite one."

[neochan]

[12:49 PM] — In the quiet of the night 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪.

Mark eases the door shut behind him, the soft click barely registering over the lingering pulse of music in his head. His body hums with exhaustion, each step heavier than the last, until his gaze falls on you. You're sprawled across his bed, wrapped in his blanket, wearing his shirt—his favorite one, too. The sight makes his breath falter, the ache in his muscles replaced by something deeper, something primal. You look so peaceful, lips slightly parted, the curve of your body inviting under the thin fabric. Heat coils low in his stomach, his pulse quickening. He wants to reach out, feel the softness of your skin, pull you close, but he stands frozen for a moment, torn between watching and wanting. Just the sight of you, like this, is enough to make him lose control.

He takes a slow step forward, the floor creaking beneath his weight, but you don’t stir. His eyes drink in every inch of you—the way his shirt falls off your shoulder, exposing the bare skin beneath, the way your fingers curl lightly into the pillow. His heart pounds harder, breath shallow.

You stir slightly in your sleep, the movement small, but it sends his pulse racing. The temptation to wake you, to slip under the blanket beside you, to feel your body against his is overwhelming. But instead, he watches you for a moment longer, savoring the stillness of the moment—before the inevitable flood of desire pulls him under completely.

Mark’s resolve crumbles. Slowly, carefully, he leans in, unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer. His fingertips graze your shoulder, featherlight, as if testing the reality of this moment. The warmth of your skin under his touch makes his breath catch, a slow exhale escaping his lips. You stir again, shifting slightly toward him, your face nuzzling deeper into the pillow, oblivious to the effect you’re having on him.

He moves closer, the bed dipping under his weight as he slides in beside you. His body presses gently against yours, and his arm slips around your waist, pulling you back against him. The fabric of his shirt rides up just enough for him to feel the heat of your bare skin, and it ignites something in him—something raw, possessive.

You sigh softly in your sleep, instinctively nestling into his embrace, and the sound alone nearly undoes him. His lips hover close to your neck, inches away, his breath warm against your skin. He doesn’t wake you, not yet, but his heart pounds with the knowledge that when you do open your eyes, when you feel him pressed against you, you’ll know exactly what he’s been holding back.

[achocosun]

all I need is the air that I breathe, and to love you ft. lee mark !

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ genre ; non-idol!mark × fem reader. fluff, pure unadulterated fluff. established relationship au. use of pet names (for her: baby, pretty girl / for him: lovie). just a short drabble to get used to posting on tumblr. ugh this turned tooth-rottingly sweet.

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ word count ; 1.4k (this was supposed to be shorter but well, i got carried away haha)

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ warning(s) ; none that i see ^^

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ notes ; divider by @mewryn (it's so pretty oml)

laughter. the sound of laughter had to be your favorite music that drifted leisurely throughout the apartment.

be it hushed chuckles over a movie or a funny tiktok your boyfriend sent over to you, the rambunctious cackling that tailed your group of friends when they'd indulged a little too much in drinks after dinners that often than not happened in the home you shared with mark–you cherished them all the very same.

before you moved into the flat on the tenth floor, the highest any residential building went in the street equidistant to both of your workplaces, you had some doubts. mostly concerning how eerily quiet it tended to get even with the faint honks of traffic in the heart of seoul.

you could owe it to your upbringing in the city, never once truly alone despite how easily it was slipping into a faraway headspace. you still did that sometimes but after meeting mark, the use of your headphones that'd found purchase against your ears got lesser and lesser. until you could go days just listening to his little tangents.

of course, it was more because of the fact that you adored how his whole face brightened as he shared with you something, anything he held dear. the way his soft brown eyes twinkled as he animatedly explained his point made you lose all sense of reality.

once in sophmore year of college, he had stopped for half a minute and then chuckled at you staring at him in awe. it had taken him waving his hand before you and a "hello, earth to _______? do i have something on my face?" for you to realize your embarrassing predicament.

only mark didn't seem to find it odd. no, on the contrary he found the gesture endearing. he had that tendency to ramble, everyone told him as much. but for you to listen to every word and hang onto it infused a swell in his heart, a giddy feeling he honestly did not want to suppress.

with mark, everything came in it's most simple form. relationships were not supposed to be easy, each one had it's own complications as did yours. but with him you knew you would always try to work through every rough patch because your boyfriend was willing just as much.

you had put an official label on your relationship in junior year, and not being strangers to the amount of teasing that would ensue from your rather large circle of friends, you had decided to keep it lowkey, letting them find out on their own and ease into it.

but with your streak of not keeping your hands–or lips for that matter—off each other, it took them two weeks flat to figure it out. but that's on johnny and his inability to knock on doors as he strutted into mark's dorm as if it was his own, oblivious to you both tangled in each other's arms on the small sofa pushed against the wall beside the balcony.

to your surprise, no noticeably grand change came with the reveal. in johnny's words, you and mark had always been sort of touchy with each other even as friends. he told you to keep the make-outs to a minimum and nobody else would know for sure.

after graduation, mark had mustered up the courage to ask you to move in with him. he had put a lot of thought into it—scoured for decently sized apartments, looked for help from his older friends and even went as far as to ask your parents for their opinion.

of course, the one answer that mattered was yours but even the fact that he asked your parents made you feel elated. and it definitely earned him their seal of approval.

the hesitant question had followed a meal of chinese takeout for dinner as you leaned your head on his shoulder, watching the movie playing in the living room of his childhood home, an arm wrapped around his waist. you had noticed his skittishness all night and it all came to a head as he played with the ends of your hair.

"i was thinking", mark started, taking your hum as approval to continue while you lowered the volume of the tv. "and seriously you can take as much time to think or even say no, i won't force you."

this time you turned to face him fully, a frown creeping up to your face. "what is it, markie? is something wrong?"

"i– well..." he took a sharp breath, eyes never once meeting your own. "i was thinking maybe you can move in with me?"

the silence that followed only plummeted his heart further down his stomach. mark moved an inch away from you, grabbing the remote from your grasp while shaking his head. "never mind. it's way too soon to think of that stuff, right? that's was a sudden, stupid ques—"

"don't say that. nothing you said is stupid." regaining your voice, you shifted closer to him, your grip sliding up his arm and towards nape as you rubbed the area. his shoulders slouched visibly, irrate heartbeat slowing just a little.

you smiled up at him, deft fingers smoothing across his across his brow and finally resting against his cheeks. it took a little tug for him to finally face you, mouth opening and closing as he wracked his brain for the appropriate words to find him when you spoke again.

"i would love to move in with you, mark."

as much as you loved mark when he's talking, sometimes you took great pleasure in rendering him speechless.

as quick as lightning he held your wrists with widened eyes, stopping the advances of your hands down his perfectly sculpted face. you brushed his knee softly as his adam's apple bobbed with a dry gulp.

mark found it hard to even formulate a thought, let alone speak. just when he'd started believing all of this was a bad idea, horrendous really, your admission nearly made his brain short-circuit.

"woah, wait— no. what?" he stumbled over the words eliciting a giggle out of you. "run that by me again, baby. i don't think i heard you correctly."

swatting his shoulder playfully, you took liberty to throw a leg over his, straddling his lap. "you heard me just right the first time, lovie. i think we should do it, move in together. i mean, we have somewhat stable jobs and it would stop us from inconveniencing your parents or mine. honestly, i love your mother but i got goosebumps when she winked at me on the way out."

mark managed a chuckle, rubbing up and down the sides on your legs on either side of him. this had been your arrangement after college. date nights in either of your houses meant the parents always had to leave unless they wanted to walk in on their not-so-little-anymore kids doing anything reserved for behind closed doors.

suddenly, you found yourself being pulled forwards into his chest as his ecstasy evolved into child-like laughter–carefree and unbound. his arms tightened around your form as you succumbed to your own joy.

mark whispered against your hair between pressing kisses to the crown of your head, "i love you, you know that?"

you peeked up at him, cheeks starting to hurt from the wide smile that nothing in the world could dampen. "do you?"

"mhmm. and now that we will live together, i'll remind you everyday, pretty girl. over and over."

sometimes, it scared you how dependent you had gotten on this one single person. finding your chest surging with pride in his every minute success, just as it ached when he hurted.

mark looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky. then again, you were sure you'd visit every length to do just that if he so much as asked.

and that night had brought you to this one, sitting against the armrest of the loveseat surrounded by your friends, legs thrown over your boyfriend's as he held you close. you knew he would never let you fall but every fiber in your being appreciated the closeness regardless.

you smiled at haechan's dramatic recounting of some incident in the pub last night, finding comfort in the fingers thrumming to an unknown beat against your hips.

as your eyes wandered to every occupant of the cozy living room of your apartment—yours and mark's—you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars for this chance.

because until you have this little life, this warm, lived-in home, your friends, family and most importantly him by your side, nothing could make you a stranger to the sense of contentment.

© ACHOCOSUN '2024 on tumblr

[bloodmoonmuses]

translation: i love you. | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, college au (not that important for the context tbh), friends to lovers, fluff, drabble (900 words)

summary: your friends referred to you as the mark lee interpreter. you weren't sure why, but you understood him- even the words he didn't say.

warnings: none!

To many, you were known as the Mark Lee Interpreter. Such was usually said in jest, but you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest when the moniker was bestowed upon you. Sure, the guy rambles a bit, but if you listen- really listen- he has quite a beautiful outlook on the world. 

You and Mark usually conversed in motion. You’ve divulged your deepest secrets to him while on aimless walks. You’ve cracked your wisest jokes to one another while biking. You’ve had entire conversations through your eyes while dancing in grimy bars.

Now was no different, though a more chill variation. It’s Spring, so the two of you are taking a stroll in between classes. The sun knocks the chill off an otherwise too-chilly day, its rays falling on your face like a smattering of kisses. Spring isn’t in its picturesque stage quite yet. The stasis of winter still lingers, trees barren and skies grayish amidst the light that peeks through the cloud coverage. It’s calming.

There’s a creek that runs through the center of campus, a little bridge arching over the widest part. This is where you stood now, watching the water trickle over stones. 

“I think about rocks a lot,” Mark says out of nowhere. (Translation: Nature is so beautiful- even the most mundane and minute aspects of it. Even the parts that people forget. I think about forgotten things a lot, like rocks.) You believe it. Mark thinks a lot about a lot of things.

“They’re, like, soooo varied. Y’know?”

You do know. Large rocks. Mountainous rocks. Boulders. Stones. Pebbles. There are many types of rocks. “The ones in the creek look super smooth. It’s… hypnotizing.” Mark speaks as though he’s constantly in amazement, or on the brink of an epiphany. He’s the embodiment of potential, of the hypothetical, of what could be. You think a lot about what you and Mark could be. 

Of the many possibilities, you conclude that as long as some form of togetherness is involved, you’d be anything for him.

“I think about water a lot,” you respond. 

“What’s your favorite kind of water?” (Translation: Indulge me. How intently do you think about the minutiae of the world? Are you as crazy about water as I am about rocks?)

“Hm,” you say. “Good question. No one’s ever asked me that.” You assume he’s asking you to identify a particular body of water as your favorite. A memory comes to mind. 

It was the summer after freshman year. You and Mark went to the beach everyday together.  You think of the chilly water that rolled over your toes in the waking moments of dawn. You think of how beautiful the sunrise looked reflected on the ocean. You think of Mark waking up with you, despite not being a morning person. That wasn’t your favorite type of water, no. You specifically liked the sea water that danced on the ends of Mark’s hair. The drops that traveled down the follicle, forming shimmering beads, and dripped onto the sand below. You made a game of watching and counting them that summer. (The highest you got was 47.) 

You’re not sure how to consolidate this memory into a sentence that doesn’t sound absolutely insane. You decide to omit the thought entirely. A conversation for a different day, you suppose. 

“The ocean. Cliche, I know,” you say. Mark nods to himself, then hums.

The creek beneath you harmonizes with Mark’s humming. He begins walking again, taking your hand in his. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary for your friendship, but it makes your heart do this twisty thing you can’t quite place. It was the one action of his you couldn’t interpret. Mark doesn’t make a big deal about it, nor does he discuss the matter afterwards. It was almost like he was entitled to your hand, clasping his calloused fingers around yours without a second thought.

You’ve never actually looked at your intertwined hands before. The first time he grabbed it (during one of those days on the beach), Mark acted so nonchalant. You figured the gesture didn’t mean much to him. You were scared that, if provided with a visual, you’d never stop thinking about his stupid hands. 

This time, you allow yourself a peek. The cuff of Mark’s jacket hangs over his fingers, and he squeezes your hand when he realizes you’re looking. (Translation: You’re finally acknowledging this. Are you here? Can you feel me?) 

Your hand is getting sweaty. You pull away to wipe it on your jeans.

Mark can’t believe you’re nervous right now. You’re never nervous around him. The two of you have become accustomed to the wordless ease of your relationship.

Mark’s eyeing you again. You pretend you can’t see him in your peripheral vision. It doesn’t work. “Nervous?”

“Not even a little bit,” you say defiantly. You snatch his hand back into yours as if to prove your point. However, this only does the opposite as you begin to literally tremble.

“You’re so funny,” says Mark, running his thumb over the back of your hand. He slowly lifts your hand to his mouth, but he doesn’t kiss it. He simply presses your knuckles to his lips, maintaining eye contact while he does so. Your breath hitches.

“Mark-” is all you manage to say. You can’t meet his eyes, so you look at your conjoined hands as they swing between the two of you. Elation radiates off Mark’s skin. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Your hand is so warm,” Mark says. (Translation: I love you.) 

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

[tqmies]

Can I request Mark + College or Fake dating + prompt 42?

Rush | Mark Lee

Part of Tqmies 1K Event!

college & fake dating au, 42. “Who’s laughing now?” “…Clearly not you. You’re crying, dear God.”  wc: 1k Note: why choose an AU when we can have both ?!

"I want to piss off my parents - Which isn't illogical, by the way - so what better way than to drag you into it?!"

"Is this supposed to make me agree?" You quirk a brow, tapping a nail on the desk in front of you. And your wearing a frown, taken aback by the sheer audacity of the male in front of you, who you haven't spoken to in years, asking you for help.

"It'll only be for a bit! I'll parade you around for a bit, make my mom blow up in her chair, and then we'll fake break up!"

"I'm missing the part where I benefit from this.. And why me anyways?" You loll your head to the side, its not like you were a particularly bad influence or anything. You were nice, hard working, and a good student. If anything, you were a mothers dream for their son.

"My mom hates your mom."

Ah there it was, the moment of truth. You and Mark's mom had attended high school together, and from what you know, the two weren't fond of each other at all.

But your mom held no ill intent towards Mark, would Mark's mom hate you? How immature, doesn't sound too far off of what your mom would say.

"Still don't see what I get from it." You shrug, going back to your book.

"You'll get to date me." He points at himself, eye brows raised as he's dead serious. He thought of himself as a catch, why weren't you jumping at him?

You want to laugh in his face.

"And I'll pay you."

"Now we're talking." You nod, not one above being payed off. Hey, you'd done far more questionable things for as little as twenty dollars.

But being faced with someone as affluent as Mark, you're sure you'd get a check out of this.

Which is why you're now standing beside him as he shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for his parents to get the doorbell. You had to admit it, you were kind of nervous.

Not that you really liked Mark or anything, but you weirdly felt pressured to win over his parents.

The door opens and you're met with Mark's dad, and he offers his a son a curt nod before he turns towards you. "Oh, will you be joining us for dinner tonight?"

The smile is wiped off your face. "He didn't tell you?"

Mark's dad shakes his head, and Mark avoids any direct eye contact with you. Oh you were going to piss Mark's parents off, that's for sure. Mark's dad just turns and heads inside, the two of you following after.

You enter behind him into the kitchen, where Mark's mom is. Her eyes widen among seeing you, "Mark, honey, I didn't know you were bringing a guest."

"Ma, this is my girlfriend."

You expect steam to blow out of her head, for her to angrily rage and demand you leave, to even start cursing out her son.

But she does none of that, instead offering you a warm smile. "It's nice to meet you. Mark didn't tell me we were having guests, or else I would've cooked up something special."

You shake your head, unable to stop yourself from returning the kindness. "The food smells amazing."

Why'd Mark want to piss off such nice people anyways?

The evening goes pretty well, and Mark thinks that he's not getting his moneys worth. He had bet by this time at night that you'd be getting ran out of the house as he got berated for dating you.

But none of that is happening, in fact his mom looks happy as ever. She doesn't mind your mother either, she had to know by now, you had even given her the names of your parents when she asked. So why was she keeping it together so well? Didn't they hate each other?

You tell Mark's mom your major and she jumps up. "Oh wow, so pretty and smart. How did my son manage to snag you?"

You just nervously laugh, shrugging playfully. "I don't know either."

"Mark usually brings home such trouble makers." She shakes her head as she cuts into her food. "It's a relief to see he found someone so good for him."

..

Mark slams the door as he climbs into the drivers seat, and you can tell he's mad. And really, you can't blame him, seeing as his parent's didn't seem pissed off at all.

"Well, guess your genius plan didn't work out after all, guess I'm just too likable." You make a snark comment, crossing your arms.

Mark leans his head against his steering wheel as you continue.

"Tried to use me to piss off those sweet people! Jokes on you, Who's laughing now?" You mock, facing Mark when he doesn't respond.

Instead you notice wet tears fall off his face, the sound of sniffling as well. You grow confused at that. ".. Clearly not you. You're crying, dear God."

He wipes as his face aggressively as he sits back up. He looks at you as he scoffs. "My parents don't like anyone, okay? Even if they didn't care about your mom, I knew they'd find something to pick at you for. They always comment on my date's outfit or their manners."

"Oh wow, I'm sorry Mark. That's really shitty." You respond.

"But the one time I try and piss them off, they like you?" He says, bewildered. "Not a single bad thing to say? And it's all for a girl that I'm not even dating. God, I'm such a loser, why did I think this was a good idea? How am I going to explain that I let the one good thing I had go?"

You assume he's referring to you not showing up anymore, and for as little as you know the boy, you find yourself sympathizing. "I can always show up again, if that helps."

He nods a little, "Sorry I dragged you into this."

You can't believe you ever agreed to this fake dating thing, but something you tells you that you'll be sticking around longer that you intended.

[nonuwhore]

Oii, bao diaa.

Gostei do prompt "não faz isso, quero ouvir você gemer" e acho que poderia ser interessante ele com o mark, talvez na primeira vez dele com você e que você esteja com vergonha?? ou algo que você imaginar com esse prompt + mark!

enfim, eu adoraria ver isso na sua escrita, obrigada����💖

GRANDE EVENTO DE 1 ANO DE ANIVERSÁRIO DO NONUWHORE!!!! 🥳🥳🥳

 19. “Não faz isso, quero ouvir você gemer.” contém: boyfriend!mark; fluff; cocky!mark porque a gente não pode esquecer nunca que ele é leonino (e esses são os melhores); apelidos (princesa, amor); linguagem vulgar; smut: morning sex; dirty talk, thigh fuck; mordidas; menção a ejaculação; praise;  contagem de palavras: 1,5k nota da autora: então, a história acabou saindo um pouquinho diferente kkkkk mas acho que mantive a ideia central. espero que você goste, de verdade!!!! muito obrigada por participar do evento &lt;3

“Princesa”, a voz meio quebrada de um Mark que acabara de acordar te chamou. Ainda levemente adormecida, você a ouviu longe, mas reconheceu quem te chamava e o tom de culpa que ela carregava.

“Hum?”, você respondeu, sonolenta, e sabendo o que viria a seguir.

“Eu não consigo dormir mais… Já são oito horas…”, ele fez a afirmação parecer um absurdo, como se só pessoas malucas dormissem depois disso. Sentiu sua cintura sendo enlaçada pelo braço dele, junto do quadril encontrando o seu e a barba nascendo no queixo alcançar sua nuca. Um beijo, delicado e quase imperceptível. Outro, mais demorado e pesado. Mais outro, molhado e seguido de uma mordiscada tímida.

“Mark!”, você instintivamente o empurrou usando ancas e ele riu.

“É assim que você pretende me afastar? Acho que não vai dar certo”, ele riu sacana e te puxou para perto mais uma vez, se encaixando com cuidado na curva do seu corpo.

“Pelo amor de Deus, é domingo, me deixa dormir!”, você implorou.

“Você já dormiu muito! Olha que lindo o dia lá fora, a gente podia estar fazendo tanta coisa!”, e apontou para a cortina meio aberta que mostrava o azul límpido do céu. 

“Foda-se a beleza do dia, eu ‘tô de folga, quero dormir!”, você se debateu, fazendo birra, e ele se calou, mas você sabia que isso não tinha acabado.

Vocês tinham o mesmo problema todos os finais de semana há seis meses, que foi quando ele te pediu em namoro. Ele estava tão nervoso, as palavras saiam da boca sem nenhuma relação sintática, apenas uma grande sopa de “cara”, “tipo”, “é que”, e se você se perguntou se aquele era o mesmo Mark Lee que você conhecia das histórias que corriam pelo campus. O mesmo Mark Lee que não perdia nenhuma festa do curso de vocês - e de outros -  e nunca teve problema para falar com nenhuma caloura, nenhuma mesmo, até você chegar. Não que ele não tivesse tentado, você só era completamente inacessível, sempre fazendo a cara mais assustadora quando alguém do centro acadêmico chegava perto nos corredores e evitando todos os trabalhos em grupos possíveis. Só que o professor de Introdução ao Desenvolvimento de Sistemas de Software de vocês não curtia muito essa ideia e resolveu fazer um sorteio de duplas para apresentação de um trabalho, e adivinha quem caiu com você. Evitar que Mark se aproximasse durante todo um semestre foi exaustivo e improdutivo, mesmo ambos não tendo nada em comum além dessa disciplina específica, depois de duas semanas ele já aparecia no seu dormitório toda noite com os lanches mais famosos do campus para você provar e dizer não para ele, a partir dali, se tornou impossível. Esse momento, que vocês vivam agora, nunca seria uma exceção. 

“Mark”, você o chamou e ele te apertou mais um pouco, o sorriso dele pressionado contra o seu ombro.

“Dormiu bem?”, perguntou, com a mesma voz manhosa que quase fez vocês ficarem de recuperação, porque, depois de um tempo, vocês passam mais tempo jogando qualquer coisa que ele achava na internet ou assistindo séries longuíssimas que você não lembrava nada da história, já que metade do tempo os dedos dele estavam dentro da sua calcinha. 

“Sempre tem como melhorar, né?” ele soltou um risinho apertado com seu tom de sarcasmo. 

“Sabe com o que eu sonhei?”, você balançou a cabeça e segurou a mão dele que apertava a sua barriga. “Sonhei que a gente ‘tava brincando de esconde-esconde. E eu era muito ruim, porque não te achei nenhuma vez”, você não precisava se virar para saber que nesse momento seu namorado tinha um bico feito com os lábios.

“Ou… Eu era muito boa, já pensou nessa possibilidade?”, você provocou sabendo como Mark era competitivo. 

Ele riu, cheio de si, “Claro, sempre há a possibilidade.”

“Você precisa parar de achar que é bom em tudo, Mark.”

“Mas eu sou. Uma máquina de última geração.”

Você empurrou sua bunda contra o colo dele. “Você é bem ruim em resistir a isso aqui”, e repetiu o movimento, se esfregando um pouco mais no membro adormecido.

Mark gemeu, sacando sua jogada. “Entendi, você quer provar um ponto…”

“Quero”, e parou, esperando o que ele faria a seguir, mas morrendo de vergonha de ter tomado a iniciativa. Você conseguia ouvir ele pensando e sentia o volume dentro da calça crescer.

“Que isso, amor… O que te deu hoje?”

“Talvez alguém tenha me acordado antes da hora… E fazer isso enquanto eu não te encaro é mais fácil”, você foi sincera e automaticamente perdeu a coragem que você tinha acumulado desde o dia anterior, quando você queria deixar claro que adoraria passar a noite com Mark dentro de você, mas não conseguiu, perdendo seu namorado para o video game.

“Você vai mesmo me fazer morder a língua”, ele se grudou a você de novo, deslizando a extensão rígida bastante óbvia por conta do short fino no meio da sua bunda e enfiando a mão dentro do seu pijama, segurando um dos seus seios como se eles fossem a última esperança da terra. Os dentes seguram a pele da sua nuca e do seu pescoço enquanto ele beliscava seu mamilo, ativando os todos os sentidos de ambos.

Você suspirava pesado, contendo a vontade de gemer e pedir que ele te fodesse logo, porque sua calcinha já tinha virado sopa. Se limitou a segurar a mão dele por cima do seu peito, apertando com mais vontade, e ajudando a fricção que ele fazia em você, aflita por mais. 

“Droga, você ‘tava tão certa”, você o sentiu se afastar de você, descendo a roupa de baixo dele e sua, e o membro quente pressionado mais uma vez contra o vão da sua bunda. Ele deslizou com cuidado, assistindo seu quadril fazendo o movimento contrário, em um sincronia ensaiada, e apertou sua cintura com força. “Eu nunca vou me acostumar com como você é gostosa, principalmente com essa atitude”, sussurrou mordendo sua orelha e soltando o hálito quente que arrepiou até pelos que você não sabia que tinha.

“Mark…”, você sabia que hoje não ia conseguir se conter, principalmente se ele fosse usar esse tom com você.

“Você vai gemer meu nome hoje? Diz que vai…”, te provocou, direcionando o membro com as mãos para o centro das suas pernas, mas sem te penetrar, o deslizava entre os lábios ensopados com mais facilidade que o normal e suas coxas automaticamente o apertaram, dando uma sensação parecida com a que ele tinha quando estava dentro de você.

O ritmo vagaroso provavelmente ia te matar. Ele não tinha pressa pra se movimentar e nem pra beijar seu pescoço e morde-lo, soltando a pele lentamente. A ponta gordinha resvalou no clitoris implorando por atenção e foi o bastante para te fazer abafar o chiado com as costas da mão. 

 “Não faz isso, quero ouvir você gemer”, ele pediu, segurando a mesma mão e aumentando um pouco a cadência em que fodia sua coxa. “Se eu não te torturar, você promete que geme pra mim? Promete?”, e sua cabeça confirmou com tanta força e rapidez que fez ele sorrir, boquiaberto com o quão molhada você estava e o quanto isso o deixava mais maluco pra te fazer gozar.

Como prometido, ele passou a estocar com mais vontade o espaço apertadinho que você criou para ele, escorregando por toda a sua intimidade, e te fazendo gemer alto, sem 

calcular nenhuma das suas ações. “Eu vou ficar viciado nessa porra, vou te querer assim toda vez”, disse se referindo ao jeito que sua garganta liberava os sons mais dolorosamente estimulantes. Pensar em fazer de novo fez seu corpo erupcionar em um longo e paralisante orgasmo, te deixando completamente travada e sentido todo o tipo de prazer enquanto Mark era o único a balançar a cama em um frenesi que o levou ao limite logo em seguida. Seus líquidos e os deles se misturavam no tecido da roupa de cama que colava na sua pele do mesmo jeito que Mark se agarrava a você. 

“Você consegue me olhar agora?”, perguntou, retomando o que você disse anteriormente. Seu olhar encontrou o dele, rapidamente, e voltou a encarar o canto da parede. Ele riu, perdido pela expressão cansada e envergonhada no seu rosto. “Você tem vergonha de dizer que tá com vontade, amor?”

“Ainda não, Mark Lee. Ainda não.”

[heavenstocharlee]

Winterbreak // m.lee

Characters: Mark Lee x gender neutral!reader Category: angst / fluff if you squint Word count: 500+ (first poetic blurb!) Song inspiration: Winterbreak by MUNA

Writer’s notes: I am coming out of retirement and posting this blurb I wrote solely because the song reignited my love for writing. It was exciting to write in a more poetic style than usual, and I hope you appreciate it! More life updates soon, but for now bon appetit!

Just as the snow on your windowsill slowly melts, you observe time fracture through bits of fleeting moments. The cold never struck you in such a way as it did. More so than ever before, you felt the winter breeze emanating from the drywalls of your apartment into the warm comfort of your epidermis. The break was not supposed to be this long, you thought. The tugging exchanges between you and Mark lasted for eons, and now numbness fills the spaces between each thread of tension.

You always knew you'd find your way back to him. "One more try." But the winter winds convince you otherwise. 

You and Mark were well aware of the reparations for parting ways. The consequences, however, outweighed the benefits. The break was transparent, and every day it was a struggle to stay still. You desperately depend on the ice beneath your feet to keep you afloat.

You haven't seen Mark since last winter break. A little over a year of hearts moving farther, albeit your love growing fonder. The last memory you shared with Mark consisted of you picking up clothes scattered across the floor and slowly making your way onto the freezing front porch. He wants to walk you home, but you refuse. Tears then started to trickle down his face, indicating that it was over this time. Despite all the bones in your body wanting to wipe all his tears away, you left his residence. His warmth. 

You broke Mark's heart. 

This love was just not fitting at the moment; the love the both of you won't get right. No matter how hard you try.

Habits were hard to break. Your soul respond to each other like the ebb and flow of glacier lakes. Turquoise in color—organic, bright, and untouchable. Ethereally calm in some days, raging in others. But every time his lips parted and his eyes were filled with painful aches, it was all just covering up what was lying underneath. Despite knowing every single thing, it was not going to fix anything. It was not going to repair the cracks or turn back the clock of what was once more. 

"One more try." You often muttered when even a hint of longingness prevailed on your mind. Constantly, until you were sick of it and had to truly just let go. From days to weeks, and now a year. The calendar has turned a new leaf, and all of the frost reminds you of the warmth you once had. 

Would it be different this time? 

You both know you won't get it right. 

Will the winter winds carry you into a change of mind? 

You both know that the trial season is over. 

Magnetic, isn't it? 

Like a force dragging you to greener pastures, as the thin ice resurfaces the underlying intentions.

One text message you send to Mark responds in tentative ellipses. To continue.  To hope. 

You make your way onto the bridge that you once held your memories on. As the vapor out of your mouth comes into existence on that coldest day of the year, you admire winter in its full glory. This time up close and personal, far from childish admiration.

With light and warm footsteps, you hear Mark making his way over to you.

Still, you both know.  This time, alas, it is right. 

[haechansbbg]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ME NEXT

teacher’s pet » mkl

genre | smut (mdni!!), college professor!mark x student!reader

word count | 1.7k

summary | you’re infatuated by your english literature professor, and your grade is suffering because of it, so you decide to talk to him about it

warnings | smut, afab!reader and female pronouns, oral (f receiving)

loosely based on teacher’s pet by melanie martinez

“professor lee,” your words are delicate as they fall from your lips, and you do nothing to suppress the nervous smile that appears on your face when he looks up at you over the rim of his glasses.

class has just ended, and the other students have just finished filtering out. the air feels thick despite the fact its now only you two in the room. “may i talk to you about something, sir?” you fiddle with the cuffs of your sweater as you stand at the front of his desk.

“of course,” he replies with a friendly smile. he sets down his pen and rises from his chair, moving swiftly around the desk and taking a seat on the edge, right in front of you. suddenly you’re hyper aware of how he’s now at eye level with you. he clasps his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees, and leans forward a bit to hear what you have to say.

“what’s on your mind?”

all of a sudden, you seize up. you’ve never had to talk to him in private before, and you’re frozen under his kind brown eyes that are fixed entirely on you. you attempt to get any coherent string of words out, but your mouth will just not respond. after a second of silence he lets out a gentle chuckle, and your cheeks flare with heat.

“taking a wild guess here, this is about your grade, yeah?”

a little ashamed that he already knows, you give him a timid nod. “yes, sir.”

“i’ve seen your transcripts, i know you’re a very smart girl, y/n. but your grade in this class just doesn’t reflect that.” as he speaks he adjusts his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. you stare at his fingers as they move. “i’ve been meaning to ask you about it for a while.”

“i, i-huhm,” you gulp, praying that he can’t tell how nervous you are in his presence. your chest begins to tighten up, attempting to stutter out any morsel of an excuse. you lower your head in embarrassment, fidgeting with the fabric of your skirt. he must have noticed the way your breathing involuntarily stutters.

“hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” you hear him say, and you feel his fingers brush against your hand. your heart flutters as you feel him gently pull you forward, closer to him. a gasp catches in your throat as you snap your head up to look at him, your eyes wide and body temperature rising as you’re now standing between his legs.

his hand holds yours gently on his knee, thumb brushing across your knuckles. his free hand rises to brush your hair off your shoulder. you swear your legs could betray you at any second.

“i’m here to help you, okay? but you have to tell me what’s going on.” theres a tone in his voice and a warmth in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. his aura is so… loving.

“i think- uhm,” you swallow hard. “i think i’m just a bit distracted is all.”

he hums in thought. you feel your resolve starting to crumble at a pace that’s impossible to recover from. as your eyes dip down to his lips, you notice the way they tip up in a teasing smile.

“what’s distracting you?” his words are slow, heavy.

hot blood rushes through your veins. you can practically feel your pupils dilate. “i wish i could answer that,” you breathe.

english literature had never been your forte as it is, but now that mr. lee- the genuinely most heart stopping man you’ve ever seen- is teaching that subject, it was as if you couldn’t write an intelligible sentence to save your life. you never would have expected a simple professor your sophomore year of college to have such a destructive effect on your grade, as well as your sanity.

coursework is something you can just never will yourself to focus on when he is in the same room. how he sticks the stem of his glasses between his teeth while he grades papers, the way his forearms flex when he leans against a table, that deep voice of his rambling on and on about god knows what while you’re sat in your seat, practically drooling on the end of your pen and rubbing your thighs together as you can only dream of the things you wanted him to do to you.

how can you tell him that he is your distraction?

“you can tell me, i promise.”

your brain is full of fog. you no longer have enough sense to decipher whether or not you’re being completely delusional in thinking he wants exactly what you do. but theres such a strong force pulling you in, weighing you down that you just can’t bring yourself to fight it anymore.

so with not a single thought in your mind other than just your utter need for him, you can’t stop yourself from swiftly leaning forward and stealing his lips in a kiss.

you pull away as soon as you realize what’s happened, ready to babble out some sort of justification for having done something so inappropriate, but you notice one of his hands now lays on your cheek, and the other that held yours has pulled you in even closer, your fingers now resting on his upper thigh. his eyelids are low, breath heavy, glasses fogged.

in a split second you’ve gripped his button up shirt in your fists and pulled your chests together with full force, your lips moving desperately against his. he slides both his large hands around your waist, venturing down to where your skirt falls. you feel his fingertips brush against your skin, digging into the plush of your thighs just below your underwear. you groan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and practically rutting against him for any sort of friction you can find.

he takes this as a hint, gripping the back of your legs and hoisting you up as he stands. you cling to him, fervently kissing him as if he’d disappear if you separated. his hands knead your flesh under your skirt, kissing with you with equal messy hunger.

the kiss breaks once more when he makes it to the other side of his desk, plopping you down in his wheeled office chair. you squeeze the fabric of his collar in your fingers, chasing his lips when they pull away from yours.

“i’ve got some extra credit for you, sweetheart,” your professor says, your chin held between his fingers as you gawk up at him towering over you. face flushed and lips raw, he grins deviously at you from above. you gaze at him like he’s an angel in disguise. “you think you can earn it?”

“yes, sir.”

“good girl,” he purrs, lowering himself to the floor in front of you. your breath quickens, pussy beating with desire at just the mere image of your professor on his knees before you. the loving aura he had is now gone, replaced with nothing but lust.

his eyes are trained solely on your face as he flips your skirt up, revealing your lacy white panties that are already soaked, leaking onto the faux leather of the seat.

“is this okay?” he asks you. you nod frantically.

he smirks at your eager reaction, hooking his fingers under the hem of your panties to pull them down your shaking legs. you whimper sweetly as his fingers trace ever so lightly against your dripping entrance. but you whine as the tender friction disappears, and he’s suddenly right next to you, hot breath tickling your ear.

“you have to be quiet, pretty girl, do you think you can do that for me?” he warns. you arch your back, nails digging into the arm rests, begging for him to continue.

“yes, sir,” you mewl once more.

he hums in satisfaction, placing a hot kiss on your jaw. sweat collects on your hairline as you watch him loosen the black tie around his neck, whipping it off his shirt so harshly it cracks against the tiled floor. the silky fabric covers your mouth as he presses it to your face, and ties it in a tight knot at the back of your head.

needy whimpers of anticipation bleed into the cloth around your mouth as he lowers himself between your legs. the moment his tongue finally meets your weeping core you choke out a muffled cry. as his tongue delves in he groans against your skin, the deep vibration making your head fall back and your eyes squeeze shut. he keeps his hands on your trembling thighs to keep the wheels from moving, sinking his fingers into your soft skin.

your own hands move from their place on the arm rests into his blond hair, raking and yanking as you mercilessly attempt to ground yourself despite the bold pace he’s already moving at. your breath feels muggy against your skin as its trapped in your mouth as you moan.

each second that passes as your professor devours you makes it harder to keep yourself quiet. his tongue swirls faster and faster with little warning, his nose brushing your clit with every bob of his head. a dull buzzing begins to simmer inside you and you just know you’re making an absolute mess of his face.

rapidly approaching release, one of your hands finds purchase on the edge of the desk, gripping so hard your knuckles burn white. the other stays in his hair, tugging him impossibly closer to your core. he notices you’re close, and shifts his tongue up to focus solely on your clit. tears start to spill through your lashes and down your red cheeks as you cum on your professor’s face, and he works you through your orgasm while lewd, pathetic whines are stifled by your makeshift muzzle.

panting heavily, you shiver as he tugs the tie down to hang loosely around your neck, a string of saliva connecting to your lips. you open your eyes and blush when you’re met with his face, covered and glistening from your juices, the lenses of his glasses still cloudy. his pretty wet mouth grins at you, a hand coming up to wipe away the tear stains.

“such a good student, you’re my sweet little teachers pet, yeah?”

[luvyeni]

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ──── mark likes to watch you ride him , like really likes to…

( 対 ) mark lee + fem. reader wc. 0.3k genre smut· contains! unprotected sex , riding , language mature content. / back to library

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ anon gave me the inspo pic of mark above …

he watched you with low hazy eyes as you sat on his waist in only his shirt ; nothing else. “go on baby.” he whispered. “sit on it.”

grabbing the base of his cock; giving him a few strokes , he threw his head back a bit with a groan. “fuuuck.” you lift your body up a bit , the tip of his cock grazing your folds. “ma-mark.” you whimpered he grabbed your waist. “go slow.” he eyes trained on your cunt. “slowly baby , i want to see you.”

he slowly guided you down on him; watching his cock slowly disappearing into your fluttering hole; filling you up, his cock stretching you out. “oh fuck your pussy is fucking magical.” he sighed. “love it so much.” biting down on his lip. you started to move but he stopped you , making you whimper out. “slowly.” he moved your hips for you. “i wanna see your pretty pussy struggle to take my fat cock.”

he couldn’t help but smirk while watching you obediently ride him; taking in the sight of his cock go in and out of you , your hands resting on his chest. “that’s it -fuck-.” his hands traveling up his your shirt , massaging your tits , his thumbs running across your nipples , you whimpered feeling him pinch them. “mark fuck!” you bounced up and down on his cock.

this was so hot; your pussy was swallowing his cock; the tip kissing your insides , your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “gonna fu- gonna fucking cum.” he gasped out , throwing his head back. “mark i’m gonna cum!” he gripped tightened as you rode him faster. “oh fuck , fuck princess i’m cumming!” his head thrown back against your couch. “oh fuck.”

your body fell limp against his body; he held you down bucking his hips up; his cock twitching as he came with a loud groan. “mmmh fuck.” he sighed , you sat up , his cock still pulsing inside you. “you look so hot right now.” he smiled lazily. “fuck baby i’m still hard.” he slapped your ass.

“keep moving those pretty hips baby , let me see my cock stretch your pretty pussy out.”

©️LUVYENI

[remtrack]

loser (i don't want to lose her) ★ mark lee.

tags. mark lee x reader. hurt comfort. 1k words.

requested! i don't really like this one but i hope u like it nonnie <3

You were really looking forward to this dinner. It wasn’t anything special — just a homemade dinner for two — but you cooked Mark’s favourites, set up a nice ambience, and even dressed up nicely. It had been far too long since you two last went on a date — he was in the middle of a new comeback, so even to meet had become a near impossible task. On a rare day that you did, you decided to do something nice.

But Mark wasn’t getting the memo. 

Two hours since you last knocked on his office door, telling him to eat dinner. He hadn’t moved an inch, leaving you with no choice but to ask again. Once you pushed the door open, you were greeted by the sight of him sitting on his chair, pieces of crumpled paper scattered around the table as he gripped a pencil. Too absorbed in his lyric writing to acknowledge your presence. 

“Babe,” you said, tapping on his shoulder. He turned towards you, raising an eyebrow and offering a small smile. “You said you’d come eat two hours ago, the food’s getting cold.”

“Just a little more,” he said, smile stretching into a wider one. He tapped on your nose with his pointer, a small attempt to cheer you up. “The ideas will disappear if I don’t write them down now. I’ll be out in a bit, baby. Promise.”

You don’t remember much of what happened after. You only remember storming out of the house and to Jisung’s, leaving a note out of anger. 

★★★

“Just don’t get why he can’t just spare a fucking hour to eat.”

Between huffs and puffs, you rambled. You were slumped on the couch between Chenle and Jisung, who were laser-focused on the TV. The clicks of their consoles could be heard amidst your angry babbles. Haechan stood on a beanbag, arms crossed behind his head. 

“Hey, if you break up with Mark, I’ll date you instead,” Haechan joked, earning a smack on his head from Chenle. “I’m just joking, damn.”

“Not a good time."

You truly didn’t get it. You frequently had to bring your work home, spending hours on your laptop to chase a deadline but you’d never neglect Mark the way that he did. Plus, he wasn’t rushing against the clock — so was it really justifiable that he had left you hanging? It felt unfair. Huffing, you pulled your knees towards your chest and slumped your chin against your knees.

“Or am I being unreasonable?” you muttered, “Maybe it’d be better if he had someone in your industry, maybe we just don’t match.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jisung answered. 

In the blur of your despair, you failed to realize that Jisung’s words were half-hearted, impassive — that he hadn’t really been listening after all. You merely nodded, before excusing yourself to go home. 

“You shouldn’t have said that, dickhead,” Chenle said, slapping Jisung across his nape.

Jisung looked back at him, blinking his eyes confusedly.

“What’d I say again?”

★★★

“Mark, we need to talk.”

After days of pondering, you had come to a conclusion — that perhaps, letting go of Mark would be the best act of love that you could do. Upon seeing him lounging on the living room couch, you had finally mustered enough courage to speak. 

Mark placed his phone down, looking up at you. His gaze followed your figure as you sat beside him. Behind the placid look he tried to maintain, he panicked internally. He straightened up. 

“Okay, what’s up?”

“I don’t think that this is working out.” 

“What?”

Mark stared at you, trying to decipher your words — or rather, trying to accept your words. You could see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed the thick saliva pooling at the back of his throat, though you couldn’t see the anxiety pumping through his veins.

“What do you mean, YN? What do you mean by this?”

“This,” you muttered. “Us.”

“But we were fine a few days ago,” the raven retorted. He racked his brain for anything that could’ve upset you, all the memories rushing back to his head and it made him dizzy. 

“YN, please.” 

“I just,” the words slipped past your lips. There were an abundance of thoughts filling your brain — too much — and your tongue couldn’t quite catch up. “Just. Feel like you deserve better, Mark. Someone who gets you.”

“But you’re perfect,” he whimpered. Without him realizing, his lips were quivering. “You get me.”

“I don’t,” you shook your head. “I’m not… someone who does music, like you. There are things you talk about that I don’t get. You should find someone who matches you better. I’m sorry, Mark.”

You extended your hand on the sofa, grazing his knee. It takes a little more courage for you to give it a little squeeze. He gave you a pained look, shaking his head — and the look had done more than tug on your heartstrings — it wrung them. You never wanted to hurt him this much.

“But I don’t get all your stuff either,” he whispered. “When you talk about your work stuff, I don’t always get it. But I listen because I like listening to you… don’t you like listening to me too?”

The question rendered you silent. You bit the inside of your cheeks, thinking back to all the times when he’d tell you all about his music production, how he’d seat you on his lap and play with your hair as you listened to his songs. How your lips would be puckered out of focus and he’d kiss it. 

“I do.”

The words breathed relief onto Mark’s face. He grabs your hand, gently tracing along the veins on your palm.

“We don’t always have to understand each other,” he mumbled, “Sometimes, listening and acknowledging is enough.” 

Slowly, you nodded. Finally, the heavy beating of your heartbeat calmed down. 

“Can you please stay?” his voice was soft. He spoke as though you could break from the sheer sound of his voice.

“Yes,” you whispered back, “I’m sorry, I just got scared. I love you so much, I want the best for you.”

“It’s okay,” Mark answered. He pulled you into a hug, tucking you under his chin. “I love you, too.”

"Okay, but you really have to make more time for me."

"I'm sorry. Okay. I love you, I really do."

taglist: @ch3rryd0ll @jenohyun @untilthesunrises @raevyng @peachysoso @peartreegarden @iliveforsmut3000 @chenlezip

[chenlezip]

⤷ warnings : little bit smutty.

annas note : im sorry i just saw a photo while scrolling through pinterest of marks thighs and i just really want to ride them :/ not proof read btw !!

your close friend, mark, was sat on your couch wearing his shorts that rode up when trying to get himself comfier. you couldn't help your eyes from wandering and you bit your lip, how would it feel to try riding his thigh?

mark always said any fantasies you or he had you could both try it out seeming as you are also friends with benefits. mark noticed your gaze on his thighs and how spaced out you were, smirking to himself before he called for your name.

you quickly came back to earth, looking up at him with a soft smile, "yeah?" "wanna ride my thigh, pretty?" your breath hitched as soon as he asked this. wait.. did he read your mind? or was your ogling just so obvious? whatever. you nodded and he lifted a hand, ordering you over with two fingers, "c'mon then."

you situated yourself over one of his thighs, his hands on your hips. you only had a nightie and some loose panties on. he sat you on his thigh and immediately felt how wet you were.

before long, you were grinding down on him as he tensed his muscle, a whine exiting your lips at the friction that only got better and more pleasurable for you. your hands were on his shoulders, gripping. he was manspread, sitting and watching you with desire in his eyes, grip on your hips tightening.

[cbeargyu]

virgin's debut

A friendship can’t be ruined by having sex… can it?

⊹₊⋆ pairing: best friend!haechan x fem!reader x love interest!jaehyun (slight)

⊹₊⋆ warnings: angst, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers trope, protected sex, unprotected sex (use protection pls), fingering, making out, nudes, slowburn, suggestive redaction, mild cursing, reader is a virgin lol, haechan isn't, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance.

⊹₊⋆wc: 18,3K

READ THE PREVIEW [HERE]

Two weeks later

haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.

hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".

it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.

it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.

that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.

of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.

and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.

maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.

for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.

but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.

“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.

haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”

“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”

heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”

you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.

haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.

but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.

it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”

haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.

"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"

he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?

he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.

haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.

but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.

he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.

it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?

haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.

as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?

he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.

“hey.”

a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.

there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.

physical contact.

that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.

you held the bag out toward him.

haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”

your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.

reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.

had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.

and that terrified him.

he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.

“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.

“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”

you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.

haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.

you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.

“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”

haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”

you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”

there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?

he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”

“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”

haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.

“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.

you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.

“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”

haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.

you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”

haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”

you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”

haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.

“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.

you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”

haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”

you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.

“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”

“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”

you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.

that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.

“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”

haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.

“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”

he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.

because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.

but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.

and the worst part?

haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.

before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.

“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"

the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.

haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?

the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.

he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.

he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.

his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?

he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.

you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?

the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?

"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”

and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.

but he didn’t.

and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.

the guilt clawed its way up your throat.

you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.

jung jaehyun.

a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.

and of course, you weren’t immune.

you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.

your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.

so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.

haechan.

and now you’d hurt him.

you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.

but he didn’t.

now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.

your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?

it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?

still, something was off.

haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.

every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.

now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.

the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.

that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

unknown number.

haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.

“hello?”

“HAECHAN!”

a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.

“…who is this?”

“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”

oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.

“yeah, uh—what’s up?”

“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.

the emergency button in his brain went off.

“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”

“well—kind of?”

apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.

haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.

“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”

haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”

“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”

the line went quiet for a second.

“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”

“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.

he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.

but part of him was already bracing for it.

despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.

you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.

“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”

“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.

“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”

the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.

“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.

after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.

“address?” the driver asked.

haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“cute couple,” he said.

“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.

“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”

haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—

“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”

yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.

“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”

haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.

“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”

haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.

and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.

he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.

his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.

“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.

you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.

haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”

“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”

you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”

silence.

haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.

but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.

“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”

eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.

inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.

you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”

he froze, slowly turning toward you.

“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”

“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.

“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”

haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.

“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”

haechan blinked. “what?”

“you’re good in bed.”

he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”

you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”

haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”

“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”

his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”

“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”

his face burned red. “how do you—?!”

“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”

“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.

“no, you don’t.”

you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”

“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.

you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”

and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.

he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.

then, haechan stepped closer.

he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.

then, without thinking, you kissed him.

it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.

he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.

“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”

you blinked up at him, breathless.

“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything.

but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.

and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.

that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.

when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.

but he didn’t.

haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.

by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.

you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.

haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.

you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.

your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.

without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.

you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.

he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.

and stupidly handsome.

“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”

he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.

the elephant between you had never been bigger.

you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.

“you okay?” you asked gently.

“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”

you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.

that’s when you noticed something else.

the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.

he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.

painfully so.

and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.

you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.

“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”

the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.

haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.

you froze. unsure.

he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”

your stomach dropped.

just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.

“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”

he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.

you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.

“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.

but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.

and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.

you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.

but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.

he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.

“haechan…” your voice barely carried.

he didn’t turn around.

you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—

“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”

and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.

you were alone again.

but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.

your phone was still dead.

you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.

you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.

you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.

you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.

was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.

but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.

the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.

haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.

he looked surprised to see you still there.

his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”

you didn’t answer.

he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”

but you were already crying.

your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”

he went quiet.

“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”

he still didn’t move.

“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”

you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”

for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.

then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.

“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.

“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”

you blinked. “…what?”

he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”

your eyes widened.

he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”

you stopped breathing.

your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.

he met you halfway.

this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.

but it burned.

and then he pulled back, just barely.

“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”

you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

and for now — that was enough.

a few weeks passed.

you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.

but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.

the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.

on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.

"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.

“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.

“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.

“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”

“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”

your brow arched. “curated?”

he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”

“what tension?” you teased.

he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”

“feel what?”

his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”

you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.

you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.

and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.

he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.

he felt pathetic.

like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.

and god, those lips.

maybe he should’ve never kissed you.

but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.

now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.

he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.

and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.

he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.

he hated how much he needed it.

he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.

he hated that he wanted more.

you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.

you always found him there these days.

“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”

he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”

“do you?”

“…not really.”

you both smiled.

as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.

“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”

he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”

you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”

“and you’re going?”

you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”

he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”

you gave him a look. “you know what.”

he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”

your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”

you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.

“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”

and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”

his breath caught.

“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”

he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.

“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”

he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”

“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”

and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”

his silence told you everything.

you took one step closer, slow and steady.

“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”

and he didn’t answer.

not with words.

but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.

you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.

but you were getting closer to finding out.

the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.

he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light. there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.

he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.

you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.

he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.

you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw. “i want to do it,�� you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.

you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”

his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”

you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”

he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”

your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”

his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.

“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”

your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.

“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”

you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.

he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”

his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.

when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.

his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.

“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”

your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.

“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”

his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”

your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.

you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”

his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.

his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.

“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”

your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.

“h-hyuck...” you cried.

“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.

he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.

you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”

and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.

he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.

“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”

his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.

he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.

“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.

and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.

your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.

haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.

when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.

“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”

the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”

you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.

“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”

the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”

you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.

he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.

he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.

still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.

even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.

friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.

the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.

jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.

“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.

you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.

the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.

after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.

the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.

at first, it’s cinematic.

his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.

“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.

you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.

he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”

that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.

more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.

but none of it happens.

instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.

you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.

but it doesn’t.

what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.

and yet... nothing.

when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.

and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.

because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.

haechan.

you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...

haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.

you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.

and you remember something else.

the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”

you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.

because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.

you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.

jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.

“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.

you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.

and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.

you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.

you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.

but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.

how empty.

you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.

you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.

before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”

the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.

"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"

you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.

"hey, talk to me. what happened?"

his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.

you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”

he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”

and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.

he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.

and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.

the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.

“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”

“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.

and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.

safe in the way only he ever made you feel.

you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.

you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.

your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.

before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.

“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”

you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.

jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.

“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”

you blink, lifting your head. “what?”

“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”

jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”

you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.

“it’s complicated,” you mutter.

he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”

“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”

you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.

“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.

“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”

“yeah.”

jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.

“thanks,” you say quietly.

“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”

and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

on my way. almost there.

you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.

maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.

the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.

haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.

you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.

you don’t think—you run.

you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.

when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.

he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”

you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.

so instead, you kiss him.

you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.

and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.

he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.

his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.

your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.

it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.

the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.

“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.

“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.

he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.

inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.

you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”

he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.

"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."

the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.

"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."

haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.

"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"

you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”

the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.

"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”

"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."

the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.

“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”

you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”

“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”

you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.

“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."

a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.

“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.

“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”

“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.

then he said it anyway.

“now i take care of you.”

your breath hitched.

he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.

“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.

he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.

“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

he looked at you, eyes burning.

“yeah, baby?”

your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”

he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.

“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”

you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.

he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.

“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.

you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.

“Prepared?” you teased softly.

he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”

your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”

his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.

“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”

you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.

the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.

“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”

you nodded desperately, clinging to him.

he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.

sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”

another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.

by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.

you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”

you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”

he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.

“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”

the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.

“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”

he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.

“don’t tempt me,” he growled.

you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.

“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”

he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”

still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”

that was all it took.

he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.

then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.

you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.

he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.

“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”

“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”

he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.

it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.

“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”

you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.

he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.

“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”

your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.

“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.

“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”

he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.

“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.

and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.

the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.

you locked eyes with him through the mirror.

“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”

you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.

“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.

“again.”

“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”

the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.

he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.

afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.

“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.

you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.

he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

because nothing needed to be said.

haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.

“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”

your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.

“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.

“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.

the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.

a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.

your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.

and oh—he did.

he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.

“miss me?” he teased.

“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.

but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”

you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.

but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.

“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.

“where are we—?”

“shower,” he said. “now.”

you didn’t argue.

the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.

“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”

your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.

you lost count of how many times he made you come.

after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.

he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.

“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”

“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.

“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”

and you did.

he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.

then the kitchen.

you barely made it there.

he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.

“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“yes,” you breathed.

“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”

he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.

“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”

then came the dining table.

you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.

you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—

“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”

the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.

it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.

“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.

“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”

you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.

he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”

the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.

“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.

you nodded into his chest.

“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”

he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.

soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.

the next morning came slowly.

soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.

you didn’t want to move.

there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.

you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.

“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”

“where else would i be?” you whispered.

he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.

“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”

you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.

haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.

there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.

and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.

it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.

it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.

he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:

“you know… i think we’re still us.”

you smiled, heart fluttering.

because he was right.

maybe in the end, sex doesn’t ruin the friendship— it transforms it.

[hyckstarz]

hi ! can I request mean dom!mark lee with crybaby!reader ?? thankyou so so much <3

i had to take a breather every five seconds of writing this... this request unlocked something in me

fxck your ex! | l.mk

pairing. mean dom!mark lee x afab crybaby!reader

word count. 2.4k

genre. smut

synopsis. mark was sick of it. sick of hearing her go on and on about her boyfriend whose cheating was a sign their short relationship was being thrown to the dogs. he couldn't count the number of times she'd show up at his door in the late hours of the night, crying about a man he could give a damn about. Fuck being a best friend, and fuck your boyfriend as I make his ass your ex.

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, dubcon! oral (m. and f. receiving), use of pet name/praise (baby, good girl, sweetheart, princess), degrading language (whore, slut), choking, rough handling, mention of anal play/licking, cheating, best friends. At this rate, everything is here 💀

A/N: this is probably the smuttiest fic I've written so far, but God was this fun to write. Mean Mark >>>>

Mark hated it. Hated how she went on and on about that fucking asshole. His sunken eye bags weighed heavy under his eyes as he bore holes into the flower pot, her sobs extra loud in his ears from the grogginess of being pulled out of his comfortable slumber. He then glanced at his phone. 3 AM. She came over to his place at ass o'clock in the morning to rant about her boyfriend, Jaehyun, again. His fingers and toes combined weren't enough to count the number of times she'd done this in the past three months.

"I do so much for him and he still goes out to meet that bitch!" She cries into her hands, "Now he's at that party doing God knows what with her."

Mark rubs his temples in frustration. He really tries. Really tries to be a good best friend for her, always lending an ear and shoulder, maybe he'd even consider chopping off those limbs to give to her in hopes of finally getting a good nights rest. But how much did he need to give away when she still goes crawling back to a cheater who couldn't give a damn.

He squints at her, trying to focus his blurry vision at her trembling form. His jaw hardens. Just a few months ago, he'd be a worried, nervous wreck at seeing her cry. Though now, he felt nothing but annoyance, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he mocked her stupidity in his head. But God was it hard to separate whether the frustration was at her dumping her problems on him, or at how sexually frustrated she made him. He couldn't help but sneak a glance at the tantalising strip of her thighs in those shorts, even as his jaw was clenched tight.

"I really love him... I love him so much, why can't he see that?" She choked out another sob, tears staining her skin.

Mark had reached a boiling point. It's like something that held his sanity and kindness snapped. Any ounce of respect he had for her had shattered, replaced by an all-consuming jealous rage.

His hand grabs at her wrist, tearing the palm that covered her face away, "What did you say?" His voice was quiet yet stern, husky from the lack of sleep.

She sniffled, meeting his hard gaze which made her breath catch in her throat, "I... love him."

Her soft eyes did nothing to calm the fire that raged in his chest. How could a sweet girl like her fall in love with that cheating, fucking asshole in a span of three months? Especially when Mark had always been there for her, through thick and thin, even now when she pulled him out of his sleep, selfishly, to talk about her own problems. He felt pathetic. In a way, he was just as pathetic as she was.

Mark sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on her arm which causes her to wince as he leaves red prints along her smooth skin, "M-Mark, you're hurting me-"

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, yanking her towards him, "I'm tired of your fucking bullshit. If he's such an asshole, break up with him!"

Y/N stumbles over her words, lips opening and closing like a clueless fish at Mark's uncharacteristic outburst, "I- I can't."

Mark scoffs, pushing her back onto the couch as he clamoured on top of her, gripping at her plush thighs that seemed to mold to his touch as she scrambled in surprise, "Why can't you? Does he blackmail you? Did he save your life and you feel like you owe him? What bullshit excuse will you give me this fucking time?"

She's breathing heavily, her tears now dried on her skin as she keeps her eyes on him, "Mark... what are you doing?"

He couldn't play nice when she looked so pretty like this. Mascara running down her pink cheeks, lashes wet and eyes soft as her glossy lips puckered in confusion.

Mark chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head, "Why don't we give that son of a bitch a taste of his own medicine? Maybe then you'd shut those pretty little lips up about another man I could give less of a shit about."

She gasps, pushing at his chest, "W-what? You're crazy!"

Mark laughs, gently threading his fingers through her long hair, "We're both crazy, baby. At least I have a thing called pride."

Y/N swallows thickly, peering up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Mark's fingers brush under the hem of her shorts, his nose nudging the crook of her neck, "Maybe I could fuck a little thing like pride into you... give you another thing to cry about."

In a second, he pins her wrists above her head, trapping her hips between his knees as he pulls back to meet her nervous gaze. She bites her lip, contemplating. She can't believe she's actually considering what her best friend was offering. She thinks back to her earlier argument with Jaehyun and, fuck, would it feel good to get back at him for once.

Even just thinking about her boyfriend has a fresh set of tears glazing over her eyes, "I-"

Mark's voice cuts through hers, "Don't expect me to play nice though, I've been a carpet you've walked all over long enough," he smirks cockily at her hesitation, leaning in to whisper hoarsely in her ear, "Think about it, baby... Think about your precious boyfriend pounding into that slutty chick of his. I mean... he clearly isn't fucking you right now. Couldn't blame him when you whine like a little bitch."

Y/N sobs harder, burying her damp cheeks into the crook of his neck, "O-okay! Just stop... stop talking about him."

Mark grips at her cheeks, forcing her mouth open as he looks down at her with mockery, "Don't wanna face reality, princess? Fine."

His lips meet hers, molding against her soft, tear-stained ones that remained parted from his tight grasp. Her muffled sounds died in his mouth, his tongue swiping at the seam of her lips as it swirled with hers. He could taste the saltiness of her tears mixed with the vanilla flavoured gloss. When he pulled back, she was breathless, eyes blown wide. He loved the way her swollen, slick lips looked — a pretty pink that matched her flushed cheeks.

"You're an asshole," she pouted, her voice a broken whine despite the way she unashamedly rubbed her thighs together.

"Seems like you have a thing for assholes, baby. Admit it, you want to be ruined like a little slut. Who knew the crybaby was so filthy?" Mark pressed his knee between her legs. It was rough and it mixed pleasure with pain that had her gasping.

Y/N let out a choked moan, head nestling back into the cushions as he dragged his knee up and down her clothed clit. She hated that she was enjoying this. She was no better than Jaehyun. Sure, she had thoughts about her attractive best friend before, but he was never really her type. Until now.

"I don't have a thing for assholes," she sent him a glare despite lying through her teeth, "And I'm not a slut."

Mark stares at her for a moment before he lets out an amused laugh, "You're cute, but you're also dead wrong, baby."

He tugs his sweats down, pulling out his throbbing dick as he swirls his tip over her lips, coating them with his precum to wear like lip gloss. She let's out a muffled whimper, eyes pleading. He only scoffs in response, "I'll show you how slutty you really are, and you'll take it like a good girl, won't you?"

Her pussy clenches around nothing at that and Mark wastes no time in lifting her head up from the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. His other hand grabs her cheeks, forcing her mouth open as he stuffs his dick past her lips, stretching her out. She sobs again, fingers digging into his hips as she let's him manhandle her, rutting his dick into her mouth like a fleshlight.

Y/N's moans, whimpers and sobs get lost on his dick. But what really gets her off is how vocal Mark is. His groans and breathy gasps urges her to take more of him, gagging as his tip occasionally hits the back of her throat. Her eyes flick up to see him staring back at her through half-lidded eyes, fucking her into the couch. She'd never given head like this before - sprawled out underneath with her head in his hands to relinquish all control to him.

"Should take a photo of you like this," Mark's thumb tugs her chin up, "send it to that shit-faced ex of yours... let him see what he missed out on."

Mark pulls back and she whines at the loss of her mouth being filled up, "He's not my ex."

He snorts in response, "He will be once I'm done with you."

She swallows thickly, suddenly feeling nervous. Mark had always been the sweet, gentle and respectful best friend. Predictable and safe. But this was a side she never knew existed, especially as he was private about his sex life.

Mark flips her over, letting her chest press against the armrest of the couch. But her words cut through his thoughts, "I'm not breaking up with him, ever."

At that, Mark let's out a bitter laugh, and smacks her ass, hard. The sound is sharp and leaves a tingling sensation behind that causes her to wince, "You will."

At her no, he smacks her again, rubbing the sting with his kneading hands, "You're pathetic."

Without wasting anymore time, he'd tugs her shorts down. His fingers rub along her slit and, with his teeth, he bites at the waistband of her underwear, letting it pull down to her thighs. For years, he had been fantasising about his best friend, even beating himself up about it from the shame. But seeing her bare before him, has him swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight. His imagination could never do her justice, she was gorgeous.

Mark leans in, dragging his tongue over her asshole, circling and teasing the puckered flesh. He spits on it, watching it glisten obscenely, tilting his head as he kisses and nips at the soft flesh of her ass. She'd never felt so embarrassed, writhing under him. But the only thought that came to mind was how Jaehyun would never.

Mark's fingers probe at the entrance of her pussy, coating the slender digits with her slick before pushing inside; scissoring and curling his fingers inside of her. He groaned at how the tight, wet heat gripped him like a vice, pulsing around his fingers. His other hand tugged her hair back, leaning in to kiss her, licking into her mouth that has her moaning.

Mark nips at her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood and make her wince. He licks at it, cooling the burn before he tugs her hair back harder, peppering sloppy kisses from her jaw down to her collarbone.

She rocks her hips back against his fingers, and Mark can't help but to smirk against her neck, "Desperate already?"

Maybe Mark was right, she didn't have pride and she was as slutty as they came. She nods eagerly, "Please, need you..."

Mark bit on her earlobe, whispering, "Gotta do better than that, sweetheart." His fingers stilled in her, hand pressed to her lower back to keep her from moving.

"I need you, Mark. Please," she begged.

But that wasnt enough, not even close, "Need me to what?"

Her lip quivered, feeling herself losing every inch of her sanity, "Need you to fuck me."

Mark stroked himself, his restraint was slowly slipping too, but he couldnt give her what she wanted just yet, "only if you promise to leave that son of a bitch," he spoke through gritted teeth.

Y/N bit on her bottom lip, pondering, "I will. I'll break up with him. So, please."

Mark scoffs. It didn't take long for her to give in, but he was grateful. Not wanting to waste another second, he pushes into her, hard and fast, not giving her time to adjust. She gasps out loud, clutching onto the armrest with desperation, "fuck! M-Mark-"

He ruts into her, blocking out her cries, "Like I said, you'll take what I give you like the good girl you are. Or do you prefer to be called a whore now that you're sleeping around?"

She whimpers, tears slipping down her cheeks, "Both... I wanna be called both."

Marks hands grab at her hips tightly, pulling her against him, "Knew you were nothing but a whore. Bet you were hoping for this... you were trying to piss me off by showing up at my place every night, huh?"

She shakes her head, clenching around him, "No! No, I wasn't."

His hand slithers under her, rubbing rough and quick circles on her clit, causing her to writhe beneath him, "You wanted me to fuck the outline of your body into my couch. Wanted someone who'd fuck you better than that asshole."

He pulls the length of his cock out of her before slamming back in. Her toes curl and she feels her body growing weaker, her release approaching. Her thoughts were cloudy, drool and tears staining her skin. Each thrust of his hips had her let out choked moans.

"No one is better for you than I am. Not Jaehyun, not even your own fingers. Just me. Only me," he growls, and she swears it was the sexiest sound that ever came out of any man.

"Y-yeah... only you... only you, Mark," she cried, arching her back against him.

"You're mine. All mine. Say it... say it for me, princess," his voice is suddenly soft and breathy. The gentleness returning, as if he really meant it.

Y/N nods, gasping, "I'm yours," she shuddered, her release washing over her as Mark never slowed his pace. She could feel him twitching as he helped her through her release, his own following as he pulled out and came all over her back.

She whined, "Wanted you to cum in me."

Mark chuckled, panting as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her lithe body into his chest, kissing down her neck and shoulder, "Next time, pretty. I'll save that for when you block that bastards number and make you mine for real."

(I promise my next post will be a Haechan fic)

© hyckstarz

[sungbites]

LOVE AND SUBSCRIBE ━ mark lee

user 1: they're totally dating! just look at the way they talk about their s/o's, yn and mark are TOGETHER ↳ user 2: lol ur so delusional

View 78 more replies..

SYNOPSIS ⋮ becoming a lifestyle youtuber meant that you began gaining a bigger fanbase the more popular your videos got. along with that came speculations of your personal life, like the question of your partners identity. because of the secrecy your fans begin to ship you with another lifestyle youtuber, one who just happens to be your actual partner. OR ⋮ in which you and mark slowly soft launch your relationship that your fans have no idea about.

PAIRING ⋮ youtuber!mark x youtuber!fem!reader

CAST ⋮ all of nct dream, hyunjin from loossemble, taerae from zerobaseone, sofia from katseye, and riku from nct wish

GENRE ⋮ est. relationship, influencer au, social media au, soft launch, fluff, very chronically online humor

WARNINGS ⋮ sensitive online people, drinking, profanity, death threats, kys/kms jokes, random cameos from all the neos, more tba

STATUS ⋮ ongoing

TAGLIST 1 & 2 ⋮ both open, perma tl will also be tagged so feel free to join here. just send a reply here or ask !!

A/N ⋮ haihai my first smau on here kinda nervy..... im gonna try to update this everyday but i wont promise anything also this is gonna be maybe 10 to 15 chapters so its not gonna be very long :p still very excited to write it I HOPE U GUYS TUNE IN!!!

profiles ━ 3 girls and 2 gays | we 7llin

chapters

1) yn isn’t a lesbian?

2) Mark lee care me

3) another taerae lie

4) gomen oomf chan

5) god take me and all my oomfs

6) spawn of satan

7) fuck you and your dog

more tba ..

© all rights to sungbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works

perma tl ⋮ @17ericas @sunghoonsgfreal @polarisjisung @cosmicwintr @chenlezip @remtrack @ayukas @ykvdani @snwydoie @hyuckluvr-com @honeyfever

[nerdlvr]

✩ tired? just a little.

(MDNI)

smut , mark lee x reader , established relationship , lazy sex , mark is in a suit , reader is like a stay at home girlfriend , riding/cowgirl , couch sex , marks a little bossy , lots of pet names , no condom , creampie , cumming quickly , requested here! , lmk if i missed anything

"hey beautiful, you waited for me?" the door clicked softly behind him, the soft jingle of his keys making your eyes flutter open.

you stretched you arms up, a loud whine leaving your lips, "missed you markie."

he chuckled softly as he shuffled towards you, hands tugging at the knot of his tie, "missed you more angel."

you tilted your head back on the couch to look at the tall man behind you, his eyes swollen with exhaustion.

he still managed to smile widely as he looked down at you, his hands coming down to hold your face, "thought about you all day."

he leaned down slowly, lips softly pressing against yours in a kiss.

you couldn't help the giggles that escaped you lips, his nose tickling the bottom of your chin as he pressed into you harder.

"what's wrong?" he leaned back slightly to stare at your upside down face.

you grinned wide, bringing a hand up to scratch your chin, "tickles."

he chuckled softly, crouching slightly to plant a kiss on your forehead, "silly girl- i'm gonna go get changed."

you reached for his arm as he turned away, tugging slightly to pull him towards you, "let me help you?"

he walked around the couch, sitting on the soft cushions with a low grunt, his legs spreading slightly as he leaned back, "alright then, help me undress- go on baby."

you shuffled onto your knees, leaning forward quickly to work on his tie. your fingers were quick, undoing the knot almost out of habit from many of his tired nights.

he moved his hands up to pull his loose tie off, your focus now on the small buttons on his shirt. you fumbled against his ironed top, your freshly done nails clashing against the buttons.

"let me-" he quickly undid his buttons, resting his arms back on the couch as he let you continue.

you blushed slightly, his chest now on full display as you pulled his tucked shirt out of his slacks.

his breath hitched as your hands reached for his belt, your soft hands lightly grazing his bulge as you worked against the buckle.

the image of you was borderline pornographic, your ass poked out, wiggling gently as your breasts rested on his thigh lazily, your hands pulling at his belt.

he reached his hand forward, sliding it along the length of you spine, watching as you shivered softly, a quiet breath leaving your lips, "mark-"

"keep going baby- you're not done yet." his hand moved further down your body to rub against your ass, sneakily running them under your tiny pajama shorts.

your breath was shaky as you dropped his belt to the floor, your hands moving instinctively towards the button of his pants, "oh my-" you pressed yourself deeper against his lap, moving your ass against his hand as you felt his fingers dip past your panties.

"need you to ride me princess- you like the sound of that hm?"

your whine was enough of a response, his hands moving away from your core to help you undo his pants instead.

you leaned back on your knees as you watched him unzip his pants, lazily tugging them down only enough to release his aching length.

"be good and sit on it."

he chuckled as you scrambled to get on top of him, too impatient to take your shorts off. you reached down to pull the fabric to the side, your core already wet from his light touches.

you pressed your entrance against the tip of his length, both of you moaning softly as you sunk down.

"o-oh mark." your head fell against his shoulder as you bottomed out, soft gasps leaving your lips as you rocked against him slightly.

he let out a loud groan, head dropping back against the couch as he let his eyes fall shut, "fuckk- ride this dick angel- come on-"

you lifted your hips slightly, only to press your hips back against his quickly. "m-mnh- feels so good- ah." you leaned forward, resting your weight on your knees as you held onto his shoulders for support.

you lifted your hips, starting a slow bouncing motion against his length. he was deep inside of you, his length sliding against your warm walls as you rode him languidly.

he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes dark as he watched your flushed face, your lip pulled tightly in between your teeth.

"just like that mama, riding me so good- keep going- i got you-" his hands moved down to grab your ass, guiding you slowly against his cock.

"m-mark, 'm gonna cum baby." you ducked your head, blushing in embarrassment as your soft pants warmed his chest.

"so soon? like me that much hm?" he grinned lazily as you nodded, soft whines leaving your lips as you began to rock your hips messily.

"it's okay baby- easyy- let go for me-"

you bit your lip harder to hide your pathetic moans, you eyes squeezing shut as your hips stilled against his, your body twitching softly as you came undone.

"m-mark-" you let out a breath as you sunk back down onto him, your core clenching tightly around him.

"stay still- let me fuck you-" he gripped onto your waist, lifting you slightly before bringing his hips up to meet yours.

you moaned softly, hands gripping the back of the couch as you remained steady, letting him use you as he pleased.

"f-fuck keep squeezing me like that baby- gonna cum in this tight little pussy-" he groaned against your neck, his hips rutting against your quickly as he chased his own orgasm.

"mark want you so bad- please-" you gasped softly as you felt him spill into you, his fingers bruising the skin of your waist as he pressed you flush against his hips.

"fu-fuckk baby-" he melted into the couch, hips stuttering against yours as you lifted your hips slightly to release him.

he was quick to stop you, arms wrapping around your waist to keep you in place, "d-don't go- i'm- i'm gonna faint- just let me-"

you giggled as you relaxed back into his lap, his length growing soft inside of you as you laid your head on his shoulder, "ten minute power nap before we shower?"

his voice was low, eyes already fluttering shut, "deal."