Summary: When your enemy-turned- roommate goes on a date one night, you're left to deal with your jealousy on your own. That is until Jaehyun returns home early and catches you mid act, his name spilling from your lips like a confession you never meant to make.
Genre: smut,enemies-to lovers, roommates- to lovers(?)
Word count: 4,718
Warnings: oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, self pleasure (fem), hair pulling, calling eachother names, banter/bickering, swearing, jealousy, both lowkey down bad
Taglist: @bridgertonletsgo
Author's note: This is written on 2 hours of sleep combined across multiple nights. And I keep finding new flaws each time I reread, but my brain is too fried to care anymore. Based on that bathroom part in the vcr at the fancon and my previous fic. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated as it helps me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy!
Dislaimer:This work is purely fictional. Any resemblance to real person(s) is used solely for creative and fictional purposes and should not be understood as factual representation.
The first problem was that your roommate moved out. The second problem was that rent was due in three weeks. The third problem was him.
Jeong Jaehyun.
At the time, you naively didn't even realise he would become the biggest problem of all.
You found out about your roommate leaving on a Thursday evening.
"I've got news," she announced.
You immediately knew something was up.
"Why do I feel like you’re gonna tell me something bad?"
She laughed nervously.
Because she was doing exactly that.
Apparently, her boyfriend had gotten a new apartment so they'd decided to move in together.
And she would be gone by the end of the month.
You looked at her dumbfounded.
Then you asked the only question that mattered.
"What happens to rent?"
The answer was exactly as awful as you'd expected.
The apartment wasn't cheap.
You could manage your half comfortably.
The full amount?
Not a chance.
So for the next two weeks, your life became one long search for a roommate.
You interviewed everyone.
Students.
Coworkers.
Friends of friends.
Even strangers from rental websites.
And every single one was somehow worse than the previous candidate.
One showed up forty minutes late.
One asked if you'd mind sharing your room because "walls are kind of a social construct."
Like what the actual fuck?
One spent ten minutes explaining cryptocurrency eventho none of the questions you had asked him were about cryptocurrency.
It was safe to say that you were losing hope fast.
Then one afternoon you got a text from a mutual friend.
Hey. Weird question.
Do you still need a roommate?
Maybe...why?
Jaehyun needs somewhere to stay.
You stared at the message almost offended.
Then immediately typed back.
Absolutely not. I'd rather die.
The response came seconds later.
He said you'd say that.
Of course he did.
You'd known each other for years.
Not by choice exactly, but because somehow, he was always present in your life one way or the other. It started with mutual friends then came the mutual events and it blossomed in mutual annoyance. And every encounter somehow ended in an argument.
You couldn't stand him.
He couldn't stand you.
At least that was what you told yourself.
Then your friend sent another message.
He's desperate.
You almost laughed at the text but then looked around your apartment, and remembered your bank account. And quickly came to the realisation that you had no right to laugh at him when you were on the verge of ending on the streets yourself if you didn't find a roommate soon.
A deep sigh left you.
The kind of sigh people made before making life-altering mistakes.
Fine. He can move in next week.
────────────────────────────
The first time Jaehyun stepped into the apartment, he looked around like he was inspecting a crime scene.
"This is smaller than I expected."
"You can leave."
He chuckled.
"You haven't changed."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't."
You rolled your eyes.
"Whatever."
He grinned wider.
Your friend watched the interaction.
"Wow."
"Wow what?" you asked.
"I forgot how much you two hate each other."
"We don't hate each other."
Jaehyun looked at you.
And you looked back.
A beat passed.
"Yeah, no I definitely hate him."
He scoffed.
"Good. I'd hate to be all alone in this."
Your friend buried her face in her hands, already starting to regret her decision to help.
────────────────────────────
Living together started exactly how you'd expected.
Terrible. No, more than just terrible.
The arguments were immediate.
Who used the last coffee pod.
Whose turn it was to take out the trash.
Which television show to watch.
Whether cereal counted as dinner.
It definitely did.
Jaehyun insisted it didn't. There was no "real" nutrition in it, apparently. Eventho, you don't remember asking for his opinion.
The worst part was that he genuinely seemed to enjoy annoying you.
Especially because your reactions entertained him.
One morning, you walked into the kitchen half asleep.
Jaehyun was already there.
Leaning against the counter.
Coffee in hand.
Hair still messy from sleep.
You barely looked at him.
"Morning."
"Morning, sweetheart."
You stopped walking.
Slowly turned around.
"What did you just call me?"
His expression remained perfectly innocent.
"Sweetheart."
"Don't."
"Okay."
You relaxed. For exactly one second.
Then that smile appeared on his face. The one that told you how wrong it was to think he was actually going to stop.
"Morning, princess." He said, exaggerating the n for added effect.
You threw a napkin at him.
He looked delighted.
That should have been your warning.
Because after that it became a daily occurrence.
Sweetheart.
Honey.
Pretty thing.
Sunshine.
Baby.
Every ridiculous nickname imaginable.
Only for you.
Never for anyone else.
Which annoyed you to no end.
"You know," you said one afternoon, "one day somebody's going to punch you."
He looked up from the couch.
"Maybe."
"I hope it hurts."
He smiled.
"You volunteering?"
You hated how attractive his smile was.
You hated how attractive he was.
Actually, no.
You hated that you noticed in the first place. That was the actual dilemma.
Because somewhere along the way things had become complicated.
It started small.
A glance that lasted too long.
A laugh that sounded nicer than it should.
The realisation that you always knew where he was in a room.
The realisation that you looked for him.
And suddenly you were in love with your roommate.
Your infuriating, annoying, way too cocky, enemy of a roommate.
Which was a disaster, to put it lightly. Because Jaehyun clearly thought flirting with you was a game. A way to get under your skin. But nothing more.
Meanwhile, every teasing grin of his nearly killed you inside.
────────────────────────────
Three months later, things became somehow worse.
You had adapted to living together.
Which was dangerous.
Because now Jaehyun was woven into your routines.
You knew what time he woke up.
What coffee he bought.
What shows he secretly watched when nobody was around.
You knew he hummed while cooking.
You knew he left cabinet doors open.
You knew he got grumpy when he was tired.
You knew entirely way too much.
One Friday evening you were met with a mouth watering smell as soon as you opened the front door.
It seemed like Jaehyun was cooking for once.
There was no way, right?
Following the delicious smell, you walked into the kitchen and looked over to the stove.
"What are you making?"
"Dinner."
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Then don’t ask if you already know."
He pointed a spoon at you.
"You know, conversations are usually easier when people don't start with stupid questions."
You scoffed.
“That’s a bold way to announce that you're too stupid to handle basic conversation.”
He laughed and just handed you a spoonful to taste.
You immediately froze.
Because he was suddenly very close.
Close enough to see every detail of his face. Close enough to feel the softness of his hoodie brush your skin. Close enough that your heart immediately started behaving like an idiot.
"Well?" he asked.
You quickly tasted it. "It's good... I guess."
His grin appeared. "Damn. Such high praise? I thought you'd spit it out."
"Don't get used to it."
"I think I will."
His lips curved into a smile when he got the last word in, and those irresistibly cute dimples made your heart skip a beat
God.
Oh God.
You were doomed.
────────────────────────────
A week later came the date.
You knew something was up with him all day, so when you walked into the living room, you were already prepared to be annoyed, but the sight in front of you nearly took you out.
Jaehyun was changing the middle of your living room, standing in front of the near full-length mirror. And you could swear you heard your brain shut down like those old Windows computers.
A white shirt was hanging loose from one hand while he stood there completely shirtless. Looking every bit like he walked straight out of your wildest dreams.
Endlessly broad shoulders on display. Those defined biceps, which you wanted to take a bite out of. A toned chest and a set of abs that looked like they belonged in a fitness ad instead of your living room.
You completely froze. And for one terrible second, your eyes lingered.
Then another second.
Then another.
His voice cut through the silence.
"Like what you see?"
You snapped your gaze upward.
He was already looking at you.
Smirking.
The worst part, tho?
He didn't seem embarrassed at all.
In fact, he looked delighted.
Absolutely basking in delight.
Your face heated immediately.
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Oh, I'm not." His grin widened.
"Your expression is doing all the flattering for me."
You scoffed and tried to walk past him.
Unfortunately, that required getting closer.
Which only made you notice things you definitely didn't want to notice.
The definition in his shoulders.
The way his arms flexed as he casually held the shirt.
The absolutely unfair muscle definition across his stomach. All the way down to his v-line that was dangerously peeking out...
You looked away so fast your neck almost hurt.
A low laugh escaped him.
"There it is again."
"There is what again?"
"That look."
"There is no look."
"Right." He nodded. "And you weren't staring at my abs thirty seconds ago."
You cleared your throat in a desperate attempt to play it nonchalantly.
"I was not staring."
"You absolutely were."
"I was distracted."
"By my abs."
"No!"
"By my shoulders, then?"
You hid your face in your hands, giving yourself away.
His eyes lit up immediately.
"Oh my God, it was the shoulders."
"Shut up."
He laughed.
Actually doubled over laughing at you.
The jerk looked impossibly pleased with himself.
"You know," he said, pulling on the shirt at an agonizingly slow pace, "for someone who claims to hate me, you spend a surprising amount of time looking at me."
You folded your arms.
"Trust me. Nothing about this changes the fact that you're insufferable."
"Mm." He buttoned another button.
"That's not denial."
You glared at him.
He grinned right back.
You let out a frustrated sigh and sat down on the couch, side eying him.
He looked back into the mirror, now finally dressed in that white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up neatly, displaying his delicious forearms, dark pants, his hair styled up instead of being in his eyes like usual. And he'd decided to wear cologne.
The exact same one that turns you into a mess everytime he wears it.
It's enough not to be overwhelming.
Yet just perfectly enough to make you painfully aware of it.
Your stomach twisted.
Because he looked good.
Really good.
Unfairly good.
Jaehyun noticed you staring again. And a slow smirk crept back on his handsome face.
"Take a pic. It'll last longer."
You looked away immediately, ignoring his words.
"Why are you dressed like that?"
His grin widened once again.
"Like what?"
"You know exactly what."
Jaehyun made eye contact through the mirror as he adjusted his cuff,
"I've got a date."
Your stomach dropped completely.
A date. Right. Why wouldn't he...
He was attractive, charismatic when he wanted to be, and infuriatingly good at making people like him, so it was only a given that he had dates lined up for him.
You forced a shrug.
"Poor girl."
His mouth twitched.
"Jealous?"
"In your dreams."
He laughed.
"You wish I was."
That was all you managed.
"Oh?"
Jay tilted his head.
"You sound disappointed."
You scoffed.
"In your dreams."
"Mhm."
You rolled your eyes to convince him, or maybe convince yourself.
"Have fun." You said, even if the words tasted like ashes in your throat.
His gaze lingered on you.
Longer than necessary.
Then his grin returned.
"Try not to miss me too much, princess."
"Get out."
He left, laughing at your frustration all the way out the door.
But this time, the sound didn't give you the usual butterflies. Instead, it felt like a knife slowly being twisted inside of you.
Jaehyun wasn't yours.
He never had been.
He never would be.
So why did the idea of him going on a date make you feel sick?
You hated it.
You hated everything about it.
────────────────────────────
The apartment felt empty afterwards.
Annoyingly empty.
And the evening only seemed to drag on.
You watched half a movie, you couldn't focus. You opened a book, didn't read a word. You checked the clock, then, checked it again ten minutes later.
This was pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic.
You weren't jealous.
Why would you be jealous.
No, that definitely wasn't it.
You were—
Okay.
You were jealous.
A little.
Fine.
A lot.
Some girl was probably sitting across from him right now. Laughing at his stupid genius jokes. Looking at him the way you tried not to.
You tried distracting yourself again, but it didn't help. It's like your brain insisted on imagining things just to torture you.
Was he having fun?
Was she pretty?
Was she making him laugh?
Did she get to see that smile?
The one that made you fall in love with him the first time.
The thought made your heartache worse.
Hours kept passing. And you were becoming increasingly miserable.
By ten o'clock, you were stretched out on the couch, phone in hand, trying to scroll through social media, but every few minutes, your thoughts drifted right back to the same thing.
Him.
Specifically, the moment you'd walked into the living room earlier.
You groaned and dropped your phone onto your chest.
This was pathetic. Actually pathetic.
You pressed a pillow over your face.
You weren't supposed to notice things about him. You certainly weren't supposed to remember them hours later. And yet your brain kept supplying details without your permission.
His broad shoulders.
His strong arms.
His stupid abs that were way too unnecessarily defined.
Even the way he'd looked completely at ease standing there while you forgot how to function.
Heat crept up your neck.
You shifted on the couch.
"Seriously?" you muttered to yourself.
The memory should have faded by now.
Instead, it seemed to be getting worse.
Every time you remembered the look on his face when he'd caught you staring, your stomach tightened.
Not in a bad way, which was exactly the problem. A very, very annoying problem.
Why him? Of all people, why him?
The guy was insufferable.
Arrogant.
Smug.
Impossible.
And somehow that only made remembering his self-satisfied grin worse.
Your pulse kicked up at the thought.
You immediately sat upright.
"No."
Absolutely not.
You were not doing this.
You were not lying on your couch thinking about Jaehyun or his perfect body.
Unfortunately for you, telling yourself not to think about him only made his face appear in your mind again.
His laugh.
His teasing.
His deep voice.
A strange restless energy settled under your skin. So you stand up and walk to the kitchen. Get a glass of water. And sit back down, drinking the cold water in one go.
The coldness lasted approximately thirty seconds before your thoughts wandered right back to him.
"You're actually the worst," you informed the empty room.
But no matter what you did, he didn't leave your mind. So much so, it got you bothered.
And there was no way you could ignore it at this point.
Jaehyun wouldn't be back in a few hours if he got back at all tonight. So technically, you could do whatever you wanted right now.
It felt so wrong.
How could you think about him of all people like this? How could your own body betray you like this? But the ache between your legs only got worse the more you tried to reason.
So before you know it, your hands are gliding down your own body all the way until you reach the waistband of your shorts. You could still stop now. You should stop now, but the need for relief overtakes your senses.
The moment your fingers come in contact with your soaking cunt, you let out a deep moan.
"Mmmgh...fuck,"
Your shorts and panties are pulled aside just enough that you can feel the cold air in the apartment on your skin.
Your thoughts drift to how it would feel like to run your hands over his body as your fingers glide through your already soaked folds and you start circling your clit.
"Ohh...Jaehyun..."
The quickly forming puddle on the couch is the least of your concerns as you keep imagining how good he'd feel inside of you. How he'd fil you up just right. All the way until neither of you'd know where he ends and where you start.
The vivid images make your pussy clench around nothing. So you ease the ache by pushing two fingers gently inside and immediately curling them to hit that spot that makes your toes curl every time.
"Fuckk...hnngh"
You slowly push in and out, your cunt squelching at the pace. And you feel the obscene nosies mixed with your loud moans, bounce off the walls in the empty apartment. Making the whole thing feel even more wrong.
Yet so good.
You imagine how pretty his skin would look with your marks all over him. How his deep voice would sound in your ears when he's overwhelmed with pleasure. How good his body would feel against yours as he fucks you into the couch.
"Jaehyunnn...please,"
Your coated fingers desperately thrust into yourself to the thought of his cock twitching inside of you as you'd feel him get close. Which only makes the coil in your stomach tighten as you pick up the pace.
You're almost there already. The combination of your imagination and your movements are enough to bring you to the edge.
Almost-
"Please what, princess?"
For one horrible moment, you can feel your soul actually leaving your body as you lock up and register his voice at the same time.
No! You heard wrong. He isn't home. He can't be-
Slowly, you lift your head.
And to your absolute horror, Jaehyun is, in fact, standing by the doorway. One shoulder leaning against the frame and wearing that infuriating smirk across his face in pure delight.
Oh no.
No.
No no no.
You quickly pull up your shorts and try to hide yourself with a pillow.
"How- how long have you been standing there?"
His grin only widens.
"Long enough."
You wanted to disappear. Have the earth swallow you immediately and forever.
"I wasn't—"
"You were moaning my name."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
"I-"
"You missed me."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"I didn't."
He walked over and leaned down slightly. Close enough that you could smell the cologne again. Close enough that your heart started acting up again.
"Princess," he murmured, clearly enjoying every second of this, "If you wanted me that badly, a little asking would’ve gone a long way."
Before you can react, he’s already on the couch, straddling you and trapping you there, his hands braced on either side of your head.
"Is this what you do when I'm not home?"
He grabs your hand, the same one you just used on yourself, and kisses up your wrist, whilst looking deep into your eyes.
"I- I don't-"
"You're such a bad liar, baby"
Slowly, he kisses up your hand, tongue flicking out to lick the same fingers you just used on yourself.
"Mhmm. How sweet."
You freeze, breath hitching as you stare at him in disbelief.
"That little act of yours—that so-called ‘hate’ you feel for me—isn’t really working, is it princess?”
You unconsciously press your thighs together, and his gaze darkens—something in his expression shifting in a way you’ve never seen before.
"You want me?"
Your breath catches.
"I asked you a question."
"...Yes."
"Yes, what? Use your words."
"Yes, I...I want you."
"But we shouldn't..." You start whispering, not because you didn’t want him. Because wanting him had become the only thing you could think about for months now.
His answer was quieter.
“I know.”
But he didn’t pull back. And you didn’t either.
His thumb brushed against your slightly parted mouth.
"I've wanted to taste these pretty lips for so long now..."
His eyes flicker up to yours, and you see the desperation in them.
"Tell me to stop before I lose my mind."
Unable to deny him—or yourself—any longer, you pull him in by the back of his neck and press your lips to his in a firm, decisive kiss.
The kiss doesn't begin gently.
It starts like something is breaking. Like months of restraint finally giving up at once, like every ignored glance and unfinished sentence collapsing into a single, undeniable moment. His hand rises to your face like he’s been waiting too long to remember he was always allowed to touch you. You, in turn, grab onto his shoulders as you deepen the kiss. His warm tongue glides across your bottom lip, and you instinctively open up as you both can't seem to get enough.
You'd imagined this so many times. To the point a part of you had started to believe the real thing could never live up to it. But the moment his lips met yours, every version you'd ever invented just vanished into thin air.
He slowly makes his way down your jaw, all the way to your neck, leaving behind little kisses like promises on your skin.
He looks up, searching for your eyes, "can I keep going?"
You nod immediately, too breathless to speak a word.
He smiles back at you before slowly settling between your legs.
His hands slide down your body. Over your the swell of your breasts, down your stomach and along your thighs.
"You're so beautiful..."
Jaehyun slowly pushes your thighs apart and gently yet firmly, starts pressing kisses on the inside of your thigh. Every kiss closer to where you wanted him the most. And he doesn't take long either before you feel his tongue licking a fat stripe over your shorts.
You gasp at the sensation.
Jaehyun smirks at your reaction before kissing up your core until he reaches the edge of your shorts. With quick hands, he removes the barrier between himself and what he wants. After making sure with you one last time.
You draw a sharp breath as the cold air hits your pulsing cunt for the second time that night. His fingers gently press into your thighs, keeping them apart.
A deep, unrestrained moan falls from his lips as he sees how worked up you already are.
"What a pretty princess, you are." he praises as he takes in the sight of your glistening pussy.
Jaehyun groans at the way you already start clenching around nothing. "You want it that badly, baby?"
That question makes you hide your face and instinctively try to close your legs as heat creeps up your neck. But Jaehyun’s hands shoot up immediately, holding them apart.
“Uh-uh, princess… don’t hide now. You were doing so well for me.”
The protest in your throat dies down the minute Jaehyun's mouth attaches itself onto your cunt. His smooth tongue flat against you, lapping up your dripping juices.
Fuck. He knew how to use it. It definitely wasn't his first time.
He matches every lick to every curve. And every flick to every angle. You squirm against his face, a hand inevitably reaching out to fist into his perfectly styled hair. And a soft whimper escapes your throat as you press him further into you, feeling a moan vibrate through your body whilst his nose brushes against your clit.
"Fuckkkk," you whimpered, gasping for air already as you look down at him.
And almost come on the spot at the sight of him.
His mesmerising, chocolate eyes, lock with yours as he pulls your legs over his shoulders and moves your hips as he dives in deeper. His mouth glistens with your juices, and a smirk locks back in place as he feels you get wetter by the second.
When you tug on his hair, he gives you a split second to breathe before resuming. Picking up his pace even more as continues to drink you, utterly obsessed by the way you taste. Like he'd never get enough. Like he could die happily as long as he could taste your sweetness.
Your breath catches as his tongue moves to your clit, circling and flicking firmly. "Jaehyun," you gasp, eyes closing at the overwhelming feeling.
He pulls back, chuckling at your state, lips swollen from his effort and your essence dripping down his chin.
"Look at you, baby. So lost for words. You’re usually impossible to shut up when you’re pretending you can’t stand me. Is this all it takes, princess? Just my mouth, and you're already a mess for me. You love it, don't you? This is exactly what you wanted isn't it?"
You shoot him a glare, which only seems to amuse him more. His smirk deepens as his teeth graze your clit, and you suck in a sharp breath.
"You fucker," you mutter.
The look in his eyes turns completely wicked as he stays perfectly still, purely to spite you. "Tell me you love it, and I'll make you see stars, baby"
You narrow your eyes and clench your teeth but can't help and give in, "yes, I love it. Jaehyun."
"That's a good girl."
And that's all it took for him. All he needed before he put his tongue back on you and sucked and prodded every bit of your cunt like there is no tomorrow. The burn of his scalp as your fingers kept tugging his hair only adding to his growing bulge.
The way your hips moved against his mouth, the way you kept pulling him in, the way your pussy only seemed to get better by the minute had him going crazy.
"Fuck, yes, Jaehyun!" you cried out, hips rolling up against his tongue, making him hum against your swollen folds.
Jaehyun couldn't stop. Like his fingers had been glued to your thighs whilst the wetness kept leaking from your pussy. You just tasted so fucking good.
Jaehyun whined as his tongue flattened over you, and he started to slurp all the juices before they could escape.
"Jaehyun...Oh God! Jaehyun!" you kept moaning, and the pit of your stomach started to coil up again.
Fuck. You were so close now.
Jaehyun said nothing, continuing his assault on your clit. Alternating between sucking and licking every few seconds, not wanting to miss a crevicle of your pretty pussy.
"Don't hold back, baby. Come for me,"
The moment those words left his mouth and you felt him adding a finger, you came undone. Your hips shaking against his face as your climax hit. Juices running down your thighs and to your ass, which he happily licked off.
The pleasure rushed through your body in pulses, leaving you seeing stars just like he promised you.
He only stops when you push him off and leans back wiping his mouth, looking at your blissed out state in satisfaction.
You’re still on the couch, trying to get your breathing back under control when you tell him,
“This doesn’t change anything.”
Jaehyun lets out a deep chuckle, like you’ve just told him a bad joke.
“You were singing a very different tune a second ago.”
“That was- That was just momentary misjudgment.”
“Oh? Was it now, my princess?” he murmurs, clearly not believing you.
He leans in again, catching your hands and pinning them above your head with infuriating ease. You shut your eyes on instinct, waiting for it—breath caught, heart already giving you away again.
But nothing happens.
Just as he brushes your lips, he pulls back.
You make a small, frustrated sound before you can stop yourself. His smirk turns cunning, like he was exactly waiting for that reaction.
He gets off you, already turning to his room.
“Come find me when you’re done pretending,” he says over his shoulder.
A pause.
Then, his voice drops dangerously lower,
"And I'll gladly make sure you and the neighbours never forget my name again."
Then he leaves with that calm, teasing certainty, like you’ve already been his this whole time, and he’s just patiently waiting for you to realize it—leaving you breathless and completely undone on the couch.
Lee Donghyuck has everything. The perfect career, perfect reputation and perfect fiancée.
You have nothing except a dead-end job at his law firm and a hopeless crush that borders on obsession.
When Donghyuck starts paying attention to you, it feels like a miracle. Like being chosen. Like finally becoming someone worth looking at.
The problem is that everyone knows what happens to the girls he notices: they cry, they quit, they disappear.
But you're different.
At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.
haechan (donghyuck) x reader, smut + angst!!!, office affair
words-> 10.6k words (what the helly, my longest fic so far!!)
content-> lots of smut!!!, dry humping, oral (m.receiving), vaginal penetration, breeding, choking, spit + cum eating, slapping, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, cheating, degradation (if u squint), power imbalance, obsession, hyuck is an asshole , unreliable narrator!!!
cami's notes at the end :3
The first time you see him, you’re holding a stack of files so high it obscures your vision, and you nearly walk into the glass door of the conference room. A hand shoots out, stopping the door before it hits your face. You peer around the teetering tower of paper.
“New girl,” a voice says, smooth and laced with amusement. Not a question.
You lower the files, and there he is.
Lee Donghyuck. With a familiarity that borders on reverence, he imposes respect with his very eyes.
You’d heard the name whispered in the breakroom, seen his photo on the firm’s “Notable Cases” wall. He’s the golden boy, the prodigy, the son who could do no wrong.
In person, he is more. The sharp, elegant cut of his suit, the dark, knowing eyes that sweep over you in a single, assessing glance, the slight but perpetual curl at the corner of his mouth that suggests he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand.
He is beautiful in a way that feels unfair.
“Thank you,” you manage, your voice barely a squeak.
He doesn’t move his hand, holding the door open, forcing you to pass under his arm. You feel the heat of him, catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne: sandalwood and something citrus, sharp and clean.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “The old geezers in there prefer their coffee scalding and their copies without smudges. You wouldn’t want to fail on your first month here, right pretty girl?”
Taken aback by the sudden nickname, the copies go back and forth on your hands as your eyes look for him, but he’s gone, striding down the hallway as if he owns the very air, leaving you standing there, your face burning.
You don’t know if you’ve been helped or warned. You feel, intensely, the truth of his words.
You are the newest, lowest employee at Jung & Lee, a firm so prestigious its name alone opens doors.
Your job is a symphony of mundane tasks: making copies and fetching lattes with precise sugar levels, and, as Mr. Jung had bluntly put it in your interview, “providing a pleasant atmosphere.”
You are meant to be a visual relief to the silver-haired partners, a pretty, quiet fixture.
But you are clumsy.
You spilled coffee on a contract the first week. You misfiled a crucial deposition just yesterday.
The partners’ eyes slide over you with vague disappointment. You are supposed to be pretty and enjoyable to look at, even if you are a little inept, but you are failing at even this.
Haechan, however, does not fail. He is a force of nature. At twenty-six, he has been at the firm since he was nineteen, his path greased by the legacy of his parents, both titans in the legal world. He wins cases with a dazzling, ruthless charm. He is the favorite, the heir apparent.
Therefore, the office rules are clear: Haechan wants, Haechan gets.
No one ever says no to him.
The engagement to Kim Jiwon, daughter of a rival firm’s senior partner, has been the talk of the industry for a while now: a merger more than a marriage, set for a lavish winter January wedding. Everyone knows.
Everyone also knows about the other, quieter stories.
The whispers about interns who cried in the bathroom, about girls who begged the HR staff to fire them, about assistants who transferred departments abruptly.
It’s an open secret, discussed in hushed, almost admiring tones.
He gets bored, they say. He likes the chase. Who can blame him? The power he holds is absolute, a silent currency everyone accepts. Everything is too easy not to try it.
And you, you like him.
It’s a pathetic, immediate thing, blooming in the pit of your stomach that first day you saw him, watered by every subsequent glance.
Convincing yourself that he decided to look at you, to help you, to call you a name. That must mean something.
It gets easily to your head because you’ve never been approached by men, not really.
Your relationships are a short, sad list of hesitant texts that faded into silence. Like the Wonbin boy you met at college, who ghosted you after hooking up at a party. Or that tinder date who left the restaurant after meeting you.
You’ve come to believe there is something inherently unlovable about you, something missing or broken that needs to be fixed, to be seen by someone, to be validated into existence.
Haechan sees you, and now you´re afraid no one else would look at you as him, ever.
He sees you, not in the way you crave, but he does see you.
His eyes linger on your figure in the communal kitchen as you fumble with the espresso machine. He watches you from behind the crystal door of his office as you rush past with paper cups filled with watered down black coffee.
They are not warm glances; they are cold, analytical, like a collector examining a potential acquisition. Debating himself if you are worth his time.
They make your skin prickle and your heart pound a frantic, hopeful rhythm against your ribs. Your face flushed every time you pass next to his office.
The gossip intimidates you, non stop stories of his cruelty wrapped in the velvet of his charm. But a desperate, hungry and pathetic part of you reasons that all those other girls simply weren’t enough.
Probably they deserved being treated like that, probably they didn’t realize how lucky they were that a man like Donghyuck was sticking around with them. But you…you are sure, you must be enough for him.
Maybe you could be.
Maybe your pleasantness, your submission, your sheer willingness to please could be what he needs. Someone who never says no, who never makes him angry, who is what he wants her to be.
So you decide to begin your own, pitiful campaign.
You wake up earlier to iron your tube skirt with special care, do your makeup like Minjeong’s, the receptionist who Donghyuck always smiles at.
You smile at him in the hallway, a little too brightly, batting your lashes and scrunching your nose a little.
You volunteer to bring files to his office, lingering to ask a pointless question about the case numbering system.
You go back and forth from his office to your pathetic cubicle to ask him if he needs a coffee refill.
You laugh a little too loudly at a joke he makes in the breakroom.
You are throwing yourself at him, a silent, obvious offering. A cheap doormat inviting him to step in.
After weeks of insufferable uncertainty, he accepts the invitation, but on his own terms.
There is no romantic confession, no real declaration.
It starts in the stark, concrete silence of the gray underground parking lot, weeks before Christmas.
Your car wouldn't start. The cold air from December gets to your bones and you’re near tears, fumbling with your keys on your trembling hands, when his sleek black sedan glides to a stop beside you. The window rolls down.
“Need a ride?” he asks. Not a greeting, not an acknowledgement of who you are.
Anyway, you nod, wordless.
He doesn't get out of his car, doesn’t open the door for you, neither helps you with your bag, but waits, watching you as you hurry around to the passenger side and slide in, still trembling.
The interior of the car smells like him: expensive leather and his clean, cologne.
He never asks you where you live, doesn’t give a damn about where were you going to.
The ride is silent. He drives with a lazy, confident grace, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from it.
You take a good look at him, not trying to be discreet; you’d never realize the small scattered moles on his cheeks, nor the prominent veins on his hands, rings wrapped in most of his fingers except the ring one, jet black hair framing his face beautifully.
You sit rigidly, hands clasped in your lap, now hyper-aware of the hem of your skirt, the way your blouse stretches across your chest, worried of how chapped your lips must be due to the freezing cold night. Mortified that he can look at you so up close.
He doesn’t drive you home. He drives to a part of the city you don’t know, to a bar with a flickering neon sign that looks like it’d have sticky floors and disgusting restrooms. It’s ugly and old, a place where no one from the firm would ever go.
“D-Donghyuck?” you ask, your voice small.
“I need a drink,” he says, not looking at you. “And I don't want to drink alone.” It’s not a request, not even an invitation. He’s carelessly informing you what is going to happen.
He walks into the run-down place as if he owned it with you behind him. Not giving you a glare.
He sits in a booth, far away from the other. He buys you a drink you don’t want. In the dim, smoky light, he tells you he’s tired. Tired of his fiancé, tired of the expectations.
“She’s so demanding…a spoiled rotten child who can never shut her damn mouth. Always talking back to me, always complaining. ” he sighs, swirling his whiskey on his ringed fingers and you may want to laugh at the description, because by what you’d heard, he’s not any better.
“So goddam empty. She doesn’t care about me. We don’t love each other. Not anymore, if we ever did. I’m so tired of giving my life to the firm and my parents' wishes…” His voice is a low, intimate hum that vibrates in your bones. Sadness comes innate from every complaint he lets out.
In any other context you would think it’s idiotic to feel sympathy for a rich kid having an episode of chronic affluenza. But not now.
He chose to give you a ride, doesn’t matter if he’s making you drink with him. He chose to open his heart with you from all people. It must mean something.
Your eyes linger nervously from your watered down drink on the table to him, on the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, on the hair falling and framing his face beautifully, on his moles. Allowing yourself to memorize every detail because you never know if this fallen-from-heaven opportunity will ever happen again.
He looks at you then, and his gaze is different: softer, focused and intense. It feels like being chosen.
“I’m sorry about that…sounds so, so sad…but then why…?” you dare to whisper.
He reaches across the table, his fingers tracing the back of your hand. A shiver runs through you. And you wonder if he feels the same tingles as you, that same electricity that makes you feel like you’re in love.
“It’s complicated, she is. But you are real…you’re not judging me, or saying that my problems are rich kid bullshit. What a nice, comprehensive girl you are…such a good listener…”
You flush at the compliment, the pathetic, desperate hope inside you swelling to painful proportions. He called you nice! And you feel like that’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear.
He drops a few bills on the table and stands, offering you a hand. You take it, your small, cold hand disappearing into his large, warm one.
Back in the car, the silence is different. It’s charged with a new, heavy intimacy.
This time, he opened the door for you, he waited until you were inside to follow you into the backseat of his luxurious car. Face to face, your bare knees touching his and you still can feel the electricity running through your body. Could he feel it too?
You don't get to ask him, his warm hand coming to caress your cheek, fingers toying with the fat there. The way you lean into his touch like a stray cat begging to be adopted tells him everything he needs to know.
He doesn’t kiss you right away.
His hand is already there: warm, steady against your cheek, his thumb dragging slowly across your lower lip like he’s testing something. Waiting. Watching.
“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled.
But you don’t even know what he wants you to say. And maybe that’s the point.
His fingers tighten just slightly as he tilts your chin up, just enough to take the decision out of your hands.
The kiss hits hard.
Not soft, not hesitant, rather decisive.
His mouth presses into yours like he’s already made up his mind for both of you, like this was always going to happen. Your breath catches instantly, your hands hovering for half a second before they settle against him, unsure but unwilling to pull away.
He doesn’t rush. That’s what makes it worse.
Everything about it is slow and deliberate, like he knows you’re not going anywhere. Like he’s certain you’ll let him do whatever he wants.
His grip shifts, at your jaw, then firmly at your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants you as the kiss deepens.
And you let him.
Even when your head starts to spin, even when something quiet and distant in you whispers that you shouldn’t, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be this close, you lean in instead.
Because he kisses like you mean something. And you don’t stop him.
When he pulls away, it’s barely an inch. Close enough that your lips still brush when you breathe.
He’s watching you. Really watching you. That same assessing look from the hallway, but now it’s hotter and way heavier. It’s not looking at your outfit or your posture anymore, it’s looking right through you, like he’s peeled you open and found the one part of you that was hoping for this all along.
“I knew it,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking slowly over your pulse point, wanting to squeeze. “I knew you’d be like this.”
Your stomach flips. “L-like… what?” you breathe.
Is he going to say pretty? cute? nice?
He leans in, lips brushing your ear this time, warm and teasing and possessive. “So easy.”
You don't get to feel sad when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, hungrier, one of his hands sliding down your back to press you flush against him. He can feel your breasts pushing into his chest as well as the way your thighs are rubbing together.
Your fingers twist into the fabric of his coat, trying to anchor yourself as he takes and takes and takes, and you give in.
And it feels like a victory. It feels like finally being seen.
When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your chest heaving. His hands roam all over your clothed body until they reach your hips, bringing you to his lap with ease.
Crotch pressed right against your center, skirt bunched up all the way to your hipbone. He hisses at the contact, aroused by how easily you gave up your morals just to please him. A smirk on his face that says you were made for him.
Thrusts to your covered pussy invite you to move, your hips grind on his back and forth and you can feel yourself growing wetter against his expensive formal pants. The friction of his size against your flushed parts combined to the accumulated heat on his car make your face go red and Hyuck's nose slowly gets covered in sweat that you wish you could lick off him.
“Fucking hell…” he says, low and breathless against your neck as he sucks the skin there, marking with a mix of purple and red, making you moan. “You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”
Your mind feels like static, but you manage a weak nod. “Y-yes…”
He chuckles, a dark, delicious sound that makes your toes curl. “Good girl.” His hands slide under your blouse lifting it lazily, just enough to have a nice view. He is warm against the skin of your back. “You’re not going to make this difficult, are you? Not like her.”
You shake your head, because no, you would never be difficult. You would never say no.
His fingers find your bra, and it’s like your whole life has been leading up to this moment. To be in the backseat of a car, letting a man who’s barely spoken to you undress you in a dark, empty parking lot.
He lowers the cups until your breasts are peaking out, palms slide around to cup them, and you gasp, arching into him. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching your face, gauging your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his eyes.
“You like that, huh?”
"Yes! Yes, please!" Your movements intensify and the friction combined to the tortuous touch on your hard nipples becomes almost too much.
“God, look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking responsive. You were just waiting for someone to touch you, weren’t you?”
You were.
The shame should be overwhelming, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in your ears, the frantic beat of your own heart.
He’s touching you. Hyuck's touching you. It doesn’t matter that it’s in the back of a car, that he’s engaged, that you’re nothing more than a convenient distraction. All that matters is that he chose you out of all people.
His hands are everywhere now, sliding your skirt up higher, tracing the line of your panties, the damp fabric clinging to you. “Soaked,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “All this for me?”
You just nod, unable to form words, lost in a haze of sensation. His fingers press against your clit through the thin cotton, and you cry out, a sharp, desperate sound that seems to spur him on.
His hands land on your hips one last time for the night, guiding your movements to accommodate his own pleasure. Faster, harder, even making you bounce on him as if you were riding him. Mesmerized by the way your tits follow the movement.
Your eyes fill up with tears, out of shame, stress or simply pleasure that has become too much. He feels it too, you know it by the way his nose scrunches and lets out a few gasps that sound like a dream you could only pray to have. Your panties are soaking wet, high pitched cries come out of your mouth...you feel like you are about to explode until...
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! Move!"
You are pushed away, back hitting the drivers seat as he undones his belt and hurries to free his length out of his black Calvin Klein briefs. Cock wet with precum that glistens against the dim light that leaks through the windows, is pumped by his fist one, two and three times until he is cumming on your wet panties. Rope after rope of his warm thick load lands on your covered pussy, pulsating around nothing.
The sight is obscene, so much you might as well have come from just watching. Your mind is racing with thoughts, he is so big, so pretty, you wonder how he would have tasted inside your mouth, or how much it would hurt being filled up by him.
"Pathetic," he says once he's done, panting and watching the mess he made on you. Fingers clean up his cum from your panties, only to smear it against your tits and clean the remnants on your blouse. "So fucking pathetic. Look at you."
He’s looking at you like you’re something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
You don't say anything as he pushes you to the side, fixing himself up, hand brushing his black hair back. He still looks like the most handsome man in the world.
He laughs, a harsh, ugly sound that has nothing to do with the warm chuckles from earlier. He zips himself up with a sharp, decisive movement, the metallic click echoing in the sudden, cold silence of the car.
Doesn't ask you where you live, he just lets you type your address into the gps app. Takes you home in silence, his eyes darting to you across the rear-view mirror from time to time.
He won't admit it, but the sadness painted on your face...that is going to be his favorite sight for a long time.
❤︎₊ ⊹
It becomes a pattern. Ugly bars, his car, once a cheap hourly motel that smells of bleach and despair. Every time, he goes about the same narrative of his misery with Jiwon.
“She’s mean,” he’ll mutter against your neck. “She doesn’t understand me like you do.”
He paints her as a gilded cage, and you, you are the wild, sweet, secret freedom.
But when you tentatively ask, “Will you tell her? Will it ever end?” he doesn’t answer with action. He answers with his mouth on yours, his teeth on your shoulder, his promises breathed into your skin.
“Soon,” he whispers, his hand fisted in your hair. “It’s not easy, you know? How could you know, though? No one’s ever taken you seriously.”
The words sting, but they are wrapped in the heat of his touch, and you accept them.
You accept everything.
He is mean from the beginning, in ways that feel like truths. In the motel room, watching you dress, he’d say, “You know you’re nothing at the firm, right? If you quit tomorrow, no one would notice. Or maybe…” He’ll chuckle and point at you just like a highschooler would do when bullying the slowest person in the class. “Maybe they’d be relieved that no one’s gonna burn their fucking coffee” He says it casually, as if commenting on the weather.
And you nod, because it feels true. Your existence is irrelevant.
But in his arms, under his weight, you are something.
You are his secret.
That has to mean more than being nothing.
❤︎₊ ⊹
And that’s how you find yourself here: New Year’s Eve.
The office party is on the top floor of a sleek skyscraper, a panoramic view of the city glittering like spilled jewels. You’re wearing a simple, dark red dress you bought on sale, spent half of your savings of the month to go get your makeup and hair done. That makes you feel almost, but not quite, like you belong.
He’s here, of course.
He’s the star, a handsome prince in an immaculate suit. Clear glasses and perfectly combed black hair framed his handsome face and she was with him. Kim Jiwon.
She is as beautiful as the rumors promised: all sharp angles just like him, icy elegance backed up by her white-ish blonde hair, body perfectly suited by a couture that you are sure was way more expensive than yours, followed by a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
She hangs on his arm, a glittering amethyst on her ring finger that could probably pay your rent for a decade.
She’s perfect, and you hate her for that. You hate that every glance you give at her reminds you of everything that you are not. Especially Hyuck's.
You hate that his arm envelops her and she looks untroubled. That she looks like she doesn't even want to be there, spending time with the man you would give anything to have by your side.
You mingle around the noisy room, filled with laughter and hypocrisy, all by yourself, choosing to stand by the window, nursing a glass of cheap champagne, watching them.
He leans down and whispers something in her ear. She laughs, a brittle, lovely sound. She looks so complete, so sure of her place beside him. The sight is a physical pain that sickens you.
For the first time, a sick, ugly thought slithers into your mind: maybe he wasn’t lying about her being demanding.
Maybe you truly are the one who understands him.
Eyes going back to the window as the sight of his precious hand keeps lowering on her back until he reaches the curve of her ass and you feel like you want to die.
The night becomes even worse with every second that passes through, champagne combined with wine making you feel like you are just a little freer, braver...
"Miss y/n?" A guy dressed in black and white, just another peasant serving for the night, touching your shoulder and leaning in to whisper something. "Mr. Lee asked me to inform you that he'd be waiting for you at the men's bathroom. A confidential matter." He bows, before walking away, your whole world shaking at the realization that he is thinking about you even when he is right next to her.
That has to mean something.
You wait a couple of minutes to make it not so suspicious, trying so hard not to laugh at the self-proclaimed win. The cheap alcohol stills running through your veins making you feel like you might want to tell everyone that Lee Donghyuck is waiting for you, and only you in the bathroom.
But you don’t. You can’t.
You walk away trying so hard not to look suspicious, a smirk on your face to hold the excitement, isolating yourself to the very back of the floor. Music blends far away, your heartbeat can be listened to in your ears as you push the heavy door open.
You find him alone, leaning against the marble counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't look at you when you enter, locking the door behind you.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice flat, bored. “Thought you could dress up all nice and pretend you’re one of them.”
Your confidence shatters. “I just… I wanted to look nice.”
“Trying to compete with her? Comparing yourself to a respectable woman?” He finally turns, and his eyes are colder than you’ve ever seen them. “Don’t. You’ll embarrass yourself.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the distance between you in three long strides. He backs you against the heavy door, the wood hard and unforgiving against your spine. “Did you have fun watching us? Is that what gets you off? Being a little voyeur, watching me with my fiancée?”
"I-I'm sorry...it's not that way, I—"
He scoffs, an ugly sound filled with mockery. "Then what way is it? Are you fucking stupid? Staring like you hate her...I just started with you and you're already getting on my nerves." His hand, engagement ring and all, on your cheeks, squeezing so hard until you pout for him.
"I'm really sorry, Donghyuck..." Words stuck between his index and thumb, not like he really wants to listen to anything you have to say. Your eyes are now shiny and glazed under the soft yellow light.
"You know what you need? To learn your damn place." He says, his anger turning into a dark amusement that thrills you more than it should. His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your head back. "So pathetic, you're about to cry, aren't you? I like that about you. That you're fucking pathetic. I could tell you to kill yourself and you'd do it. Wouldn't you?"
You nod repeatedly, head knocking on the door as he has you by the jaw still. Any ounce of self respect is thrown out the window the moment he puts his hands on you.
His knee presses between your legs, a hard, undeniable pressure against your core. You can’t help but grind against it, a desperate, shameless movement. He laughs, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your entire body, staying at your core.
“See? Desperate little thing. All dressed up with nowhere to go, but right here. On your knees for me.” His words are venom, but you lap them up like honey.
He yanks down the top of your dress, exposing the flimsy black lace bra you wore just for him. The one you bought thinking maybe he would take you to a nice dinner, maybe he would take you to a hotel for the night, where you would have a bed for two and maybe even breakfast the morning after.
His thumb hooks into the cup and pulls it down, the cold air hitting you, making you shiver instantly. However, this time is different, he lowers, under you so as to have a good taste of your sensible buds. Tongue lapping the nipple while staring at your face. Toying with the other between his fingers.
Still too embarrassed about your simple existence, eyes shut close as you moan relentlessly. Not giving a shit about who may hear you.
"Getting hard? Look at you...what a fucking slut." He whispers against your tit, making sure to be heard.
He bites down, not gently. A sharp, stinging pain makes you cry out, but he doesn't let go, sucking hard, leaving a dark, possessive mark.
A brand. Proof. He moves to the other breast, to your chest, your collarbones. Giving it the same treatment, until your upper body is a constellation of purple and red blotches. Hurting, saliva drying on your skin and making you tremble due to the cold or because you just want him so much.
He pulls back, admiring his work. “There,” he says, a dark satisfaction in his voice. “Now everyone will know you’re used goods. That you belong to someone.”
Your heart soars.
Belong.
He spins you around, your hands flattening against the cold marble of the counter. You see yourself in the mirror: the hairstyle you paid for now all messy, lipstick smudged, breasts exposed and bruised.
You look wrecked. You look wanted.
And you think you feel better than ever.
His eyes find yours for a moment and the only thing you come across is hunger. Desire, desperation, all of it in a single glance.
He hikes your long dress up over your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. “Look at you,” he says, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “Look at how much you want this.” His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down to your knees. The cool air brushes against your dripping heat. "You want this, don't you?" He smirks as his hands undo his expensive belt with a clink that makes your hair stand on end.
Hard length on his fist, pumping a few times, smearing the precum all over. He doesn't even bother to pretend to find a condom.
You try to have a look at him, pulsating just at the thought of him raw inside you, neck turning to try to have a peek of him, only to be taken by the hair and forced to look front. He aligned himself, wet and flushed head against your dripping folds, not pushing, just letting you feel him there.
His hand grips harder on your hair, hissing at the feeling of your warm pussy lips kissing his cock as he slowly pushes himself in.
You cry out as if being hurt. The primal feeling of being filled without any barrier between the two along with the way his cock throbs inside you once he's settled to the hilt is too overwhelming.
"You take it so well, pretty girl. Like you were made for this...for me."
Your heart throbs on your bruised chest.
Made for him!!
It needs to be true.
Hot breath against your cheek, his lips on the side of your face. Panting, licking and biting on the side of your cheek as his thrust starts slow and calculated. Perfectly angulated, up and down in a way that you feel so full and wanting to pee. He's hitting your sweet spot with no effort. Making your legs shake and your mind blank as your eyes go from the white ceiling, to his frame on the mirror, to yourself, not able to keep yourself in orbit.
His other hand goes from your hair to your neck, griping just enough to keep your head up. "Eyes on yourself, don't you dare look away. I want you to see what you are." His pace picks up, the slap of skin against skin and the obscene squelch of your wetness wrapping his throbbing cock the only sounds aside from your whimpers and his pretty moans, sometimes grunts.
"Is this how you wanted it? Getting fucked in the bathroom during the stupid company dinner?" He mocks, thrusts becoming sloppier and faster each second. "She's probably looking for me right now...wondering where I am. She doesn't have a fucking clue that I'm stuffing this tight pussy."
His words are poison, but they go straight to your core, making you clench even more around him. He groans in response, the grip on your neck tightening. "You like that, huh? Being my little secret. My dirty little whore."
He lets go of your neck, only to grab both of your arms and pin them behind your back, using them as leverage to thrust deeper. The angle shifts, and you see stars. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, and you love it. Moans become cries of help, telling him to please stop, that it's too much and he doesn't care, of course.
He stares at the printed reflection on the mirror, bruised tits bouncing deliciously with every thrust, and your pathetic face that's barely holding the tears...he loves every part of it. Loves that he can take whatever he wants and that you won't complain.
Not letting go of your arms, he fucks into you, hard, fast, making you scream out until you cum all over him, legs trembling as you fight to stay upright. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around his cock as your slick drips down your thighs, you see him squeezing his eyes shut and cursing under his breath as he buries himself deep inside you with one last thrust. His desperate gasps fill the empty room and you feel the warmth of him coating your inner walls, thick ropes of cum marking you from the inside out, makes you feel complete.
He collapses onto your back, his weight pressing you into the counter, both of you panting heavily. For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled mess of limbs and spent passion. You can feel his heart beating against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that makes you feel safe.
But the feeling doesn't last.
He pulls out, and you feel empty, both physically and emotionally. The sudden loss of him is a cold, sharp ache.
He's already fixing himself up, tucking his shirt back into his pants, adjusting the knot on his tie, washing his hands like nothing happened.
He catches your eye in the mirror, and for a second, you see something other than coldness in them. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar, detached amusement.
He turns to you, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. He gestures towards the small bin on the corner, the one used to throw paper towels.
"Clean yourself up," he says, his tone dismissive. " I don't want you dripping my cum all over the floor like a bitch in heat." A disgusted look on his face.
You hurry to comply, your hands shaking as you pull the strips of your dress and bra over your shoulders again and you clean yourself up with the rough paper towels. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, a warm, sticky reminder of what just happened. You ball up the soiled paper towels and your panties, and throw them into the bin as instructed.
He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest. When you're done, he walks over to you, his eyes raking over your disheveled form.
"You look a mess," he says, his voice flat.
He reaches out and smooths down your dress, his fingers lingering for a second on your hip. Then he turns you around, his hands gently adjusting the top of your dress, it doesn't hide the bruises he just made at all. And he doesn't care.
"There," he says, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you look like you've been properly fucked." He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes.
"Go back to the party," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Act like nothing happened. And don't you dare to look at me."
He unlocks the door and opens it, gesturing for you to leave. At least he's still a gentleman, you think.
You hesitate for a second, your heart aching with a desperate need for something more. A kiss, a kind word, a gentle touch, anything to hold on to.
But you get nothing.
You walk out of the bathroom, your head held high, your heart a shattered mess in your chest. Your body's still warm and your pussy drying along with the ambient.
The party is in full swing, the music louder, the laughter more forced. You grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a long sip, the bubbles doing little to soothe the raw ache in your throat. Trying so hard not to notice the way in which he stares at your bruised chest.
You stay in a faraway corner just to scan the room, and your eyes immediately land on him.
He's back with her, his arm around her waist, a charming smile on his face as he laughs at something she says. He looks perfect, like he hasn't just been fucking a nobody in the bathroom.
And you, you're just a nobody.
You watch them for a while, a silent, invisible and full of resentment observer.
❤︎₊ ⊹
The following Monday morning at the office, the gossip, once a distant hum, becomes a sharp, clear voice. All directed to you. Partners, waiters, staff, everyone saw the state in which you came back from an unknown place. And everyone could easily assume who did that to you.
Just when you were up to take Hyuck’s coffee to his office, two of the junior associates, Minju and Yunah, corner you by the printer.
“Hiii! Y/n, right? Sorry to bother you sweetheart, we can see that you’re on the run…it’s just that…” You nod, willing to do anything they’d asked you to do.
Go buy snacks, bring them lunch tomorrow, anything, you’d do it, but the pity on the tallest made your mouth go dry.
“You know he’s engaged, right?” Minju says, straight to the point abruptly but not unkindly. “To Kim Jiwon. The wedding’s set for this January and you know…they’ve been together for years. She even was at the Christmas dinner…"
As if you didn't fucking knew, or saw her at the dinner. You’re sick because your blood ran hot on your body, wanting to curse at both of them for being so nosy. As if you weren’t going to change that for good.
Nonetheless, the unspoken part hangs in the air: He’s using you.
“I know,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s…complicated.”
Yunah scoffs, a bitter, knowing sound. “No, it’s not. It’s the oldest story in this building. He gets bored, he finds a distraction. He breaks them. Then he goes back to her. You are not the first, and you won't be the last.”
"You should stop this, for your own good..." Minju says, as her perfectly manicured hands placed a streak of hair behind your ear with softness in her eyes.
Both girls leave you there, the printer whirring softly, a hollow ache in your chest. You knew they were right. Every word was a shard of glass lodging itself in your heart.
But the desperate, pathetic part of you clings to the memory of his hands on your skin, his whispered words. “You were made for me” “You belong to someone”
You want it to be true more than you want to breathe.
But the truth is undeniable. Everyone can see it, that you were a momentary diversion, a snack to tide him over.
For a moment, in the darkness with him, you had believed it was only him and you.
The fact that he had chosen you, all the "beautiful" moments spent with him…now you see the vast, crowded reality: him, Jiwon, their families, the firm, the entire world. And you...you mean nothing.
❤︎₊ ⊹
The realization comes after not being called by him all day.
After some weeks, you left work at five, you went to the market to buy groceries and once at home you took a shower.
He hasn't called you yet and you start to think that you'd done something wrong.
No hookups in his car, no groping in his office, not even a glance when you entered his office.
Anguish filling your chest with every passing minute, eyes holding tears because nothing had happened yet and it'd be pathetic to cry over nothing.
What if Yunah and Minju said something to him? Had the rumours reached his office?
Every imaginable thought coming to your head, emptied by three dry knocks on the door.
His text.
Open the door. Now.
You almost trip on your own feet as you rush, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Opening the door you find him, disheveled, angry, and more handsome than ever in his simple white t-shirt and black jeans. Hyuck doesn’t even look at you, he just pushes past you and walks inside, leaving the door ajar as he sits on your tiny couch.
He looks so out of place there, the small, worn couch swallowing him up, the cheap lamp casting a sickly yellow glow on his face.
“Donghyuck… what… what’s wrong?” you stammer, your hands trembling. Getting closer, you sit next to him, only to be pushed out of your own couch, to sit on your knees. His ringed fingers tangled across your neck, harder with every word he spat.
"Everyone is fucking bothering me with questions about you. It's driving me insane. What the fuck did you do, huh? Do you know what can happen if this goes further? Can your stupid brain understand that you're fucking with my future?"
"B-but you lied to me! You are going to marry her! Everyone knows, as they know you fucked me at the party, because you wanted!" The boldness of your words is new. Maybe the weeks of being close to him gave you some kind of confidence.
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. It's a cold, sharp sound that makes you flinch.
"What did I lie about? Did I ever say I loved you? Did I ever promise you anything?" He leans forward, his face close to yours, his breath hot and angry. “I said I was tired of her and believe me, I am. I never said I was leaving her. You heard what you wanted to hear.” His grip on your neck thightens, your mouth open gasping for air, eyes itching with hot tears threatening to fall violently. “Did you really think,” he continues, his voice a soft, venomous caress, “that I would cancel a wedding, a merger that’s been planned for years, for a desperate, easy girl like you?
His words are like physical blows, each one knocking the air out of your lungs. You want to argue, to scream at him, but you can't.
Because deep down, you know he's right.
You were convenient. Easy.
He stands up, pacing the small space of your living room like a caged animal, your eyes following every movement of his.
"You think you're special? You think you're different? You're not. You're just the latest in a long line of girls who were stupid enough to fall for my bullshit."
He stops in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of disgust and pity. "You're pathetic. You know that? You're a pathetic little girl who's so desperate for a little bit of attention that you'll let anyone treat you like dirt."
He's right. You know it by the way you can feel yourself getting wet just by the way he's looking at you from above. As he always had.
You look up at him, your vision blurred by tears, and for the first time, you see not a lover, not a savior, but a predator.
Take off your clothes," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. "All of them."
Your hands are shaking so badly that you can barely manage the buttons on your shirt. He watches, sitting on the couch, tighs spread and a cruel smirk playing on his lips, as you strip for him, your clothes falling into a heap on the floor.
When you're completely naked, shivering from a combination of cold and fear, he finally moves.
He leans to you, elbows to his knees, eying your figure, your head that rests low avoiding the wicked way his eyes devour you. Irises going from your hardening nipples to your clenching tights.
He doesn't kiss you, doesn't say a word. He just looks at you, at the glistening wetness between your legs, the way your body twitches with anticipation that betrays your fear with a sickening arousal.
He lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that makes you want to curl up and disappear. "Look at you," he says, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy, toying with the results of your arousal, smearing it everywhere. "You're so fucking wet... You love this, don't you? You love it when I remind you that you're nothing."
You can only moan in response, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, left hand traveling to your neck, squeezing just enough.
He's right. You do love it. You hate yourself for it, but you do.
"You're a sick little slut, aren't you?" he says, a low growl rumbling in your ears. "Getting off on being treated like trash."
He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, pretty. I'll give you what you need."
And with that, the hand that kept cupping your heat snapped shut against your plump cheek.
Neck incorporating again as he held your head and fixed your hair, wiping your hot tears away. Getting you prepared for another one. Again and again and again.
He loved the way you wouldn't even scream, willing to take anything he gave you. The grip on around your air flow getting stronger with each slap and the delicious sting on your cheek had your blood sizzling; thighs clenching together giving away how much you needed him. "What are you? Answer me." He's slapping your face again. "You're a fucking bitch, right?"
"I'm a- I'm a fucking bitch! Please, Hyuck..." you beg, your mind clouded with need and your body aching for more of him. He could ask you to bark and you would do it if that meant he'll finally fuck you.
The need to be filled, to be used, to be needed.
You'd let him do anything.
He laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that sends a fresh wave of shame coursing through you. But it's a shame that feels like pleasure, a twisted delight in your own degradation.
"Please, what?" he coos, his voice laced with false sweetness. "Please hit you again? Please call you a whore? Please remind you that you're nothing but a hole for me to fuck?" His thumb brushes against your already puffy cheek, a gesture that would almost be tender if it wasn't for the mocking look in his eyes.
His gaze is heavy, weighing you down, pinning you to the spot. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the shame burning in your gut, but you can't look away.
His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that's both terrifying and intoxicating. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat, a thing to be consumed, and a part of you, a sick, twisted part of you, revels in it.
Both hands gripping strands of your hair, forcing you to look up at him with watery eyes and flushed red cheeks. "Answer me," he demands, his tone sharp, impatient.
"Please..." you beg, your voice a pathetic whimper. "Please fuck me, please Hyuck.."
A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. "That's what I thought. Get this shit off," The grip on your hair pushing your face to his clothed crotch. You can feel the heat of him, the hard line of his erection through the rough denim, and a desperate moan escapes your lips, not fighting the urge to lick a wet strand across the material, earning a soft moan that you'll keep on your mind forever.
Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, your fingers clumsy and trembling. He watches you, a dark amusement in his eyes, as you struggle to free him. When you finally manage to pull down the zipper and push his black briefs down, his cock springs free, hard and flushed and angry-looking.
The sight of him makes your mouth water. He's so big, so perfect, and you want him so badly it hurts.
You lean forward, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tastes salty, a little bit bitter, and it's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.
You wrap your lips around him, taking him as deep as you can until your nose tickles with the grown hair of his pelvis, tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, a low, guttural sound of pleasure that makes your pussy clench.
You start to move, your head bobbing up and down, your lips stretched tight around him. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, the slight gag reflex a dull ache that only adds to the pleasure.
"Shit... look at you," he breathes, his voice a low, husky whisper, locking your hair against his pelvis, the way your throat grips him makes him hiss. The small build-up confidence that you're making him feel good is enough to look him in the eye, spit and precum spilling from the corner of your mouth warning because of how full is your mouth as he thrusts up, shamelessly using your mouth.
Right before your gag reflex betrays you, he pulls back, a thick strand of saliva connecting both. The urge of satisfying him urges you to lick at his balls, full of cum that you wished was just for you. His bony fingers grip along his wet shaft, up and down, enjoying a little too much the squelch of it all.
"You're such a dirty slut aren't you? You were crying just now, where did that shit go, uh?" A smirk playing on his lips as he continues to pump himself. "Now you're acting like you want to be treated like a dog."
You nod, your eyes glazed with lust and tears, too ashamed to speak.
"Open wide," he commands, and you obey, your mouth falling open as he guides himself back to your lips. He doesn't enter you, though, instead, he strokes himself, his movements fast and furious, until with a harsh groan, he cums, thick, white ropes of his release painting your face, your lips, your tongue. Right before you could swallow, he keeps your mouth open and kneels down, letting out a globe of spit to rest on your tongue along with his cum. Admiring his piece of art.
You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of him marking you, claiming you. It’s degrading, humiliating, and you love it.
Once his fingers leave your mouth, you willingly swallow and finally feel complete. He's in you, he has possessed your mind and your body.
You don't get time to say anything stupid before he's lifting you by the neck, sitting on the couch with you on top of him. The head of his cock's sinfully pinching you above your pelvis. Still half hard, he slides you back and forth, your wet folds coating his cock, your slickness making the friction delicious, a promise of what's to come.
"You're so fucking wet," he growls, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. "Is this what you wanted? To be used like a cheap whore?"
You can only moan in response, your head thrown back, your hands braced on his shoulders as you grind against him. Your clit is throbbing, a desperate, aching need for more, for him to be inside you, to fill you up and claim you completely.
"Please," you beg, your voice a broken, breathless whimper. "Please, Hyuck...please, need you...please"
He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. Doesn't even try to ask what you want, he knows it for sure.
He finally pushes inside you, a slow, deliberate stretch that steals your breath. He fills you completely, the feeling of him so intense it borders on pain. But it's a pain you crave, a pain that feels like pleasure.
He lets you adjust for a moment, his hands holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. Filled to the brim, your lungs run out of air because of the way you feel him twitching raw inside you. Desperate, primal.
Then he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. Your bodies move together, a perfect, messy harmony of flesh and sweat and desperate need. You lean down, your lips finding his, a hungry, desperate kiss that's all teeth and tongue, and the best of it all is that he doesn't deny it to you. He can taste himself on you, the faint, lingering taste of his cum, and it's the most intoxicating thing you've ever experienced.
His hands are everywhere, roaming your body, mapping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.
Left hand finding your hair, gripping so hard that your head is pulled back by force, his right hand groping your ass before meanly spanking you a few times that go straight to your core, tightening and clenching against him.
"Shitt, fuck!" He merely screams, thrusts fastening, your clit being tickled by his pubic hair with each movement. "You're milking the fuck out of me, huh? You want me to fill your cheap hole?"
You babble nonsense, something that sounds like a desperate plea, not like he would expect something different from you.
Your mind lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, your body writhing against him, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust. He doesn't care, he's not seeking for your orgasm but for his. This is about him and you know it, and you still don't care.
"Such a pathetic, disgusting piece of shit," he whispers against your skin, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.
Hands aggressively spreading your ass to find the hole he hasn't touched ever since he met you.
Index slightly massaging around the rim of your tight hole. The unexpected sensation makes you shudder, a loud, guttural moan escaping your lips.
"W-what...?" you manage to gasp, your body tensing at the new intrusion. No one has ever touched you there. The thought is both terrifying, but mostly electrifying.
He chuckles, a dark, wicked sound that vibrates through you. "Don't act so surprised, pretty. You'll take whatever I give you, won't you? This hole is fucking mine too, isn't it?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes harder, the tip of his index breaching the tight ring of muscle. The burn is sharp, intense, a shocking counterpoint to the pleasure building in your core. You cry out, your hands digging into his shoulders, your body torn between pulling away and pushing for more.
"Look at you, taking it so well," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive purr. "You're so full of surprises."
Index is fully inside you now, moving in tandem with his cock, a dual invasion that has your head spinning and babbling things between yesses and pleads to stop. The pleasure is almost too much, a white-hot inferno that threatens to consume you whole. Your moans are constant now, a string of desperate, incoherent pleas for more.
"Yes, that's it..." You can tell he's getting close to the edge by the way he hisses, eyes lost on the way your tits bounce and your body convulses, loving the way you're on top of him and you're still defenseless. All consumed on his clenching teeth and the aired moans he lets slip of his pretty lips. "Milk this cock, milk my finger, take everything I'm giving you, be a good girl...come over my cock, dirty slut—"
The final command sends you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave, a violent, shuddering release that leaves you boneless and breathless. Your vision whites out, your body arching against him, a scream that hurts tearing from your throat and warm tears that make your eyes burn spill down your flushed face. You cry out, your body convulsing, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you shaking and breathless. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around him and your warm slick dripping down both of you, all the way to your old furniture.
He follows you moments later, with a harsh, guttural groan tearing from his lips as he spills inside, burying himself deep inside you, your warm walls milking him as he spills his hot, thick release inside you, coating your inner walls, a warm, sticky flood that makes you feel complete. His hips jerk erratically, his body shuddering against yours as he rides out the waves of his pleasure.
For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled, panting mess of sweat and satisfaction and limbs that shudder with the overstimulation, his cock twitching inside you as your pussy convulses around him.
He's still inside you, a comforting, possessive weight that makes you feel safe, cherished. Loved...
But the feeling is fleeting, a fragile bubble that bursts with the sudden coldness in his eyes.
He pulls out of you, the loss of him a sudden, sharp ache. He pushes you off him, not gently, but with a rough, impatient shove that sends you sprawling onto the floor.
You land in a heap, your legs on one side, your body aching in a dozen different places.
Afterward, as he pulls his briefs and jeans up, finding his belt with detached efficiency, you find yourself on your knees. Literally on your knees, clutching the fabric of his pants.
“Please,” you beg, the word a raw scrape in your throat. “Please, don’t go. Please...please don’t leave me.”
He looks down at you, still bare, on your knees, with tears from the fear that he might abandon you mixed with the tears from pleasure; his expression is one of faint disgust, as if looking at a persistent stain.
He pries your fingers loose, one by one. “Grow up.”
He stands over you, a magnificent, cruel god, and you are nothing but a discarded offering.
“Don’t call me,” he says, the words a final, deathly blow as he grips your cheeks with extra strength, forcing a pout that he'd never admit to love. “Don’t text me. Don’t even fucking look at me when we pass in the hallway. I'll call you when I want to, and you'll be there, every-fucking-time. You got it?” He says, pointing a threatening finger at you. “We’re done. For now.”
And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you in the suffocating silence of your apartment.
The silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. It presses in on you, amplifying the frantic, panicked beating of your own heart. You’re alone.
Utterly, completely alone.
You lie there for a long time, a tangled, weeping mess on the floor, the slickness of him drying on your thighs, the phantom sting of his slaps still on your cheeks. The apartment feels cold, empty, haunted by the echo of his cruel words.
You try to piece together the shattered fragments of your dignity, but there’s nothing left to hold on to. Just the burning shame and the aching, desperate need for a man who sees you as less than nothing.
You drag yourself to the bathroom, your body aching with every movement. The tap of the water being open, on a desperate try to get his scent, his touches that still tingle off your body. The water in the shower is scalding, but you barely feel it.
You scrub your skin raw, trying to wash away the memory of his hands, the taste of him in your mouth, the feeling of him inside you. But it’s no use.
He’s etched into you, a permanent, indelible stain on your soul.
You look at your reflection in the mirror, and you barely recognize the person staring back at you. A stranger with puffy red cheeks. A broken, pathetic girl with a haunted look in her eyes.
You hate her. You hate her more than you’ve ever hated anyone.
You sink to the floor, the water still streaming down around you, and you finally let go. You scream, a raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure, unadulterated agony, until your throat is raw and your body is wracked with sobs.
This is your rock bottom. A cheap, lonely apartment, the ghost of a man who despises you, and the crushing weight of your own pathetic desperation.
❤︎₊ ⊹
He gets married the following week. The office's chat room is abuzz with pictures: Jiwon in a stunning custom gown, Haechan handsome and smiling in his tuxedo, a picture-perfect union of power and prestige.
And then, life returns to a terrible, hollow normal. You see him at the office. He doesn’t glance at you. Not in meetings, not in the hallways. You are air again. The ghost he said you were.
But the texts still come. Late at night.
The usual bar. 11 PM.
Or, more brazenly,
Parking level B2. Now.
You go. Every single time. Because when he summons you, the world narrows to a single, blinding point of possibility: this time, maybe, he will see you. This time, he will stay.
The encounters become rougher, more impersonal. He’s often angry, taking out frustrations about a case, about Jiwon, about his life on your body. He calls you the most degrading names, pushes you to your knees in dirty alleyways behind bars, fucks you in the back of his car without a kiss, a touch or word of affection afterwards.
And you let him. You welcome it. The pain is a perverse form of attention. The bruises he leaves on your skin are proof that you existed to him, if only for a few minutes.
You become an expert at hiding the marks. Makeup on your neck, long sleeves in the summer, a carefully practiced smile to mask the hollowness in your eyes that no one believes, but they don't care enough to ask for.
In the end, the reflection doesn’t come in a dramatic moment. It comes on a Tuesday evening, as you’re waiting for the kettle to boil in your silent apartment. You are waiting for a text that hasn’t come, and you realize with a dull thud of finality that you are hoping for it. You are hoping to be used.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the humiliation, beneath the loneliness, beneath everything he has taken from you, there is still that same pathetic hope.
Maybe tonight... Maybe this time...
Maybe he will finally love you.
The screen lights up.
And before you've even read the message, you're already reaching for your keys.
❤︎₊ ⊹
haaaaiiii, i finally finished thisss, i've been writing it for like 3 months and i just couldn't finish it because of uni and bc i was so blocked tfff :,c but i made it!!1 just in time for my pookie's bday!! i luv u haechi dongyuki, kisses from mx to wherever u are (as if he was reading this plek)
ANYWAYS, i really want to highlight that i do NAWT condone any of these actions (from cheating to disrespect ourselves like this) but!!! i'm so sick on my head that i find soooo hot this type of attitude specially on haechan idk why he's so mhmgmmgpdmhg. anyways, i wanted to write some naaasty smut with lots of angst, everytime i write sth i'm like "hell yea, i outdid myself" but this time i think i actually did, hopefully heheh
hope you enjoyed it!! let me know if you did!! thxs for readiiiing :3
“we shouldn’t be doing this,” you whisper, arms wrapped around yourself to fight off the chill of the night air. mark stands in front of you, letting out a soft chuckle at your words. the two of you stand in the middle of the community park, moon shining bright and high above you. he looks handsome, eyes twinkling just like the stars, and it breaks you.
there was once a time where you could tell him so.
“does mina know you wanted to see me?” you ask when he doesn’t respond, fog forming in front of your mouth as you speak. the boy shoves his hands in his pockets, brow quirking.
“why would she need to?”
“i’d think any girl would want to know if their boyfriend was going to meet up with their ex.” you try to fight away the bitter taste on your tongue, lips twitching into a frown. mark shrugs, stepping closer to you, the air between you thick and heavy. his eyes bore into yours, almost as if he’s trying to search through your thoughts, but you’re unable to look away. you gulp nervously, which he doesn’t miss, a small smile spreading across his face.
“you were always a such a worrier,” he murmurs, hand sneaking out if his pocket and reaching towards you. you freeze in place, tensing as his fingers close around the zipper of your jacket. the piece of clothing is half way open, and he pulls on the small piece of metal until it’s all the way up to your collarbone. you sigh, gaze falling to the ground.
“what do you want, mark?”
“do you miss me?” you nearly choke at the question, eyes shutting and your hands balling into fists. you think of the few months it’s been since the break up, how it felt to see him with another girl, and how lonely you felt at night when you wished for him to be beside you. you remember how hurt you had been but how much you wanted him back every day.
warnings : cheating, unprotected sex (please don't angels), weed, fingering, overstimulation, edging, fingersucking, slapping, rough sex, kinda dubcon, surprise filming (kinda consensual-ish), implied big dick mark lee, creampie, cocky dom mark, mark is extremely mean in this one (i think), temperature play (reader gets burnt with the blunt lol), mark’s lowk a jerk, reader's boyfriend deserve better.
The January air was bitter cold, biting through the thin fabric of your jacket as you stood outside Mark Lee’s apartment door. Your knuckles hovered an inch from the wood, frozen mid-knock, your breath fogging in the dim hallway light. You could hear music bleeding through the walls—something low and bass-heavy, the kind of shit he always played when he was in one of his moods. The kind of shit that made your chest ache in ways you refused to name.
You’d told yourself this was the last time. You’d repeated it the whole drive over, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel, your other phone—the one your boyfriend didn’t know about—burning a hole in your coat pocket. Last time. Last time. Last time. And yet here you were, at eleven PM on a Tuesday, your conscience a tattered rag you kept wringing out.
The door swung open before you could change your mind.
Mark leaned against the frame, shirtless, a half-smoked blunt dangling from his lips. The smoke curled lazily around his face, catching the amber light from inside. He looked at you the way he always did—like he already knew every excuse you’d rehearsed, like he’d already won whatever game you thought you were playing.
“Well, well, well,” he said, voice rough from the weed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Look who finally decided to show up. I was starting to think you’d grown a conscience.”
You stepped past him without answering, your shoulder brushing his bare chest. The warmth of him hit you immediately, the familiar scent of smoke and expensive cologne and something darker underneath. His apartment was a mess in that curated way he did—throw blankets haphazard, empty bottles on the coffee table, a half-finished joint ashtray overflowing. He lived like he didn't care about anything, and that lack of care was intoxicating.
“Can I get you something?” he called after you, his tone dripping with false hospitality. “Water? Wine? An excuse you can tell yourself later?”
You didn’t take the bait. Not yet. You stood in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself, staring at the city lights through his floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline blurred behind the fog of your own guilt.
“I can’t do this anymore, Mark.”
The words came out hollow, almost rehearsed. You’d said them a hundred times in your head on the drive over, practiced the inflection, imagined his reaction. But hearing them out loud made them sound pathetic.
A beat of silence. Then, a low chuckle.
You turned to face him. He hadn’t moved from the doorway. He took a long drag from the blunt, held it, then exhaled a perfect cloud that drifted toward you like smoke from an offering.
“But you’re the one that keeps coming back to me,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm, amused. “How does that work, baby?”
His eyes found yours, dark and knowing. He tapped ash onto the floor, not bothering with the tray.
“You show up at my door at eleven on a Tuesday, tell me you can’t keep doing this, and then you stand there looking at me like I’m the problem." He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Nah. You don’t get to play the victim here, sweetheart. You came to me.”
You wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it was his fault for being irresistible, for being everything your boyfriend wasn’t—dangerous, consuming, honest in his cruelty. But the words wouldn’t come. Because he was right. You had come to him. You always did.
Mark pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, slow, deliberate. He stopped inches away, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. The blunt hung loosely between his fingers, smoke curling up between you like a veil.
“You want to stop?” he murmured, tilting his head. “Then stop. Walk out that door. Go back to him.” His free hand reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But we both know you won’t.”
Your breath hitched. His thumb traced your jawline, featherlight, and you hated how your body responded before your brain could catch up. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
“I got some new weed,” he said, as if he were discussing the weather. “From this guy I know downtown. Supposed to be the good shit.” He took another drag, the end of the blunt glowing bright orange, then held it out to you. “Wanna try?”
You knew you should refuse. Knew you should turn around, get in your car, and drive back to the life you were slowly destroying. But instead, you took the blunt from his fingers, brought it to your lips, and inhaled.
The smoke hit your lungs hot and thick, and you coughed, your eyes watering. Mark laughed—that low, infuriating laugh—and took the blunt back from you.
“Lightweight,” he said, but there was affection in his voice. Or something close to it.
He took another drag, held it, then grabbed your chin gently but firmly. His thumb pressed against your bottom lip, opening your mouth. Before you could protest, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours, and he exhaled the smoke directly into your lungs.
Shotgunning.
The world tilted. Your eyes fluttered closed as the smoke filled you, mixing with the taste of his mouth—bitter and sweet and Mark. His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you in place, and for a moment there was nothing but the heat of him and the burn in your chest and the terrible, beautiful inevitability of it all.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless for more reasons than the smoke.
“You taste like regret,” he said, licking his lips. “My favorite flavor.”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t Instead, you reached out and took the blunt from his hand again, bringing it to your lips. This time, you held the smoke longer before exhaling slowly, deliberately, your eyes never leaving his.
His smirk widened.
“Attagirl.”
He moved behind you, his chest pressing against your back, his arms coming around to cage you in. He took the blunt from your fingers, brought it to his own lips, and took a long drag. Then his free hand slid down your stomach, over your jeans, pressing against the heat between your legs.
“You're already wet,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and smoky. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
You couldn’t. You were soaked—had been since the moment he opened the door. Your body betrayed you every single time.
Mark chuckled, low and dark, and his fingers moved to the button of your jeans. He popped it open with practiced ease, the zipper sounding obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he said, stepping back just enough to let you turn around. “I’ve been thinking about that ass all week.”
He took another drag, watching you with hooded eyes as you slowly peeled off your jacket, then your shirt. You were wearing a thin black bra underneath, your nipples already hard from the cold—or from him. Hard to tell.
“Take it off,” he said, gesturing with the blunt. “All of it.”
You unclasped your bra, let it fall to the floor. His eyes roamed over your tits, and he took another drag, exhaling slowly.
“Goddamn,” he breathed. “Come here.”
You stepped toward him, and he met you halfway, his mouth crashing into yours. This wasn’t the gentle, teasing kiss from before—this was hungry, demanding, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting of smoke and lust. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. You gasped, your head falling back, giving him more access.
“You know he doesn’t make you feel like this,” Mark muttered against your collarbone. “He’s probably at home right now, watching TV, wondering where you are. And you’re here, letting me mark you up.”
“Don’t,” you breathed, but it came out weak.
“Don’t what?” He bit down on the curve of your shoulder, hard enough to sting. “Don’t tell the truth? Don’t remind you that you’re mine when it counts?”
His hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping past the waistband of your jeans, into your panties. He found your clit immediately, circling it with practiced precision, and you gasped, your knees buckling.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Let me hear you.”
He withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He licked them clean, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Delicious,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “But I want more.”
He pushed you backward until your legs hit the arm of his leather couch. He didn’t bother with gentleness—he grabbed your jeans and yanked them down, along with your panties, leaving you naked from the waist down. The cold air hit your wet cunt, and you shivered.
“On your knees,” he ordered, pointing to the floor.
You hesitated for only a second before sinking to your knees in front of him. The carpet was rough against your skin, but you didn't care. You were too far gone, too drunk on the smoke and the danger and his presence.
Mark looked down at you, the blunt still burning between his fingers. He took one last drag, then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the coffee table. He reached down, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back, forcing you to look up at him.
“Open.”
You parted your lips as he took a heavy drag. He exhaled the smoke right over your face, blinding you for a second before he leaned in and spat directly onto your tongue. It landed hot and wet, and you swallowed without thinking, your eyes watering.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice rough. “Now show me what that mouth can do.”
His sweatpants were already tented, the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You reached up, hooking your fingers into the waistband, pulling them down. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already slick with precum. Your mouth watered.
You looked up at him, your eyes asking permission, though you already knew the answer.
“Don’t be shy,” he said, his hand still tangled in your hair. “You’ve done this before.”
You parted your lips and took him in, your tongue circling the head. He groaned, his grip tightening in your hair. You took him deeper, inch by inch, until he hit the back of your throat. You gagged, but you didn’t stop, pushing through it.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his hips starting to thrust shallowly. “Yeah. Just like that.”
His cock was thick, stretching your throat, and you could feel the drool starting to drip down your chin. He didn’t care. He thrust deeper, faster, fucking your face with an animalistic rhythm that left you gasping for air when he finally pulled out.
He yanked you to your feet by your hair, spinning you around and bending you over the arm of the couch. Your ass was in the air, your cunt exposed and dripping. He slapped your right cheek hard, the sound echoing in the room, and you cried out.
“That tattoo,” he said, his voice full of dark admiration. “Lucky. Yeah, that’s about right.”
His thumb traced the cursive letters inked into your skin, then he leaned down and bit the curve of your ass, hard enough to leave marks. You whimpered, gripping the couch cushion.
“Please, Mark.”
“Please what?” He teased, his cock sliding between your thighs, not entering yet, just rubbing against your wetness. “Please fuck me? Please stop?”
“Please fuck me,” you begged, your voice ragged. “I need you inside me.”
He laughed, low and cruel. “That’s more like it.”
He grabbed your hips, positioned himself at your entrance, and pushed in with one brutal thrust. You screamed—a raw, guttural sound—as he filled you completely, his cock stretching you wider than you thought possible. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started fucking you immediately, fast and deep, his hips slapping against your ass.
“Fuck, you’re zo fucking tight,” he grunted, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “This pussy belongs to me, you know that?”
You couldn’t answer. You were lost, your mind blank, your body surrendered to him entirely. He fucked you like he owned you, like you were nothing but a hole for him to use.
He slowed down suddenly, pulling out almost completely, leaving just the tip inside. You whined at the loss, pushing back against him, trying to take more.
“Uh-uh,” he said, slapping your ass again. “You don’t get to cum yet. Not until I say so.”
He fucked you slow, agonizingly slow, dragging his cock against your walls in deliberate strokes that had you trembling. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles, bringing you to the edge, then stopping.
“Please,” you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. “Please let me cum.”
“No,” he said simply, and started the torture anew.
This continued for what felt like hours—him fucking you to the brink, then pulling back, over and over until you were a sobbing mess, your thighs shaking, your voice hoarse from begging. He loved it. You could hear it in his breathing, feel it in the way he teased every inch of your body.
Finally, he flipped you over onto all fours on the floor. He positioned himself behind you, his cock still slick with your juices, and entered you again from behind. This time, he reached into his discarded sweatpants pocket and pulled out a fresh blunt and a lighter.
“Look at you,” he said, lighting the blunt with one hand while the other held your hip. “Look at that ass, bouncing on my cock. That lucky tattoo.” He took a long drag, then leaned forward, resting the blunt against your lower back. The heat seared your skin, and you gasped, but he didn’t move it. He let it burn you—just for a second, just enough to leave a mark—before pulling it away.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, blowing smoke over the burn. “It’ll heal. And you'll remember who gave it to you.”
He started fucking you again, hard, his rhythm punishing. And then you heard it—a click.
Your head whipped around. He was holding his phone, the camera aimed at your ass, at the spot where his cock disappeared into your cunt. The video was recording.
“What—Mark, no!” Panic cut through the haze of pleasure. You tried to move away, but he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them to your lower back with one hand, holding you in place.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was mocking, almost cheerful. “Don’t want your little boyfriend to see what you’ve been up to?”
“Mark, please no,” you begged, tears streaming down your face. “Please, delete it—”
“But I worked so hard,” he said, his hips still thrusting relentlessly. “I want everyone to see. I want him to see.”
He kept the phone trained on you, zooming in on the tattoo. “Lucky,” he repeated, his voice dripping with false reverence. “Yeah, I wonder what that little bitch of yours is gonna say when he sees this video. When he sees you taking my cock like the slut you are.”
“Please,” you sobbed, but the word was lost in a moan as he hit a spot deep inside you that made your vision white.
“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice suddenly soft, almost tender. “Just take it. Take it like the good girl you are.”
He released your wrists and grabbed your hair instead, pulling your head back. His thrusts grew erratic, animalistic. He was close, and so were you—despite everything, despite the humiliation, you were right there.
“Cum for the camera,” he growled. “Let him see how much you love it.”
And you did. You came with a scream, your cunt clenching around him, milking him as he groaned and buried himself deep, filling you with hot, thick cum. He stayed there, pulsing inside you, the phone still recording your trembling body.
When he finally pulled out, a stream of his cum dripped down your thigh. He turned the phone to capture that, too, admiring the view with a lazy smirk on his face, before tossing it blindly onto the sofa.
He collapsed onto the couch, pulling you up to lie on top of him. You were both slick with sweat and cum and smoke, your body limp and shaking against his. He reached for the ashtray, picked up the half-smoked blunt from earlier, and relit it with a flick of his lighter.
He took a long drag, then tilted your chin up, his eyes meeting yours. They were dark, satisfied, and utterly unrepentant.
“Same time next week?” he asked, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
You stayed quiet, the heavy silence between you proving that you both knew the truth.
warnings : cheating, unprotected sex (please don't angels), weed, fingering, overstimulation, edging, fingersucking, slapping, rough sex, kinda dubcon, surprise filming (kinda consensual-ish), implied big dick mark lee, creampie, cocky dom mark, mark is extremely mean in this one (i think), temperature play (reader gets burnt with the blunt lol), mark’s lowk a jerk, reader's boyfriend deserve better.
The January air was bitter cold, biting through the thin fabric of your jacket as you stood outside Mark Lee’s apartment door. Your knuckles hovered an inch from the wood, frozen mid-knock, your breath fogging in the dim hallway light. You could hear music bleeding through the walls—something low and bass-heavy, the kind of shit he always played when he was in one of his moods. The kind of shit that made your chest ache in ways you refused to name.
You’d told yourself this was the last time. You’d repeated it the whole drive over, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel, your other phone—the one your boyfriend didn’t know about—burning a hole in your coat pocket. Last time. Last time. Last time. And yet here you were, at eleven PM on a Tuesday, your conscience a tattered rag you kept wringing out.
The door swung open before you could change your mind.
Mark leaned against the frame, shirtless, a half-smoked blunt dangling from his lips. The smoke curled lazily around his face, catching the amber light from inside. He looked at you the way he always did—like he already knew every excuse you’d rehearsed, like he’d already won whatever game you thought you were playing.
“Well, well, well,” he said, voice rough from the weed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Look who finally decided to show up. I was starting to think you’d grown a conscience.”
You stepped past him without answering, your shoulder brushing his bare chest. The warmth of him hit you immediately, the familiar scent of smoke and expensive cologne and something darker underneath. His apartment was a mess in that curated way he did—throw blankets haphazard, empty bottles on the coffee table, a half-finished joint ashtray overflowing. He lived like he didn't care about anything, and that lack of care was intoxicating.
“Can I get you something?” he called after you, his tone dripping with false hospitality. “Water? Wine? An excuse you can tell yourself later?”
You didn’t take the bait. Not yet. You stood in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself, staring at the city lights through his floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline blurred behind the fog of your own guilt.
“I can’t do this anymore, Mark.”
The words came out hollow, almost rehearsed. You’d said them a hundred times in your head on the drive over, practiced the inflection, imagined his reaction. But hearing them out loud made them sound pathetic.
A beat of silence. Then, a low chuckle.
You turned to face him. He hadn’t moved from the doorway. He took a long drag from the blunt, held it, then exhaled a perfect cloud that drifted toward you like smoke from an offering.
“But you’re the one that keeps coming back to me,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm, amused. “How does that work, baby?”
His eyes found yours, dark and knowing. He tapped ash onto the floor, not bothering with the tray.
“You show up at my door at eleven on a Tuesday, tell me you can’t keep doing this, and then you stand there looking at me like I’m the problem." He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Nah. You don’t get to play the victim here, sweetheart. You came to me.”
You wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it was his fault for being irresistible, for being everything your boyfriend wasn’t—dangerous, consuming, honest in his cruelty. But the words wouldn’t come. Because he was right. You had come to him. You always did.
Mark pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, slow, deliberate. He stopped inches away, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. The blunt hung loosely between his fingers, smoke curling up between you like a veil.
“You want to stop?” he murmured, tilting his head. “Then stop. Walk out that door. Go back to him.” His free hand reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But we both know you won’t.”
Your breath hitched. His thumb traced your jawline, featherlight, and you hated how your body responded before your brain could catch up. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
“I got some new weed,” he said, as if he were discussing the weather. “From this guy I know downtown. Supposed to be the good shit.” He took another drag, the end of the blunt glowing bright orange, then held it out to you. “Wanna try?”
You knew you should refuse. Knew you should turn around, get in your car, and drive back to the life you were slowly destroying. But instead, you took the blunt from his fingers, brought it to your lips, and inhaled.
The smoke hit your lungs hot and thick, and you coughed, your eyes watering. Mark laughed—that low, infuriating laugh—and took the blunt back from you.
“Lightweight,” he said, but there was affection in his voice. Or something close to it.
He took another drag, held it, then grabbed your chin gently but firmly. His thumb pressed against your bottom lip, opening your mouth. Before you could protest, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours, and he exhaled the smoke directly into your lungs.
Shotgunning.
The world tilted. Your eyes fluttered closed as the smoke filled you, mixing with the taste of his mouth—bitter and sweet and Mark. His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you in place, and for a moment there was nothing but the heat of him and the burn in your chest and the terrible, beautiful inevitability of it all.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless for more reasons than the smoke.
“You taste like regret,” he said, licking his lips. “My favorite flavor.”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t Instead, you reached out and took the blunt from his hand again, bringing it to your lips. This time, you held the smoke longer before exhaling slowly, deliberately, your eyes never leaving his.
His smirk widened.
“Attagirl.”
He moved behind you, his chest pressing against your back, his arms coming around to cage you in. He took the blunt from your fingers, brought it to his own lips, and took a long drag. Then his free hand slid down your stomach, over your jeans, pressing against the heat between your legs.
“You're already wet,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and smoky. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
You couldn’t. You were soaked—had been since the moment he opened the door. Your body betrayed you every single time.
Mark chuckled, low and dark, and his fingers moved to the button of your jeans. He popped it open with practiced ease, the zipper sounding obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he said, stepping back just enough to let you turn around. “I’ve been thinking about that ass all week.”
He took another drag, watching you with hooded eyes as you slowly peeled off your jacket, then your shirt. You were wearing a thin black bra underneath, your nipples already hard from the cold—or from him. Hard to tell.
“Take it off,” he said, gesturing with the blunt. “All of it.”
You unclasped your bra, let it fall to the floor. His eyes roamed over your tits, and he took another drag, exhaling slowly.
“Goddamn,” he breathed. “Come here.”
You stepped toward him, and he met you halfway, his mouth crashing into yours. This wasn’t the gentle, teasing kiss from before—this was hungry, demanding, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting of smoke and lust. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. You gasped, your head falling back, giving him more access.
“You know he doesn’t make you feel like this,” Mark muttered against your collarbone. “He’s probably at home right now, watching TV, wondering where you are. And you’re here, letting me mark you up.”
“Don’t,” you breathed, but it came out weak.
“Don’t what?” He bit down on the curve of your shoulder, hard enough to sting. “Don’t tell the truth? Don’t remind you that you’re mine when it counts?”
His hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping past the waistband of your jeans, into your panties. He found your clit immediately, circling it with practiced precision, and you gasped, your knees buckling.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Let me hear you.”
He withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He licked them clean, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Delicious,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “But I want more.”
He pushed you backward until your legs hit the arm of his leather couch. He didn’t bother with gentleness—he grabbed your jeans and yanked them down, along with your panties, leaving you naked from the waist down. The cold air hit your wet cunt, and you shivered.
“On your knees,” he ordered, pointing to the floor.
You hesitated for only a second before sinking to your knees in front of him. The carpet was rough against your skin, but you didn't care. You were too far gone, too drunk on the smoke and the danger and his presence.
Mark looked down at you, the blunt still burning between his fingers. He took one last drag, then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the coffee table. He reached down, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back, forcing you to look up at him.
“Open.”
You parted your lips as he took a heavy drag. He exhaled the smoke right over your face, blinding you for a second before he leaned in and spat directly onto your tongue. It landed hot and wet, and you swallowed without thinking, your eyes watering.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice rough. “Now show me what that mouth can do.”
His sweatpants were already tented, the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You reached up, hooking your fingers into the waistband, pulling them down. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already slick with precum. Your mouth watered.
You looked up at him, your eyes asking permission, though you already knew the answer.
“Don’t be shy,” he said, his hand still tangled in your hair. “You’ve done this before.”
You parted your lips and took him in, your tongue circling the head. He groaned, his grip tightening in your hair. You took him deeper, inch by inch, until he hit the back of your throat. You gagged, but you didn’t stop, pushing through it.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his hips starting to thrust shallowly. “Yeah. Just like that.”
His cock was thick, stretching your throat, and you could feel the drool starting to drip down your chin. He didn’t care. He thrust deeper, faster, fucking your face with an animalistic rhythm that left you gasping for air when he finally pulled out.
He yanked you to your feet by your hair, spinning you around and bending you over the arm of the couch. Your ass was in the air, your cunt exposed and dripping. He slapped your right cheek hard, the sound echoing in the room, and you cried out.
“That tattoo,” he said, his voice full of dark admiration. “Lucky. Yeah, that’s about right.”
His thumb traced the cursive letters inked into your skin, then he leaned down and bit the curve of your ass, hard enough to leave marks. You whimpered, gripping the couch cushion.
“Please, Mark.”
“Please what?” He teased, his cock sliding between your thighs, not entering yet, just rubbing against your wetness. “Please fuck me? Please stop?”
“Please fuck me,” you begged, your voice ragged. “I need you inside me.”
He laughed, low and cruel. “That’s more like it.”
He grabbed your hips, positioned himself at your entrance, and pushed in with one brutal thrust. You screamed—a raw, guttural sound—as he filled you completely, his cock stretching you wider than you thought possible. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started fucking you immediately, fast and deep, his hips slapping against your ass.
“Fuck, you’re zo fucking tight,” he grunted, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “This pussy belongs to me, you know that?”
You couldn’t answer. You were lost, your mind blank, your body surrendered to him entirely. He fucked you like he owned you, like you were nothing but a hole for him to use.
He slowed down suddenly, pulling out almost completely, leaving just the tip inside. You whined at the loss, pushing back against him, trying to take more.
“Uh-uh,” he said, slapping your ass again. “You don’t get to cum yet. Not until I say so.”
He fucked you slow, agonizingly slow, dragging his cock against your walls in deliberate strokes that had you trembling. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles, bringing you to the edge, then stopping.
“Please,” you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. “Please let me cum.”
“No,” he said simply, and started the torture anew.
This continued for what felt like hours—him fucking you to the brink, then pulling back, over and over until you were a sobbing mess, your thighs shaking, your voice hoarse from begging. He loved it. You could hear it in his breathing, feel it in the way he teased every inch of your body.
Finally, he flipped you over onto all fours on the floor. He positioned himself behind you, his cock still slick with your juices, and entered you again from behind. This time, he reached into his discarded sweatpants pocket and pulled out a fresh blunt and a lighter.
“Look at you,” he said, lighting the blunt with one hand while the other held your hip. “Look at that ass, bouncing on my cock. That lucky tattoo.” He took a long drag, then leaned forward, resting the blunt against your lower back. The heat seared your skin, and you gasped, but he didn’t move it. He let it burn you—just for a second, just enough to leave a mark—before pulling it away.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, blowing smoke over the burn. “It’ll heal. And you'll remember who gave it to you.”
He started fucking you again, hard, his rhythm punishing. And then you heard it—a click.
Your head whipped around. He was holding his phone, the camera aimed at your ass, at the spot where his cock disappeared into your cunt. The video was recording.
“What—Mark, no!” Panic cut through the haze of pleasure. You tried to move away, but he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them to your lower back with one hand, holding you in place.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was mocking, almost cheerful. “Don’t want your little boyfriend to see what you’ve been up to?”
“Mark, please no,” you begged, tears streaming down your face. “Please, delete it—”
“But I worked so hard,” he said, his hips still thrusting relentlessly. “I want everyone to see. I want him to see.”
He kept the phone trained on you, zooming in on the tattoo. “Lucky,” he repeated, his voice dripping with false reverence. “Yeah, I wonder what that little bitch of yours is gonna say when he sees this video. When he sees you taking my cock like the slut you are.”
“Please,” you sobbed, but the word was lost in a moan as he hit a spot deep inside you that made your vision white.
“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice suddenly soft, almost tender. “Just take it. Take it like the good girl you are.”
He released your wrists and grabbed your hair instead, pulling your head back. His thrusts grew erratic, animalistic. He was close, and so were you—despite everything, despite the humiliation, you were right there.
“Cum for the camera,” he growled. “Let him see how much you love it.”
And you did. You came with a scream, your cunt clenching around him, milking him as he groaned and buried himself deep, filling you with hot, thick cum. He stayed there, pulsing inside you, the phone still recording your trembling body.
When he finally pulled out, a stream of his cum dripped down your thigh. He turned the phone to capture that, too, admiring the view with a lazy smirk on his face, before tossing it blindly onto the sofa.
He collapsed onto the couch, pulling you up to lie on top of him. You were both slick with sweat and cum and smoke, your body limp and shaking against his. He reached for the ashtray, picked up the half-smoked blunt from earlier, and relit it with a flick of his lighter.
He took a long drag, then tilted your chin up, his eyes meeting yours. They were dark, satisfied, and utterly unrepentant.
“Same time next week?” he asked, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
You stayed quiet, the heavy silence between you proving that you both knew the truth.
⟶ summary: in english 102 you were asked to write a letter to the future; you wrote to yourself while anton wrote to you. two years after graduation the letters return but you’re too late to be eighteen and too late to start again.
˗ˏˋpairing: nyu student!anton x f!reader
❀ genre: slow burn, friends to lovers, miscommunication trope + situationship
❀ word count: 20.8k
❀ staring: manon (18-24)- katseye, anton (18-23) + sohee (18-24)- riize, jake (25)- enhypen.
⟶ warnings: swearing, emotional cheating (present timeline), jealousy/possessiveness, miscommunication, ambiguous relationship dynamics (situationship), implied sexual content, consumption of alcohol, toxic relationship dynamic, angst, unresolved tension, “right person, wrong time,” open ending. please let me know if i’ve missed anything!
✎୭: this was so fun to write! started it last year around christmas then lost the drive but so glad i picked it back up!! i recommend listening to: before you leave me by alex warren, yard sale by alex warren, i'll be waiting by cian ducrot choir version (fun fact, this is the song that inspired this fic), phases by pretty much and this city by sam fischer. enjoy my butterflies <3
NYU freshman year
You don’t think you’ll ever forget the day you met Anton Lee.
The way he smiled as he steadied the side of your bookshelf while you fumbled with the screws. The way he pointed to the stack of novels still waiting in their box and asked you a million and one questions about each and every one of them: why you owned them, what they were about, which ones you loved and which ones you thought to be overrated. He didn’t even seem to notice that you were sweating from the effort of screwing in the nails, too caught up in listening to your rambling answers to help steady the bookshelf.
It was move-in weekend. Your parents had driven away the night before, leaving you with swollen eyes and a lump in your throat while your roommate Manon laughed at you all night for crying. She called you a baby and said you’d survive but truth is, survival didn’t feel possible until two mornings later when Anton and his roommate Sohee came knocking on your door.
They came bearing gifts: bagels and watery hot chocolate stolen from the dining hall. “We saw you moving in,” Anton had explained quickly, voice tumbling over itself. “Thought maybe you could use some help.”
Then Sohee, grinning, lifted the plate in his hands and added, “Plus, we saw you at the frat party last night. Figured you’d need food.”
Manon gasped like they were saviors then shoved you aside to grab the first bagel and announced right then and there that the four of you were friends now. You could only laugh, stepping back to let them in, not realizing you’d just opened the door to the rest of your life.
From that morning on, the four of you were impossible to untangle. What was meant to be a favor quickly became a habit; Anton and Sohee were always at your door and Manon always let them in.
Friday nights meant football games where you painted your faces in sloppy stripes and screamed yourselves raw from the bleachers, even though you didn’t understand half the rules, just that your school was winning and that was enough.
Saturdays were for swim meets with posters in hand watching Anton slice through the water and touch the wall first every single time. His cheeks always burned when you swore he’d be captain next year, shrugging off the praise even as pride bloomed in his chest.
Sohee had his concerts. The three of you filed into the auditorium with flowers clutched tight, screaming every time he had a solo until the choir director threatened to throw you out. You would struggle to keep in your laughs for the rest of the night.
And then there was ballet (Manon’s bright idea), an elective she convinced you to take, neglecting to mention you’d be performing on stage three times that semester but Anton and Sohee showed up anyway, front row with phones raised high, clapping politely like you were professionals. Without fail, they always took you and Manon out to dinner afterward because they knew how hungry you’d be.
When November came around and the semester started to come to a close, you pushed tables together in the dorm lounge for Friendsgiving, each of you bringing something from home. Anton and Sohee taught you about their Korean traditions, Manon brought a mix of her Ghanaian and Swiss dishes and you explained yours between laughter while food was passed around. It felt like home.
They felt like home.
By December there was a tiny Christmas tree you and Anton decorated while Manon and Sohee strung lights around your room. You exchanged cheap gifts wrapped in too much tape and cards scribbled with words that mattered more than the presents themselves. When you all went away for the holidays, you kept in touch, making plans for what the spring semester would hold.
When spring finally rolled around, it didn’t feel quite as terrifying as fall had. New York was no longer something you were surviving but somewhere you were beginning to belong to.
You built your schedules together over late-night takeout the first week, promising to meet for lunch between classes and somehow you all ended up in the same section of English 102.
You were the only one who treated it like it mattered, you figured it was the English major in you. Manon used it as an extra hour of watching shows, Sohee half the time scribbled choreography notes in the margins or finished homework for music theory and to give Anton credit, he at least paid attention…even if you sometimes caught him doodling staff lines in the corners of his notebook.
It was a small class, tucked into one of the older buildings and the professor had a habit of asking open-ended questions that usually went unanswered but you liked her. She had a soft spot for fiction and a drawer full of chocolate she passed around during presentations.
The second semester moved faster than the first. There were fewer homesick nights and more impromptu trips to Chinatown; more movie nights in the dorm lounge with popcorn that always burned; more inside jokes scribbled onto whiteboards in the dorm halls; more of Anton sitting cross-legged on your bed with his guitar asking you to read his lyrics out loud just to hear how they sounded coming from someone else.
It’s the last week of classes and Sohee and Manon both opted to skip, completely over the school year while you decided to go, Anton tagged along so you wouldn’t be alone. The classroom is only half full and students are lounging around studying for their last finals.
You’re in the front row with Anton beside you, passing the time with a game of tic-tac-toe in the margin of his notebook until your professor claps her hands together. “Alright,” she calls, smiling at the groans she knows are coming. “Time to go over your last assignment of the semester and don’t worry, it’s not an essay.”
She reaches for a stack on her desk and lifts a small box of envelopes. “I want you all to write a letter. It can be to yourself, to a classmate, to anyone who’s made an impression on you during your freshman year. Seal it up, give it to me and I’ll send them back to you…two years after you graduate.”
You pout at the catch, two years? You glance at Anton expecting a joke but he’s sitting unusually still. His pencil, the one he always chews on, is balanced between his fingers frozen mid-tap against his notebook. You nudge him. “Earth to Anton?”
He blinks out of whatever world he drifted into and awkwardly laughs. “Yeah? Sorry…just thinking about who to write to.”
“Yourself,” you say easily, already reaching for the envelope your professor is passing down the row.
He hums noncommittingly and reaches for an envelope, turning it over in his hands slowly.
You don’t waste time and start writing immediately. You sign and date the corner of your lined paper and start spilling little pieces of who you think you’ll become. You ask future-you about the bestseller you hope you’ll write, ask if you officially move to New York, you add a line about Manon wondering if the two of you really commit to living together postgrad. Then you steal a peak at Anton who still seems to be lost in thought before hesitantly writing: I hope we stay close.
You don’t think much of it, it’s a throwaway sentiment. When you finish, you look up and see Anton still hasn’t written a single word. His notebook is blank, still untouched almost like he’s afraid to write.
“You okay?” you whisper.
He startles again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.”
He clears his throat, flips open his notebook and finally starts writing but not in his usual messy handwriting, rather slower and neater. You can’t see a single line of what he writes and you don’t try to. It feels…private.
When the lecture is over, your professor calls out. “Alright, pass them forward!”
You lick your envelope, seal it closed and hand it off. Anton hesitates for a moment before sealing his and slides it into the pile with everyone else’s. As you pack your bag, you say, “Kinda weird to think we’ll get these back in what…five years?”
He hums softly. “Feels so far.”
You don’t notice the way he looks at the envelopes as your professor tucks the box under her arm. You don’t notice the way his fingers flex like he’s itching to pull his back out. Once you make it outside Anton bumps your shoulder playfully as you walk. “Lunch?” he asks.
You smile and loop arms with him. “Obviously.”
You don’t think about the letters again.
Present Day
“Happy birthday to you~”
You stir awake to the faint sound of someone humming low and off-key in your ear. For a split second, you think it’s Manon, already back from whatever glamorous event she’s working in Paris this week but when you blink your eyes open, it’s your boyfriend Jake sitting at the edge of your bed, hair messy, still shirtless and holding a cupcake with a crooked candle stuck in the middle.
“Happy birthday to you…” he sings softly, dragging out the tune like he’s trying not to laugh at himself. When you groan and drag the blanket over your head, he nudges your leg gently with his knee. “Nope. Come on, you have to listen.”
You groan and roll onto your back covering your eyes with both hands. “Jake, it’s too early for this.”
“It’s nine,” he says through a laugh before going back to singing.
You peek at him between your fingers and see his proud smile and you don’t have the heart to argue. When he finishes, he leans over to kiss your forehead then whispers, “Happy birthday, pretty girl,” before offering you the cupcake.
You sit up, eyes still heavy with sleep, hair a mess and voice rough. “Where’d you even get a cupcake?”
He tilts his head towards your door “Bodega downstairs. I told them it was your birthday and he insisted on giving me the biggest one.”
You smile despite yourself and bite into the cupcake. A few crumbs fall causing Jake to brush crumbs from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. There’s something so intimate about it you glance away for a second, suddenly aware of the quiet apartment around you. Manon’s job as a social media coordinator for a global beauty brand has her in Europe more often than in the apartment you’ve shared since graduation. You barely see her these days except for late-night FaceTimes and the rare occasions when she’s home.
And Jake…well, Jake has slowly filled the leftover space.
You met him last spring at a mutual friend’s housewarming party; soft-spoken, polite, a little awkward but in a cute way. He works in Manhattan as a business analyst, wears button-downs even on weekends and chips in towards your rent on months you’re behind. He’s the kind of guy your parents hoped you end up with.
“So,” he says, settling beside you, his knee bumping yours. “What does the birthday girl want to do today?”
You shrug. “I work today, remember? Manuscript review.”
He frowns. “Are they seriously making you work on your birthday?”
“That’s the life of an editorial assistant,” you joke, nudging him. “Also, I really don’t mind. It’s kind of relaxing.”
He doesn’t look convinced but he wraps an arm around your shoulders anyway, pulling you into his side. You let yourself fall against him, warm and comfortable, your cheek resting on his chest. Your life isn’t perfect, you’re two years out of graduation, living with a best friend who’s never home, working a job that’s adjacent to the dreams you once wished on stars for but it’s safe and Jake has become part of that.
He kisses the top of your head. “Well, my parents want to take us out tonight. They reserved that Italian place you love downtown. They’re excited to celebrate with you.”
Your stomach flips. Jake’s parents adore you, they treat you like you’re already part of the family. His mother meal preps for you and his father forwards you articles about “the best books to read in your twenties,” because he thought you’d appreciate it as an aspiring author.
It should make you happy but somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny voice reminds you of a ghost from your past, someone you thought would be your forever. You shove the thought away. Jake is watching you, fingers still drawing circles on your knee, waiting for your reaction. You force a smile. “That sounds…nice.”
He beams at you. “Great! The reservation is for six pm.”
Jake takes your plate from you and sets it aside on your nightstand before crawling back toward you on the bed, his knee sinking into the mattress beside your hip.
“You know,” he murmurs, brushing your cheek gingerly, “you look really, really beautiful right now.”
You huff a sleepy laugh. “I look like a raccoon.”
He dips down to kiss the tip of your nose. “A beautiful raccoon.”
You swat his chest but he only laughs, leaning in to kiss you properly this time. His lips move against yours with a fervour that leaves you breathless. His hand slides to the back of your head, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw as his ring presses coolly against your skin. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
“____,” he groans against your lips, his voice filled with need.
You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He pulls back just barely, lips brushing yours as he whispers, “Let me spoil you today.”
“Jake…” you start but he kisses the rest of your sentence away, smiling against your mouth.
His hands trail down your sides, fingertips tracing lazy lines over your hips. You shiver and he notices. “Come here,” he breathes, shifting suddenly. Before you can question it, his arms scoop under your thighs and back, lifting you effortlessly off the bed. You gasp, arms flying around his shoulders. “Jake!”
“What?” he teases, carrying you toward the bathroom with ridiculous ease.
“Put me down!”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No.”
You try to glare at him but it’s impossible when he’s looking at you like this: totally in love. He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot, sets you gently against the counter and presses another kiss to your forehead. “Shower with me?”
His fingers toy with the hem of your sleep shirt, waiting for your answer. You breathe out a tiny laugh. “Are you trying to make us both late?”
He smirks. “Maybe.”
“Well…” you slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, “I guess we can be a little late.”
His grin turns boyish and triumphant. “Have I ever told you I love you?”
You laugh in response as he turns on the water, steam already curling through the room. You kiss him again, slow, sweet and a little dizzying. He smiles into it, hands tightening at your hips. For a few minutes, nothing exists except the heat of the room, his lips on yours and the familiar comfort of being held exactly how you want to be held. Eventually, he pulls back, brushing a thumb along your jaw one last time. “Okay,” he breathes, trying and failing to look composed, “we should actually get ready now.”
You nod but neither of you move until he leans in for one more soft kiss, barely a brush of lips, gentle enough to make your chest tighten. The two of you take turns washing the other off before exiting the shower to finish getting ready.
You brush your teeth beside him while he wipes steam from the mirror. It’s a familiar routine: him toweling off his hair while you lean over the counter to apply moisturizer. His overnight bag sits in the corner, small and a little pathetic-looking, holding only a few shirts and a toothbrush. He’s mentioned wanting a drawer here more than once, half-joking, half-hopeful. You always deflect with something logical like, “You don’t sleep over enough,” and he laughs it off but the truth sits heavy in your chest even now.
The last person who ever had space in your dresser…the last person whose hoodies lived on your chair, whose shirts were folded next to yours, whose medals hung on your desk when his dorm ran out of space…
You shut the thought down before it forms completely.
Jake buttons his shirt next to you, humming softly as he tucks it into his slacks and you force your heartbeat back into the present. “You look beautiful,” he says, straightening your collar with both hands and kissing your cheek. “Ready?”
You nod, stepping into your shoes while he slings his bag over his shoulder. A moment later, he takes your hand gently, squeezing once and the two of you head out the door together.
By the time you make it to the office, the day slips into its usual rhythm. You spend most of the afternoon hunched over your desk, flipping pages and scribbling notes in the quiet hum of the office. It’s not glamorous, not what you used to imagine when you thought about becoming a writer but it’s close enough to feel like you’re still reaching for it. Close enough to keep you here.
At some point, your coworker swings by with a quick, “Happy birthday,” dropping a mini chocolate bar onto your desk before disappearing again. You thank her, a little surprised, turning it over in your fingers before setting it aside.
You check your phone more than you mean to.
A text from Manon, some blurry photo from a rooftop in Paris, miss you, birthday girl!!! followed by a string of hearts.
Another from Jake: Can’t wait for tonight. What kind of cake do you like?
You purse your lips at the question before typing something back but your fingers hover for a second longer than they should before you lock your phone and flip back to the manuscript in front of you.
By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re gathering your things, slipping your notebook into your bag, the weight of the day settling into your bones. The city greets you with its usual hum: taxis blaring, people rushing, the air thick with late afternoon heat as you make your way down into the subway.
The train ride home is familiar. You stand wedged between strangers, one hand wrapped around the pole as the car lurches forward. You watch your reflection flicker in the window between stops, your mind drifting in and out of nothingness.
By the time you step back into your apartment, the silence greets you again. You move through it easily, showering quickly, changing into something nicer, smoothing out the details until you look like someone who has her life exactly where it’s supposed to be.
At exactly six, your phone buzzes.
jake <3: I’m outside.
You grab your bag, take one last look at yourself in the mirror then head downstairs. Jake is leaning against his car when you step out, a bouquet of flowers in one hand. He straightens the second he sees you, his entire face lighting up. “Wow,” he breathes. “You look…wow.”
You laugh, walking toward him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he echoes, stepping forward to kiss you softly before handing you the flowers. “Happy birthday.”
“They’re beautiful,” you say, genuinely touched as you bring them closer.
“Wait,” he says quickly, reaching into his pocket. “I have one more thing.”
You blink as he pulls out a small, familiar red box. Your stomach dips slightly. “Jake…”
“Just open it,” he insists, smiling.
You hesitate for half a second before flipping it open. Inside sits a delicate gold Cartier bracelet, the light catching against it in a way that makes it sparkle. It’s beautiful no doubt about it but also unmistakably expensive.
For a moment, you don’t say anything. “Do you like it?” he asks, watching your face carefully.
You blink, forcing yourself back into the moment. “Yeah! Yeah, it’s…it’s really beautiful.”
“I saw it and thought of you, something you could wear every day.” He says, stepping closer. “Here, let me.” He adds gently, taking it from the box. “
You hold out your wrist and he fastens it carefully, his fingers brushing your skin as he adjusts it into place. He beams, clearly satisfied, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before opening the passenger door for you. “Come on. We’ll be late.”
Dinner goes by smoothly.
His parents greet you like they always do, his mother pulling you into a hug, his father smiling warmly as he asks about work, about writing, about everything you’ve been up to. The restaurant glows softly around you, low lights and quiet chatter filling the space as wine is poured and plates are passed. Conversation flows naturally. You laugh when you’re supposed to, answer questions easily, slip into the rhythm of it all like you’ve done this a hundred times before.
And then—
“Well, I was just telling Jake the other day…it won’t be long before we’re celebrating something even bigger, will it?” His mother says, setting her glass down with a small smile, her eyes flicking between the two of you.
Your hand stills in his and Jake lets out a small, awkward laugh. “Mom…”
“What? You two are so good together. Anyone can see that.” She says lightly.
His father chuckles. “Don’t mind her, she’s still upset that your brother eloped.” He turns to face you, “you’re already part of the family, hun.”
You nod automatically, the word family settling somewhere in your chest in a way that feels heavier than it should. “That’s sweet,” you say.
Jake squeezes your hand under the table in reassurance, like this is something good…something to be happy about and it is, it should be.
This is what people want, isn’t it? Warm dinners, parents who already look at you like you belong. A boyfriend who plans ahead, who shows up early with flowers and expensive gifts.
You used to think you wanted this. You still think you do. So why does it feel like you’re sitting just slightly outside of your own life, watching it happen instead of fully living it? You smile when Jake’s mom asks you another question, nodding along, answering without really hearing yourself. The conversation flows around you but your thoughts have already drifted somewhere quieter, somewhere harder to look at.
This isn’t how you imagined twenty-three.
You thought it would be louder, messier. Late nights that bled into early mornings, candles stuck into a store-bought cake at midnight because someone forgot to plan ahead. You thought there would be party-city decorations taped unevenly to the walls, balloons already starting to deflate.
You thought there would be handwritten cards, messy, rushed and filled with inside jokes. Cards that meant more than the gifts themselves.
You’ve spent so long telling yourself this is what you wanted: a life that makes sense, a relationship that feels safe, a future that doesn’t come with question marks attached and now that you’re sitting in the middle of it, surrounded by everything you once thought would make you feel whole, all you can focus on is the quiet, unsettling feeling that something is off.
That maybe wanting something for so long doesn’t mean it’s right when it finally finds you.
Jake squeezes your hand gently, grounding you just enough to pull you back into the moment. “Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low.
You nod too quickly, offering him a smile that feels convincing enough. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
And you almost believe it.
Nothing here is wrong. There’s nothing to point to, nothing to explain why your chest feels this tight, why your thoughts keep drifting just out of reach, why you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t quite name. So you let the conversation pull you back in, let yourself laugh when you’re supposed to, respond when spoken to, slip back into place like you’ve done all night but the feeling doesn’t go away.
It lingers, a persistent question you’re not ready to answer: why does something you’ve wanted for so long feel so unfamiliar now that you have it?
NYU sophomore year
You don’t realize what time it is until it’s already too late.
Your laptop screen is the only light in the common room, the rest of the floor is quiet. Your fingers move quickly over your keyboard, words spilling out faster than you can second guess them, the story in your head finally taking shape.
Manon had been there at some point, curled up on the couch scrolling through her phone but you barely noticed when she got up. Sohee had said something about grabbing water, or maybe snacks before disappearing. Anton had been sitting across from you, half-watching whatever you were writing, half-doodling in the margins of his notebook. You don’t remember when he left either.
You’re too deep in your fictive world to notice how all your friends have slowly abandoned you until a voice cuts through. “Yo.”
You glance up to see Anton leaning against the doorway, hair slightly messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up his arms. “I think I left my captain’s hoodie in your room,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Can you come check? I don’t wanna just go in there if you’re not—”
“Oh, yeah,” you say immediately, already pushing your chair back. “It’s probably on my desk.”
You follow him down the hall, still half in your story and unaware of the date and time. When you reach your door he lets you walk in first. The second the door opens you’re met with confetti to the face.
“Surprise!”
You jump so hard you almost drop your phone. Streamers fly into your line of vision, balloons bobbing against the ceiling as Manon and Sohee burst out from either side of your room, laughing as they shout over each other. “Happy birthday!”
You blink, completely stunned, your brain scrambling to catch up as you take in the decorations strung haphazardly across your walls, the pile of half-inflated balloons in the corner, the cheap plastic banner taped slightly crooked above your bed.
“Oh my gosh! What!? when did you??” You laugh breathless, pressing a hand to your chest.
“We’ve been planning this all week,” Manon says proudly, already reaching for you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you lightly.
“You were too busy ignoring us, writing your little stories to notice,” Sohee adds, grinning.
“I was not ignoring you!” you protest, laughing as you turn in a slow circle, taking everything in.
Up close, the details start to settle. You notice the fairy lights, finally. They’re strung the same way you always keep them but now they’re lined with polaroids of tiny moments clipped between the wires. You step closer without thinking and reach up to examine one between your fingers.
There’s one from your latest group trip to China town, Sohee had taken it after you had all gotten matcha at a new cafe. There’s another of you asleep on Anton’s lap, you think it’s from midterms week. One of Anton, taken from further away standing by the pool, hair still wet, turning toward the camera like he didn’t realize he was being watched and then one of all four of you, squeezed together in your dorm room, slightly blurry but unmistakably yours.
“You guys…” you start but your voice trails off.
Behind you, a match strikes. You turn just as Anton leans over a small cake, carefully lighting each candle one by one, tongue pressing lightly against his cheek. The flicker of the flames catches in his eyes as he straightens then he starts to sing. “Happy birthday to you…”
Sohee joins in almost immediately, louder and off-key on purpose and Manon follows right after. Anton steps closer as he sings, holding the cake out toward you, the candles casting a soft light across his face. He’s smiling as he reaches the end. “…happy birthday to you.”
The song ends with laughter and clapping, Sohee whooping loudly while Manon squeezes your arm. Anton just nods toward the candles. “Make a wish.”
For a second, everything fades and all you can think about is this moment, the three people standing around you, the way it feels to be surrounded by something this loving. You wish, simply, that it never changes. That the four of you stay like this, that this…whatever this is, lasts.
You blow out the candles.
“Okay! Cut the cake I’m hungry.” Sohee cheers immediately.
Anton disappears for a second, setting the cake down to grab plates and a plastic knife. When he comes back, he hands you the first slice. You glance down at it, then back up at him. “Wait…this is my favorite!”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “You mentioned it once.”
“When?” You ask.
“During Sohee’s birthday. You were complaining about the flavor.” He says, already cutting another slice.
You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “I was not complaining.”
“You were,” Sohee calls from across the room.
You playfully roll your eyes, “yeah well who wants an ice cream cake for their birthday? You can eat ice cream whenever!”
Anton huffs a quiet laugh, handing out the rest of the plates. Manon grabs your arm again before you can think too hard about it, pulling you toward the center of the room. “No more talking. We’re dancing.”
Before you can respond, Sohee is pushing something into your hands, a flimsy plastic sash that reads BIRTHDAY GIRL in glittery letters and Manon is already placing a slightly crooked tiara on your head.
You go along with it, laughing as she spins you around, the tiara slipping slightly and the sash twisting awkwardly across your chest. At some point, you catch Anton watching you from across the room. He’s leaning back against your desk, arms crossed loosely, a half-smile playing at his lips like he’s trying not to laugh at you.
You don’t linger on it. You let yourself get lost in the music and the company of your friends. Grateful to have a found family.
After your birthday, things don’t change. At least not much…not really.
The four of you still move through campus like a unit, still fall into the same routines, the same late-night hangouts and shared meals and crowded study sessions. You still end up in each other’s rooms, still spend weekends bouncing between games and practices and whatever last-minute plans Manon decides are non-negotiable.
Somewhere in the middle of it all though, something shifts…between you and a certain chestnut haired swim captain.
Anton ends up in your room more often, stretched across your bed with his head propped against your pillow while you sit cross-legged beside him, laptop balanced on your thighs. At first there’s always space between you, enough to pretend nothing’s different.
Until there isn’t.
Until one night you realize you're laying down now, shoulder pressed against his, your arm brushing his every time you move, neither of you shifting away. Until another night turns into you curled slightly into his side, his hoodie bunched under your cheek, his breathing slow and steady beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
No one says anything about it.
Lunches start happening without the others. At first it’s accidental, running into each other after his swim practice, both of you starving, deciding to grab something quick before your next class but then it becomes a habit. “Just us,” he’ll say, like it doesn’t mean anything. As if it’s not becoming something.
You wander through the city together, ducking into small places you find on a whim, sharing fries, trading bites, talking about everything and nothing all at once. He listens when you ramble about your stories, asks questions like he actually cares about the plot and fictional worlds you build. You start saving things to tell him.
You don’t realize you’re doing it until it’s impossible to ignore. Late nights turn into later ones. Text messages that stretch past midnight, then one, then two, until your phone is the last thing you see before you fall asleep and the first thing you reach for when you wake up. Your 8AM classes become harder to sit through, your focus slipping in and out because you’re thinking about something he said hours ago, replaying it without meaning to.
“Why are you smiling at your phone like that?” Manon asks once, eyeing you from across the room.
“I’m not,” you say too quickly, locking your screen.
She hums unconvinced but lets it go. You start doing that more than you’d like to admit, shrugging things off, brushing past questions, lying to your friends…to yourself.
You tell yourself it’s nothing, that when you choose to sit next to him instead of across from him, when your knees brush under the table and neither of you move that it’s platonic. You tell yourself that when people start to notice.
“You two are always together,” Sohee says one night, not accusing, just observant.
“We’re literally all always together,” you shoot back, a little too fast. Manon glances between the two of you, something knowing flickering across her face before she looks away.
You laugh it off. You tell yourself it’s easier that way because nothing happens. There are no confessions, no grand moments you can point to and say that’s where it changed. No one crosses a line that can’t be uncrossed. If anything, the two of you become experts at hovering just beneath it, circling something unspoken and pretending it isn’t there.
You let it, whatever it is, exist in that in-between space. Until it’s everywhere. Until it’s the first person you look for in a room and the last person you say goodnight to. Until it’s his hoodie thrown over your chair, his water bottle sitting next to yours, his name lighting up your phone more than anyone else’s.
It's not until you're packing up to go home for summer break do you realize the cold hard truth: you've fallen for Anton Lee and you have no idea what to do about it.
Present Day
It’s been a week since your birthday and dinner with Jake’s parents. Manon is back, the apartment finally feeling like itself. She has music low in the background as she sits cross-legged on the living room floor with her laptop open, clips from Paris flashing across the screen as she edits.
You’re in your room, standing in front of your mirror, finishing your makeup while Jake lingers behind you. Today is date night. He’s already ready, button-down crisp, sleeves rolled slightly and watch fastened neatly at his wrist. He’s been watching you for the past few minutes, leaning against your dresser patiently waiting on you. “You almost done?” he asks.
“Almost…two seconds.” You say, leaning in to swipe mascara across your lashes.
“Mm,” he hums, pushing himself off the dresser. You don’t notice when he starts moving around your room, his attention drifting to the little things you’ve left out, your books stacked unevenly on your desk, the loose papers of your novel you edit at night, the memory box that sits in between your bed and night stand.
It’s tucked just slightly out of place, the lid not fully closed from the last time you went through it. Jake pauses, glancing toward you for a second before crouching down, curiosity getting the better of him. You’re still focused on your reflection when he lifts the lid.
Jake smiles faintly when he finds the box filled with letters and polaroid. He starts flipping through the pictures one by one; Manon mid-laugh, Sohee mewing at the camera, a blurry shot of what looks like a dorm hallway. He keeps shuffling through them until he comes across a picture of you and a man he’s never seen before.
“Babe. Who’s this?” He calls, turning the photo slightly in his hand.
You turn just enough to see what he’s holding and your stomach drops. It’s you after Anton’s swim comp wrapped in his captain's hoodie while he stands beside you, medal hanging from his neck and arm slung loosely around your shoulders.
You move before you can think about it. “Jake!” you cross the room quickly, faster than you mean to, snatching the photo and the box from his hands in one motion. “Why are you going through my stuff!?”
Jake blinks, thrown off, hands lifting slightly in defense. “Woah! I wasn’t…I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Well, it is,” you say, a little sharper than you intended, already setting the box aside like putting distance between it and him will fix something.
Jake exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Okay…I’m sorry. I just…I saw it and I got curious.”
You don’t respond right away, turning back to your mirror. Jake watches you for a second then asks. “Who is he?”
Your grip tightens around your makeup brush. “No one,” you say coldly.
Jake lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “He doesn’t look like no one.”
You don’t answer. “Is he an ex?” he presses.
You cringe before you can stop yourself. “Can you just…drop it please? I said it’s nothing, Jake.”
He frowns, something frustrated flickering across his face now. “I’ve told you about all my exes. Why are you hiding this?” He says, a little more pointed.
You open your mouth and then close it because what are you supposed to say? Anton wasn’t an ex but he also wasn’t someone who meant nothing. Whatever it was that the two of you shared existed in the realm of what if’s and dreams.
“I’m not hiding anything,” you say finally but it comes out weaker than you intend.
Jake studies you, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Then explain it.”
You let out a quiet breath and set your makeup brush down. “There’s nothing to explain. He was just…someone from school.”
“Just someone?” Jake echoes, glancing toward the box you shoved aside. “You’re clearly wearing his hoodie and he’s got his arm around you like…like that’s normal!”
“It was normal. We were friends.” You snap, more defensive now.
The word hangs there, thin and unconvincing, even to your own ears. Jake doesn’t respond right away. He just watches you, his expression shifting from confusion to frustration like he’s trying to understand what you’re not saying just as much as what you are.
“Okay. I’m just gonna be blunt.” he says after a moment. Your stomach drops. “Do you have feelings for him?”
You freeze for half a second, your reflection staring back at you in the mirror, eyes just a little too wide, lips parted like you might actually answer him honestly and for the briefest moment, you consider it. You consider turning around, saying I don’t know or it’s complicated or something real but the truth is messy. The truth doesn’t make sense. The truth would ruin the life you’ve built these two years away from Anton so instead you laugh.
It comes out light and dismissive. “That’s…not even possible,” you say, shaking your head as you turn back to the mirror, picking up your makeup brush. “You can’t have feelings for someone you never even dated. That’s just…” you shrug slightly, meeting his eyes through the reflection, “...dumb.”
Even as it leaves your mouth, something inside you recoils. Still, you don’t take it back. You let the lie sit there between you. You add it to the long list of lies you’ve told. Jake watches you for a few seconds longer, trying to decide if he believes you or not. His gaze lingers, searching your face for any signs of hesitation. You don’t give him anything.
Eventually, he exhales. “…okay,” he says quietly.
He glances at his watch then back at you. “We should go. We’re gonna miss our reservation.”
You nod quickly, grateful for the out. “Yeah.”
You set your brush down and reach for your bag before following him out. You catch Manon’s eyes on your way out and there’s no doubt she heard your conversation. The frown she gives you on your exit speaks volumes.
NYU junior year
You don’t remember who pulled who into the room first. All you know is the music is louder out there but here it’s quieter. Anton’s mouth is already on yours, wasting no time the second the door shuts behind you.
The kiss is messy and rushed. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s backing you up, hands firm at your waist as you stumble together, bumping into the edge of the bed. You laugh softly against his lips, breathless. “The door’s not even locked,” you murmur, glancing over his shoulder for half a second. “Someone could walk in.”
Anton doesn’t pull away, if anything he leans in closer, mouth dragging from your lips to your jaw then lower. “Let them,” he murmurs against your skin like the idea doesn’t bother him at all.
You huff out a quiet laugh, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging lightly just to hear the soft exhale it pulls from him. “You’re insane.”
“Insane about you.” He rebuttals.
His hands skim up your sides as your back hits the mattress as he follows you down and lays his body weight atop you. The room tilts slightly as you turn your head. The window is cracked open just enough to let the cool night air slip in, you can see the city lights flickering somewhere in the distance and all you can think about is how different this is. How far this feels from where you were just a few months ago.
Over the summer, you’d convinced yourself distance would fix it. Back home, surrounded by everything that came before NYU, it was easier to pretend. Easier to ignore the way your phone lit up with his name, easier to let texts sit unanswered a little longer than they should then a little longer after that. You told yourself it was space, that it was necessary. That whatever had started to grow between you at the end of sophomore year would fade if you just…stopped feeding it.
For a while, it almost worked. By the time you came back in the fall, you thought maybe the awkwardness would carry over, that things would feel different but Anton didn’t act like anything had changed. He showed up the same way he always did. Bright smiles, casual touches, sitting a little too close like he always had so you followed his lead.
You laughed like nothing had happened and slipped back into your routines. You ignored the way your chest tightened every time your hands brushed or when he said your name with reverence. You were able to keep it up until December.
The four of you had stumbled into a crowded frat house on a Thursday night. You’d gotten separated from Manon and Sohee somewhere between the kitchen and the stairs, weaving your way through strangers until you ended up by the makeshift bar.
You got to work on making yourself a drink when one of the football players approached you. It started the way those things always do: small talk, a drink pressed into your hand, someone leaning a little closer to hear you over the music.
There was no pressure behind it, no second layer to peel back and analyze. You took a sip of your drink and batted your lashes up at him. You opened your mouth to ask if he wanted to go somewhere more private only to be stopped by a hand wrapping around your waist.
Your entire body reacted before your mind had a chance to catch up, breath catching sharply. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. You knew the weight of his hand, the way his thumb slips under your shirt and rubs slow circles along your v-line.
“Hey baby,” he said over your shoulder.
You malfunctioned at the pet name while the footballer glanced between the two of you, something in his expression shifting. “Oh…are you…?”
“Yes,” Anton said, cutting in before he could finish.
You turned then, finally looking at him, your brows pulled together in confusion. You opened your mouth to question it, to push back but he was already moving. His grip wasn’t tight but it was possessive enough that you followed without thinking, letting him guide you through the crowd towards an empty hallway.
“Anton what was that!?”
He shrugged before letting you go. “I didn’t like it.”
You stared at him, trying to understand what that meant. “Didn’t like what?”
He clenched his jaw before responding. “All of it. The way he was flirting with you, looking at you. I didn’t like it.”
Your breath caught yet again but you tried to compose yourself. “Okay…but that doesn’t mean you can just…what, pretend I’m your girlfriend?” You said slowly, trying to keep your voice steady.
He huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head like you were missing the point. “Why are we still doing this?” he asked suddenly.
Your stomach dropped. “Doing what?”
“This,” he said gesturing vaguely between you, frustration bleeding through. “Pretending like nothing’s here.”
You blinked, your thoughts scrambling to catch up.
“I gave you space. All summer I let you pull away and I didn’t push, I didn’t ask questions and when we got back, I played along. I acted like it was fine.”
The words hit harder than they should. Maybe it was because he was right. You did feel it, you had always felt it. You had just been better at pretending you didn’t.
“Anton…” you started but it came out quieter than you intended.
He stepped closer closing the distance just enough to make your breath catch again but he didn't touch you. “When are we going to stop acting like this is nothing?” he had asked.
That night ended the way it probably shouldn’t have. With your back pressed against the cold tile of a frat house bathroom, your hands tangled in his hair as you kissed him like you were trying to make up for every moment you didn’t.
You’re pulled back to the present when Anton’s mouth dips lower and he leaves open mouthed kisses across your stomach. You sigh at the feeling of his tongue dragging across your skin before letting your right hand drop to his head to tug at his hair, relishing in the whimpers he releases.
You smirk at the hold you have on him, literally and metaphorically. You tug a bit harder when he leaves a kiss below your navel right above the button of your mini skirt. Before he can go any further, you tilt his head up to look you in your eyes.
You take delight in the way he obeys but your satisfaction is snubbed out by the reminder of what led the two of you to this room. “Who was that girl?”
Anton’s brows lift slightly like he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. “What girl?” he asks, voice calm.
You narrow your eyes at him, unimpressed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he presses, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
You let out a quiet scoff, your hand slipping from his hair as he shifts, sliding off you and settling beside you on the bed. The sudden space between you feels wrong immediately. You turn toward him without thinking and climb right back into his space, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. His hands automatically go to grip your waist and pull you in closer, bucking his hips a bit.
“I’m talking about the girl downstairs. The one who was following you like a lost puppy.” You say more direct now.
Anton exhales softly through his nose and grips your hips a bit tighter. “She wasn’t following me like a puppy,” he says, still playing it off.
You tilt your head, studying him. “Really?”
He shrugs but he doesn’t look away from you. “She’s no one.”
“That’s not what it looked like.” Your fingers press a little more firmly into his shoulder from frustration and jealousy.
“Why do you care?” he asks quietly, rolling his hips below you to create friction. You falter for half a second from the weight behind the question and your growing arousal.
“I don’t,” you say quickly, your gaze flicking away for just a moment before returning to him. “I’m just asking.”
He hums unconvinced, his right hand sliding a little higher on your hips, holding you there a bit more firmly now. “She’s just some girl Sohee was trying to set me up with,” he says, watching your face carefully.
Your expression tightens before you can stop it, something like a scowl flickering across your face as your fingers curl slightly against his shoulders. “Oh,” you say but there’s nothing neutral about it. You lean in before you can think too hard about it, kissing him again, harder this time. Anton moans against your mouth and kisses back with equal fervor, almost whining when you pull back.
“I don’t like that.” You murmur against his lips, shaking your head slightly.
Anton lets out a quiet breath, his grip on you tightening as he leans up to chase your lips. “She doesn’t matter. I promise.” He says, the words brushing against your mouth.
His forehead bumps yours for a second, his gaze lingering like he’s waiting to see if you’ll push again, if you’ll question it, if you’ll admit why you even asked in the first place.
Instead you push him back to tug his shirt off and set off on laying kisses along the column of his neck and chest. Making sure to leave behind angry red bruises that show he’s off limits.
That’s how it goes with the two of you. Tonight it’s a girl downstairs, someone neither of you care about until suddenly you do. Yesterday it was the way Anton’s jaw tightened when your hand lingered a second too long on your partner during workshop, his quiet mood lasting the rest of the night until you finally snapped and asked what his problem was. Next week, it’ll be something else entirely.
It always is. You push, he pulls. He pulls, you push harder. Neither of you willing to step back far enough to end it, neither of you brave enough to step forward and call it what it is.
With spring break coming up, you only pray a change of scenery is enough to give the two of you some reprieve.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Seven days later
The ocean stretches out in front of you, endless and blue. Manon is beside you, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, already halfway through her third drink like she’s trying to make the most of the “unlimited” part of the resort package. You’re stretched out on your stomach, book open in front of you while Sohee and Anton ride jetskis in the clear blue water.
Spring break had been Manon’s idea. It started over winter break with a facetime call. She had been pushing for a cabin trip at first but Sohee and Anton were doing a cruise and your parents had planned a last minute family trip and suddenly the whole thing unraveled before it ever really came together. Manon had sulked for all of ten minutes before pivoting completely.
She proposed spring break in Cancun. Next thing you knew, you were booking an all-inclusive resort in Cancun, splitting costs and promising it would be fun.
It’s day three of five now and so far it’s been exactly what you expected. You’ve drank more than your liver can probably handle, eaten so much food to the point of expanding your stomachs and backs and the four of you have spent hours in the water with salt drying into your skin.
Somewhere in between all of it, you and Anton had smoothed over whatever that moment at the party had been but things haven’t exactly gone back to normal either. You think it’s all the sexual tension floating around the two of you. All four of you share a room, Anton and Sohee on one bed, you and Manon on the other. It’s hard to sneak away and get alone time. You’ve resorted to living vicariously through the characters in your books you packed.
Manon lets out a satisfied sigh beside you, tipping the last of her piña colada back before setting the empty glass in the sand. “Okay…I’m gonna go get us more drinks before they try to cut me off.” She announces, pushing herself up with a little wobble.
You snort, lowering your book just enough to glance at her. “You’re already pushing it.”
She waves you off like it’s nothing, already brushing sand from her legs and adjusting her bikini straps. “They love me,” she insists, flashing you a grin before turning toward the bar.
You watch her go, eyes narrowing slightly as she weaves her way across the sand, pausing once to steady herself before continuing on like nothing happened. Shaking your head, you let out a quiet sigh and settle back down, turning your attention to your book again. The pages of The Nightingale blur slightly in the bright sun but you try to focus anyway, letting the words pull you somewhere else.
You only make it a few lines in before something bumps lightly against your foot. You blink, glancing down to find a volleyball resting against your ankle, grains of sand clinging to its surface. “Sorry!” a voice calls from a few feet away.
You look up to see a guy jogging toward you, slowing as he gets closer. He lifts a hand in a small, almost shy wave, offering you an apologetic smile as he comes to a stop. “Didn’t mean to interrupt…uh that kind of rolled away from us.” He gestures back toward the makeshift volleyball court set up a little further down the beach, a few people still standing there watching.
You push yourself up onto your elbows, brushing sand from your forearm before reaching down to pick up the ball. “You’re good,” you say, offering it back to him.
He steps closer to take it, fingers brushing yours for a brief second. “Thanks…what’re you reading?” He asks, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
You glance down at the cover, holding it up slightly. “The Nightingale.”
He nods like he recognizes it, you’re not entirely convinced he does. “Is it good?”
You shrug lightly. “So far.”
He smiles at that. “I was gonna say, you look pretty into it.”
You huff a quiet laugh, closing it partway. “I was, until your game attacked me.”
He laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Can…can I buy you a drink? As an apology.”
You hesitate for half a second, your instinct to say no rising automatically but it stalls before it reaches your mouth because what would you even say? “No, I can't, because there’s a boy on a jetski somewhere who gets jealous even though we’re not together?”
Before you can figure out how to turn him down politely, movement catches in your peripheral. Manon is making her way back across the sand, two drinks balanced in her hands, her sunglasses now crooked on her face. In front of you, Sohee and Anton are just stepping off their jetskis, laughing about something as they walk toward you.
Your stomach tightens. The timing is almost cruel. “Actually, I—” you start, already half-turning toward Manon, ready to use her as an out.
“Oh perfect,” Manon cuts in easily as she reaches you, not missing a beat as her eyes flick between you and the guy in front of you. “This one’s for Sohee,” she says, pressing one of the drinks into his hands the second he gets close. Sohee takes it without question, too busy thanking her to notice anything else.
You fight the urge to jump her. You have to remind yourself she has good intentions. You turn back to the stranger, forcing your expression into something kinder. “Yeah…um one drink is fine.”
Your eyes flick over to Anton but he lets nothing slip. He pushes his hair away from his forehead and laughs at a joke Sohee makes before settling down in the sand next to Manon.
“Cool, c’mon.” The stranger says, smiling a little wider now that you’ve agreed. He offers you his hand and you take it, dusting off sand from your stomach and thighs. You adjust your bikini straps before following after him.
Anton doesn’t look your way again.
The walk to the bar is short but it feels longer. The music gets louder the closer you get, you spot people crowded around the counter sipping on colorful drinks. The stranger introduces himself somewhere along the way, says his name is James. You tell him your name before settling against a free spot at the bar.
He leans forward slightly, catching the bartender’s attention. “Two tequila shots please.”
The glasses slide across the counter a second later, salt clinging to the rims. He picks one up and hands it to you, fingers brushing yours again. “To spring break,” he says with a grin.
You force a small smile, lifting your glass to meet his. “To spring break.”
He starts talking again, something about where he’s from, how long he’s been here but your attention drifts before you can stop it. Back toward the beach where Anton is perched in the sand soaking up the sun.
It makes your skin itch how unaffected he seems. Makes you feel dramatic for the reaction you had at the party. You wonder if he even cares, if whatever this is only feels like something more when you’re alone with him.
You swallow, the taste of tequila still lingering, suddenly too aware of everything. “I’m sorry. I think I’m actually gonna go lie down. I’m not feeling great.”
James pauses, clearly thrown off but he recovers quickly. “Oh…yeah, of course. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.” You nod, already stepping back.
He hesitates for a second like he wants to say more but then smiles. “Okay. Maybe I’ll see you around?”
You nod once. “Yeah…maybe.”
You don’t wait for anything else. You don’t grab your things or call out to Manon or wait for anyone to notice you’re gone. You just turn and walk, the sound of the ocean fading behind you with every step, replaced by the quiet of the hotel lobby as you push through the glass doors. The air conditioning hits your skin but it does nothing to cool the burning embarrassment building under it.
You make your way to the elevators without thinking, pressing the button and crossing your arms over yourself as you wait, your reflection staring back at you in the mirrored walls. The doors slide open and you step inside, pressing your floor and exhaling slowly. Just as the doors begin to shut, a hand catches them. They part again with a soft chime and Anton steps in.
The space shrinks immediately. You don’t say anything at first and neither does he. The doors close behind him and the elevator starts to move, the elevator music filling the silence between you.
For a second, you think about staying quiet and letting it pass. Letting this be just another thing that goes unspoken but the question comes out anyway. “Do you even care about me?”
Anton turns his head slightly, brows pulling together. “What?”
You shake your head immediately, already regretting it. “Never mind.”
The elevator climbs another floor. He waits a beat before speaking again, his voice deeper this time. “You looked pretty cozy at the bar.”
You turn to face him fully but he’s not looking at you. His gaze is fixed straight ahead, jaw set. You let out a small, disbelieving scoff. “So you can flirt with whoever Sohee throws at you but God forbid I let a guy buy me a drink?”
Anton exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “Why are you bringing her up again? I told you she means nothing!”
“It’s the principle! You don’t get to act like that when you do the same thing. That's called hypocrisy Anton.” You shoot back, frustration rising now, pushing past whatever hesitation you had before.
“It’s not the same thing!” he snaps, finally turning toward you. “You’re the one who said we can’t tell anyone. What am I supposed to say to Sohee when he tries to set me up with someone? Huh? What was I supposed to say after the party about the hickies you left on my neck? You can’t get pissed at me for a boundary you insist on keeping!”
You falter at him throwing your rules back at you. You hate how he’s right, how you can’t come up with a logical and fair defense in response to instead you reach for the one thing that always gives you distance. “This is dumb. We’re not even together.”
The elevator dings softly as it reaches your floor. The doors slide open and you step out automatically, expecting him to follow, already bracing for the argument to continue the way it always does, looping back in on itself until one of you gives in.
However, when you turn around he hasn’t moved. He’s still standing inside, one hand braced against the railing, looking at you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. There’s something in his expression that makes your chest tighten.
He looks hurt. Genuinely hurt. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet.
“Then let’s end whatever this is.”
Present Day
As the waves of pleasure finally begin to subside, you find yourself tangled between Jake’s arms and your sheets. Both your breaths mingle in the warm air and Jake wraps his arms securely around you, holding you close as his heartbeat gradually slows. You can feel the aftershocks of your climax coursing through you as your eyes slowly shut.
One of his hands is lazily tracing over yours, turning your palm up and brushing along your fingers. “I’m never gonna get tired of this,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything.
You huff out a quiet laugh, the corner of your mouth lifting into a smirk. “Mhmm, good I’ve got some more tricks up my sleeve.”
Jake lets out a groan, “Such a fucking tease.”
You laugh and open your mouth to retort but get cut off by the door swinging open. “Hey, do you have a—oh.”
Manon freezes mid-step, one hand still on the door, her eyes flicking from Jake to you tangled together in your bed. “Shit! Sorry! My fault!”
The door shuts just as quickly as it opened. You groan instantly, dragging your blanket up over your head like it might erase the last ten seconds. “Oh my gosh.”
Jake lets out a quiet laugh above you, chest rumbling against your cheek. “She definitely saw everything.”
“Stop. I can never leave this room again.” You mumble from under the covers, mortified, pulling them tighter around yourself.
He hums in agreement but his fingers hook into the edge of the blanket, tugging it down slowly until your face reappears. “Yeahhhh,” he says, amused, brushing your cheek. “That was…a little embarrassing.”
You narrow your eyes at him but there’s no real bite behind it. “How reassuring.”
He smirks in response before shrugging a shoulder. You try to hold onto the annoyance but it dissolves into a laugh as you let the blanket fall back to your chest. For a moment, neither of you say anything. His thumb finds your hand again, tracing the same absent pattern across your fingers. After a beat he speaks up again.
“You know…this could be avoided.”
You peek up at him, brows pulling together. “How?” you ask, still half-curled into him. “Our lease isn't ending anytime soon and Manon’s had a lifelong aversion to knocking.”
He smiles faintly at that but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. His thumb pauses against your hand for a second before continuing. “Well…what if you moved?”
You blink, your mind struggling to catch his drift “Moved where?”
He shifts a little beneath you, propping himself up just enough to look at you properly. “To my place.”
You stare at him for a second longer than you mean to, your mind catching up in pieces. “Your…place?” you repeat, slower this time.
“Yeah. I mean…it just makes sense, right? We’re already spending most nights together anyway.” He gestures vaguely around your room, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And no surprise interruptions.”
You let out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh but it doesn’t quite land. Your mind starts racing as you struggle to piece together where this is coming from. Realistically, this isn’t a crazy thing to bring up, this is the kind of thing people do. The kind of next step that fits neatly into the version of a relationship the two of you have.
You just hadn’t…thought about it…with him.
“Jake…” you start but your words die on the tip of your tongue. You push yourself up slightly so you’re not completely folded into him anymore and try again. “I feel like that’s…kind of a big step.”
He nods, like he expected that. “It is but we’ve been together for a year. It’s not like this is coming out of nowhere.”
Your gaze drifts for a second. His penthouse flashes through your mind; clean, quiet, perfectly put together. You’ve been there enough to know it’s nice…really nice. It doesn’t feel like a place you belong or could call home. “I just think…maybe we don’t have to rush it?” You say slowly, choosing your words carefully.
The second the words leave your mouth, you feel the shift. Jake’s hand stills against yours for half a beat before he lets it relax again. “Rush it?” he repeats.
You shake your head quickly, pushing yourself up a little more, tucking your blanket around you some more. “Okay maybe not rush, I just…” you exhale softly, searching for something that sounds right. “I like where we are right now. I don’t think we have to…change it yet.”
He watches you for a second, weighing what you’re saying. His thumb brushes over your knuckles again but the movement feels more less sure now. “I’m not trying to rush you. Just thought…we were on the same page.”
You nod, trying to offer him a reassuring smile. “We are,” you say, even though something in your chest tightens as you do.
He nods back, like he’s choosing to believe you. “Okay,” he murmurs.
NYU senior year
The summer after junior year, Anton Lee disappeared from your life.
Not all at once but rather slowly, as if he intended to hurt you the way you had hurt him. His texts came later and later until they eventually stopped altogether, conversations never got picked back up and there was a loud silence that filled in the blanks for you. This wasn’t temporary.
You tried to hide behind your ego, told yourself that it made sense. Said that after everything that had happened between the two of you, maybe this is how it was always meant to end.
When the line had been drawn as clear as could be, you filled your time with other things. You still talked to Sohee and Manon, spent hours writing in your room about a perfect world where things worked out for your main characters.
You convinced yourself you were fine. Better off even without Anton. It was easy to think that way when he wasn’t standing right in front of you. Then September came and with it, the last semester the two of you would ever share again.
Just like that, he was back. It dawned on you that it was just as easy for Anton to delude himself when you weren’t standing directly in front of him, when the two of you weren’t sitting side by side pretending nothing ever happened between the two of you in front of your friends.
Like clockwork, you fell back into your familiar pattern. Only this time, the Anton you had grown to love wasn’t the one who came back to you. You think you lost that version somewhere in Cancun.
This time around, you thought it couldn’t be as bad as junior year…how wrong you were.
This time, neither of you cared to pretend. Gone was the sneaking around, no more stolen moments hidden behind closed doors. Whatever this was between you existed out in the open now. Unlabeled and undefined but impossible to miss.
Parties turned into something else entirely. What used to be fun, loud nights with your friends became a game the two of you never agreed to but always ended up playing anyway. How far can you push before the other snaps? How much can you get away with before it finally crosses a line?
Anton started it more often than not. He’d lean a little too close to someone else, let his hand linger just long enough for you to notice, sometimes even going as far as taking them upstairs. They’d disappear for a few minutes, never long enough to confirm anything but never short enough to ignore. It was never enough to call him out without sounding crazy but it was always enough to make burning hot jealousy rip through your chest.
When you would finally corner him and ask him what the hell he was doing, he’d only smirk before asking. “Why do you care?” It would be followed by a condescending hum and, “We’re not even together.”
He would throw it right back at you. The same words you used first, the same ones you threw at him in Cancun. You would sneer at him before stomping off, your pride fully kicked in. You would find someone of your own, someone easy. You would let him talk to you, let him get you drinks, let yourself be seen with him just long enough to prove a point you didn’t even fully believe in.
It would work for all of an hour before your attention would start to drift back to Anton. All he would ever do is give you one look and suddenly nothing else mattered. You’d make some excuse, slip away and leave whoever you were with standing there confused while you found your way back to him like you always did.
Manon tried, truly, to get you to have some self-respect. She would set you up with people she thought were easier and healthier. You’d go along with it at first to humor her. You’d exchange numbers, let conversations start only to lose interest almost immediately. Your replies got shorter then slower, until eventually they stopped altogether. It never made it past that.
From what you heard from Manon, Sohee tried too. He pulled Anton aside more than once, told him he wasn’t being fair, that maybe he should date outside of the friend group, give someone else a real chance only to be told, “We both know what we’re doing.”
Eventually, they both stopped pushing. Not because they approved but because they realized nothing they said was going to change it because as much as the two of you didn’t work like this, you still worked everywhere else.
Anton still walked you back to your dorm after late lectures, hands tucked into his pockets while the two of you talked about nothing and everything all at once. He still bought you lunch when you forgot your student ID, didn’t even let you argue about it. You still showed up to his swim meets with posters you’d spent too long making, shouting his name like you were born to cheer him on.
You still sat together at family dinner with Manon and Sohee, still laughed at the same jokes, still fell into each other on the couch during movie nights like it was muscle memory.
You’re good at that part…too good and that’s what made it worse.
Manon and Sohee didn’t understand it. They couldn’t figure out how the two of you fit so easily everywhere else, how you could be this…effortless together, only for everything to fall apart the second it turned into something more.
But you know why and so does Anton.
Neither of you said it out loud but it lingered in every argument, every glance and every moment where one of you almost gave in and the other refused to meet you there.
He hasn’t forgiven you for Cancun. Maybe even how you treated him leading up to your fight. He’s still holding on to how easily you turned off your emotions when others were around, how quick you were to deny him the chance of ever being more than a dirty little secret.
As for you, you’re too proud to fix it first. It’s humiliating enough knowing how thoroughly he’s ruined everyone else for you.
So you don’t cave, even when it’s the only thing you want to.
To your relief, somewhere along the way the two of you stop fighting as much. Not because anything gets resolved or because either of you finally says the thing you’ve been circling for two years now but because there’s nothing left to argue about that hasn’t already been said in a hundred and one different ways. You think it’s because he didn’t want to be on bad terms during graduation.
The last few weeks fly by, it’s easy to not notice time slipping away from you when things are as easy as they once were freshman year.
Today is commencement.
Just like that, the last four years of your life collapse into a single moment. You’ve imagined this day a hundred different ways but none of them feel quite like this. None of them capture how quickly it slips through your fingers.
One minute you’re walking across the stage, heart pounding, the announcer calling your name, next it’s over. Your tassel is turned, people are clapping, caps are already being tossed into the air before you’ve even had the chance to process it.
It all blurs together.
The months of deadlines, the nights spent hunched over your laptop swearing you’d start earlier next time, the early mornings you dragged yourself out of bed for classes you almost skipped, the crowded study rooms, the shared meals, the laughter—it all collapses into this one fleeting stretch of time that feels both too fast and impossibly long.
No more classes to rush to. No more last-minute submissions or group chats blowing up at two in the morning. No more of this.
You barely have time to sit with that realization before you’re being pulled in every direction. Pictures with your friends, your family, your professors. Someone is fixing your cap, someone else is calling your name, your phone is buzzing endlessly in your hand. It’s overwhelming in the best way.
By the time your parents decide you’ve taken enough pictures and accepted more gifts than your arms are capable of holding, you find yourself sitting at a long table surrounded by the people who made these last four years what they were.
Come six o’clock, you’re tucked into your seat beside Manon and her sister, your cap and gown long forgotten in your dads car. Across from you, Sohee is mid story with your dad, hands moving animatedly as he recounts something from freshman year.
Beside him sits Anton. He sits a little more relaxed than usual, one arm draped over the back of Sohee’s chair, a small smile tugging at his lips as he listens. Every now and then he chimes in, correcting Sohee or adding details that make the story even funnier and it’s so normal.
Eventually, plates empty and conversations start to taper off. You push your chair back softly, leaning toward Manon. “I’m gonna step outside for a second,” you murmur.
She nods without question, too caught up in whatever story Sohee’s telling now to look too closely. You slip out quietly, the noise of the restaurant fading behind you as the evening air hits your skin, cooler now.
You exhale slowly, stepping just far enough from the entrance to give yourself space, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses muffled behind you. For a moment, it’s just you and the quiet hum of the city.
The door opens again and you don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
Anton steps out beside you, he doesn’t say anything right away, just shrugs his suit jacket off his shoulders and holds it out toward you. “Here,” he says softly.
You hesitate for half a second before taking it, the fabric still warm from him as you slide your arms through the sleeves. It’s too big, swallowing you just slightly, the faint scent of his cologne settling around you.
“Thanks,” you murmur, pulling it closer around yourself.
He nods once, hands slipping into his pockets as he leans back against the wall beside you.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. Anton shifts slightly beside you before breaking it. “You wanna go for a walk?” he asks.
You glance over at him, really looking at him for the first time since you stepped outside. His hair is slightly out of place from the day, his tie loosened just enough to make him look less put together.
“Yeah,” you say, softer than you mean to.
He pushes off the wall and falls into step beside you, his arm brushes up against you but neither of you say anything or move away. You walk without a destination at first, letting your feet carry you down familiar streets, past places that have become second nature over the last four years. Neither of you rushes to fill the silence and for once, it doesn’t feel like something that needs fixing.
Eventually, without either of you meaning to, you find yourselves standing before your dorm. The place where everything started. You let out a small breath, something soft and almost disbelieving as you take it in. The windows are dark now, the halls inside probably already half empty with everyone moving out.
“Wow,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything.
Anton huffs a quiet laugh beside you. “How fitting.”
There’s another pause. You glance at the entrance, then back at him. “Do you wanna go in?” you ask.
The words hang between you. Anton’s gaze flicks from you to the building and back again. For a second, you think he might say no. Instead, he surprises you and nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly.
You barely have time to register his words before he’s putting in the building code and pulling the door open for you.
Inside, everything feels different. The lobby that once buzzed with voices and movement now sits in a strange, hollow quiet. A few stray boxes are stacked near the walls, abandoned or waiting to be taken, and the fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead.
It’s like stepping into a memory that’s already started to fade. You walk further in first, your eyes drifting over everything like you’re trying to hold onto it. The couches where you and Manon used to sit for hours, the corner where Sohee would pace while practicing, the hallway that always smelled faintly like burnt popcorn no matter the time of day.
“Feels weird,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” Anton agrees quietly, falling into step beside you.
Your feet carry you on their own. Down the hall. Past doors left ajar, rooms half-empty, beds stripped down to their frames. The place that once felt too small for all the life inside it now feels too big without it.
By the time you stop, you’re standing in front of a door you’ve walked through more times than you can count. Anton’s old domr. He hesitates for just a second before pushing it open.
The room is almost empty. His side of the room is stripped down completely, mattress bare, desk cleared, shelves wiped clean like he was never there at all. Sohee’s side looks the same. The only thing left is what couldn’t be taken yet, suitcases by the wall, a few stray items waiting to be packed last.
It shouldn’t feel like a punch to the chest but it does. You step inside slowly, your gaze dragging over the space where you’ve spent so many nights cuddled in Anton’s arms.
“Damn,” you breathe, arms crossing loosely over yourself, still wrapped in his jacket.
Anton shuts the door behind you, quieter this time. “Yeah.”
The silence stretches again, heavier now. There’s nowhere to sit except the bed so that’s where you perch yourselves. You lower yourself onto the bare mattress, the springs creaking softly under your weight. He follows a second later, sitting beside you but not too close.
You take in the room again, noting the way things have changed over four years.
“I hated this year,” you admit after a beat.
Anton stills beside you but you continue. You swallow, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his jacket. “Not…the school year itself…just—” you shake your head faintly, searching for the right words. “Us.”
You let out a small, humorless breath. “I hated knowing I lost you before we even got back in the fall. The silence over the summer, the way everything after that just felt like we were…punishing each other.”
Anton exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “You think I didn’t hate it too?”
You glance at him. “I hated all of it. You think I wanted that? I wanted to be with you.” He shakes his head slightly. “Every time I got close, every time I chose you…you pulled away.”
Your chest tightens. “I didn’t—” you start but the words fall apart before you finish your sentence. He’s right, you always chose to avoid him, from sophomore year when you realized you were falling all the way up to junior year after he confessed. He picked you yet you made it nearly impossible for him to stay with all the rules you set, the way you kept him hidden but would burn with fury when anyone else tried to fill your place beside him.
The truth sits there between you, ugly and unavoidable.
“It’s not too late,” Anton says quietly as you sit in your discomfort.
There’s no teasing in his expression now, no deflection, no pride. “We don’t have to keep doing it like that. We could…actually try.” He adds, softer now.
For a second, you let yourself imagine it. What that would look like. What it would feel like to finally stop fighting it, to call it what it is, to choose each other without all the conditions and rules and distance you’ve spent the last two years hiding behind.
Just as quickly though, reality comes crashing down. Every fight, every misstep, every moment where one of you reached and the other pulled away. Two years worth of proof, the two of you star crossed lovers destined to fail from the moment he showed up in front of your dorm and offered to help you build your bookshelf. You know how this ends.
Your gaze drops, your fingers smoothing over the edge of the mattress like it might ground you. “Sohee told me you’re leaving,” you say instead.
It’s a clear deflection and Anton picks up on it the second the words leave your mouth. He exhales, leaning back slightly on his hands. “Yeah. We’re going back to Korea for a bit. See where things go from there. Maybe LA after.” He admits.
You nod slowly, like you’re processing it, even though you already have.
“But that doesn’t mean—” he starts.
You don’t let him finish. “Long distance?” you ask, glancing at him.
He hesitates for a fraction of a second before nodding. “We could try. I mean it. Something real this time.”
Something real. The words settle in your chest, heavy. You want to believe him…you almost do but wanting something has never been enough for the two of you.
You nod like you agree, like you believe him, even though you don’t and before he can read too much into it, you lean forward, closing the space between you, pressing your lips to his. The kiss is softer than anything you’ve shared before.
It doesn’t feel like a fight or a distraction or something meant to prove a point. Anton stills for half a second surprised before his hand comes up to cup the side of your face, pulling you closer as he kisses you back.
His movements are slow and deliberate, almost like he’s trying to memorize you rather than consume you. His thumb brushes along your jaw, your cheek, as his lips move against yours with a kind of care you haven’t felt from him before.
His hands slide down from your face, pausing briefly at your shoulders before drifting lower, fingertips grazing along the edges of his jacket still wrapped around you. He tugs it gently from your arms, letting it fall somewhere beside the bed before his attention returns to you, eyes flickering over your face like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time in a long while.
You don’t look away.
Your breath catches softly as his hands find the zipper of your dress, hesitating for just a moment, giving you time to stop him, to say something, to pull away. You don’t.
He takes the hint and slowly unzips your dress. His gaze never leaving yours until the fabric is gone and discarded somewhere behind him.
He leans in again, pressing another kiss to your lips before letting it drift to your cheek, your jaw, the curve of your neck. Each touch softer than the last, like he’s making up for every moment he wasn’t like this before.
You let your hands move too, undoing his tie, then his dress shirt, guiding him just enough until he pulls back to shed the layers himself. The fabric drops to the floor without care, forgotten the second it leaves his hands.
When he comes back to you, it’s closer. His forehead rests briefly against yours, both of you breathing the same air, your breaths mingling together and become one. You take your time to remember his face, all the beauty marks and smile lines then his lips find yours once more.
There’s no urgency in the way he touches you, no rush to get anywhere else. His hands move as if he’s learning you all over again, like this version of you is something fragile. Something he doesn’t want to break.
You fall back onto the bare mattress together, the springs creaking faintly beneath you, the room around you stripped of everything except this.
Your orgasm crashes into you, shattering you completely. You barely register the sounds you’re making, Anton swallowing them with a desperate kiss. Your breaths tangle, uneven and shaky, his hands still holding you like he doesn’t quite know how to let go. “I love you.” He chokes out as he spills in you.
It feels like a freight train has hit you. Your chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts, your breath catching as everything inside you stumbles over itself. Your hand lifts on instinct, brushing his hair back from his face so you can see him clearly, really see him.
“I love you too,” you breathe. You finally allow yourself to say the words you’ve been aching to say for the past four years.
Anton exhales against your lips, something in his expression breaking open just slightly before he leans down again, kissing you reverently. You kiss him back just as gently, your fingers still tangled in his hair, holding him there for a second longer before pulling back just enough to look at him again.
“I love you,” you say once more. Making sure he knows, he understands you have and will always love him.
Anton gently pulls out and a soft whimper escapes your lips at the loss but he’s quick to drop down beside you, pulling you into his embrace, cradling you against his chest like it’s second nature. His arms wrap around you securely, one hand splayed across your back while the other traces slow, absentminded circles into your skin. It feels like everything you’ve ever wanted.
You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him. His eyes are already on you. “Did you mean it?” he murmurs.
You nod against him, your fingers coming up to rest lightly against his chest. “I always did.”
Anton exhales softly, his hand sliding up your back to rest at the base of your neck. “Then we can make it work. It doesn’t have to end like this.”
You don’t humor him with a response. Instead, you trace slow patterns into his skin, listening as he continues. “I’m being serious, ____. We could try. Long distance for a bit…until things settle.” His thumb brushes lightly along your shoulder. “And then I’ll come back to New York.”
Your heart stutters at that.
“I don’t wanna be anywhere else long term. We could…get a place. A brownstone, maybe. Fix it up how we want.” He says with a small laugh.
You smile faintly despite yourself, picturing it without meaning to. You had mentioned freshman year wanting to be a NewYork Times best selling author living in your very own brownstone, that’s how you would know you made it.
“You’d have your own space to write,” he continues, glancing down at you. “I could finally hear all those stories you never let anyone read. Help if you want or just…be there.”
Tears slowly start to fill your eyes. “And you could tell me when my lyrics suck.” He adds teasingly.
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “They don’t suck.”
“Some of them do,” he insists, nudging you slightly.
You hum, pretending to consider it. “Maybe.”
He smiles at that, something soft and boyish slipping through as he turns his head to look up at the ceiling. For a moment, you let yourself stay there. In the version of your life he’s painting so easily, as if it’s something already within reach. You nod along when you’re supposed to. Add small comments, let him talk, let him believe you’re right there with him.
His voice eventually slows, his words tapering off as the exhaustion of the day finally catches up to him. His grip on you loosens just slightly, his breathing evening out as sleep begins to pull him under.
You stay still beneath him, listening as his breaths deepen, as the tension finally leaves his body completely. When you’re sure he’s asleep, you tilt your head just enough to look at him again.
You take in the way his lashes rest against his cheeks, the faint crease between his brows that’s finally smoothed out, the pink of his lips. Your fingers lift slowly, brushing his hair back from his forehead one last time, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.
“I love you,” you whisper, so quietly it drifts into the night.
You fight the tears as you pull away. Slowly untangling yourself from his arms like you’re afraid even the smallest movement might wake him, might stop you from doing what you already know you’re going to do. You gather your clothes from the floor, dressing in silence, your hands moving on autopilot.
When you make it to the door, you pause. You sniff once before looking over your shoulder. He’s still there, still unmoving. Still looking like something you could’ve kept if things had been different.
Your throat tightens but you don’t let it stop you. You open the door and slip out into the quiet hallway, letting the door close softly behind you. Only then do you allow yourself to cry, to mourn what you never let yourself have.
Present Day
By the time you step off the train, your head is still buzzing with red ink and rejected edits.
The day had dragged at the publishing house, hours blurring into each other under fluorescent lights while you sat hunched over your laptop, eyes burning, flipping between manuscripts and stories that weren’t yours. Words you were supposed to fix, shape and make better even as your own sat untouched in the notes app on your phone.
Your boss hadn’t made it any easier. Hurling insults from her glass office at the all editors as she sat with her legs up on her desk eating a deli sub.
All you want is your bed.
You dig through your bag as you walk, fingers brushing past your notebook, your wallet and the lip gloss you swore you lost two days ago. Your keys are always at the bottom no matter how many times you tell yourself to keep them somewhere easier to reach. You let out a quiet sigh, already half-annoyed at the effort it’s going to take to find them.
The sound of someone calling your name cuts through your annoyance. You look up and blink in confusion. Jake stands a few feet away leaning casually against his car, one hand resting on the hood of his stupidly nice sports car, the other tucked into the pocket of his slacks.
He smiles when your eyes meet his. “Hey baby.”
For a second, you just stare at him. You hadn’t been expecting him. Your fingers that are still in your bag tighten slightly around nothing, your thoughts lagging a step behind as you try to catch up. “Jake? What are you doing here?” You ask as you finally pull your hand free, letting your bag fall back against your hip.
He pushes himself off the car, stepping a little closer as if he doesn’t see anything wrong with showing up unannounced. “I texted you. Figured I’d come pick you up.”
You blink, pulling your phone from your pocket. The screen lights up immediately, a string of notifications you hadn’t bothered checking once you left the office. His name sits there near the top.
“Sorry. I must’ve missed it.” You murmur, locking your phone again without really reading anything.
“It’s okay. I thought we could grab dinner or something. You look like you had a long day.” He says quickly.
You let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “That obvious?”
“A little,” he admits, reaching out to brush his thumb lightly under your eye like he’s checking for something.
The touch is gentle and familiar. You should lean into it but instead you step back just slightly. “Yeah. It was…a lot.” You say, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.
Jake watches you for a moment, something flickering across his face too quick to fully catch. “Well,” he says, straightening a bit, deciding not to push it. “Come on. I’ll drive.”
He gestures toward the passenger side, already moving to open the door for you. “Um…actually,” you start, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Raincheck? I kinda just feel like staying in tonight.”
Jake’s hand stills on the car door for half a second before he nods. “Cool, then I’ll take you to my place.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “No. I think I’d rather just stay home.” You say softer now, shaking your head slightly.
His brows pull together just a fraction. “Home?”
“Yeah,” you say quickly, filling the space before he can. “Manon’s leaving soon, remember? That F1 thing in Miami? I haven’t really gotten to hang out with her before she goes so I just…I wanna spend some time with her.”
The lie comes out smoother than it should. You don’t mention that she’s probably already half-packed, that she’ll be out the door early tomorrow, that “spending time” really just means existing in the living room watching The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives together before retreating into your room to shower. Maybe use TikTok for a bit before crawling to your laptop to open the same document of your novel that hasn’t seen real progress in weeks.
Jake doesn’t need to know any of that though.
You watch as his tongue presses into the inside of his cheek, something tightening in his jaw as he exhales quietly through his nose. “____,” he says, and there’s a shift in it now. “Seriosuly?”
You blink at him, feigning confusion. “What?”
He lets out a short breath, pushing the car door closed. The soft thud echoes a little louder than it should between you. “Why don’t you like coming to my place?”
You straighten slightly, defensive before you can stop yourself. “I do like your place.”
“Okay, then why does it feel like you avoid it?”
“I don’t avoid it,” you shoot back, adjusting your bag again just to have something to do with your hands. “Jake, I just said I’m tired. I wanna go home.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “So come home with me.”
You exhale, slower this time, trying to keep the moment from tipping over into something else. “Jake…”
“Why won’t you move in?” he asks, more direct now, finally naming what this is realy about.
“Can we not do this today? I just got off work, Jake. I’m tired.” You sigh.
He shakes his head immediately. “No ____, because every time I try, you shut me down.”
“I don’t shut you down,” you say quickly.
His eyes widen just slightly, like he can’t believe you’re actually going to pretend that. “You don’t?” he repeats, incredulous now. “You brushed it off last week. You brushed it off the week before that. Every time I bring up anything about us moving forward, you throw up these impenetrable walls!” he gestures vaguely toward you, frustration bleeding through.
You roll your eyes. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then what is it? Because I don’t understand what this is supposed to be anymore.” He presses.
You cross your arms over yourself, more to shield than anything else. “You’re making it into something it’s not.”
His jaw tightens. “Am I?”
You shrug, ready to dismiss him and this conversation but he speaks up again. “Is this about that guy in your memory box? In the polaroid?”
Your head snaps up, irritation flaring instantly. “Why are you bringing him up again? I told you he’s nothing!” The irony of your words are not lost on you.
“Because you clearly still feel something for him!” he fires back, matching your energy now, all the patience he’s been holding onto slipping. “You don’t react like that over someone who’s ‘nothing,’ ____!”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head like he’s the one being unreasonable. “You’re reaching.”
“Am I?” he pushes, voice rising just slightly. “Because from where I’m standing you’re looking really fucking guilty!”
You roll your eyes, already turning away from him like that’s the end of it. “This conversation is over,” you mutter over your shoulder, digging back into your bag as you head for your building.
“____.” He calls. You ignore it.
Your fingers close around your keys, finally finding them at the bottom and you pull them free. “Don’t walk away from me!” Jake booms from behind you.
You continue up the steps, not giving into the way he baits you. You clench your jaw as you reach for the lock on your door when he yells out again. “Why won’t you just choose me!?”
Unable to keep a hold on your cool, you whirl around, anger rising faster than you can contain it, words already spilling before you can catch them. “Because you’re not him!”
You gasp the second you finish your sentence. There’s no way you just said that. “Fuck—” you breathe, your voice breaking as your eyes widen. “Jake, wait—I didn’t mean that, I didn’t—”
Only problem with that is that you did mean it and Jake knows. “Yeah. You did.”
The calmness of his response is worse than anything else he could’ve done or said. You take a step toward him, panic rising now, hands half-lifted like you can fix it if you just say the right thing. “No, Jake, listen to me—”
He wastes no time in turning away from you and heading to his car without another word. You hurry after him, heart racing reaching for the passenger side. “Jake! Please! just let me explain—”
You try tugging the door open but the handle doesn’t budge, he’s locked the car. You look up just in time to see him start the engine, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not even sparing you a glance. “Jake!”
He doesn’t stop. The car pulls away from the curb in one smooth motion, tires scraping slightly against the pavement as he accelerates, merging into traffic and away from you. You swallow hard, your vision blurring just slightly as everything starts to catch up all at once.
For a second, you’re still facing the street like he might come back if you just stand there long enough but the space he left behind stays empty, cars passing through like nothing happened. You step back from the curb slowly, your footing uneven as you make your way toward your building.
The world around you keeps moving, people pass, a couple across the street glances over before quickly looking away, your neighbor lingers by the front steps a little too long before pretending to check her phone.
Heat creeps up your neck at the fact that she definitely heard but you don’t have it in you to care. Not really. You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and try to feign normalcy. Your phone buzzes in your hand, dragging your attention down to the screen.
It’s an email. The subject line almost knocks the remaining air from your lungs.
Subject line: English 102 – Letter to the Future, ____.
For a second, you just stare at it. You almost ignore it. You almost shove your phone back into your bag and deal with…everything else first but your curiosity wins out and your thumb moves before you can think too hard about it.
There’s a short message from your old professor explaining that the letters were scanned and sent out now that everyone has graduated, a small note about reflection and growth and how she hopes you’ve become everything you once wrote about.
Your chest tightens slightly as you scroll. Before you is a scanned copy of your own handwriting. You sink down onto your front steps without really deciding to, your bag slipping from your shoulder as you bring the screen closer to read.
Hi…me?
This feels weird. I don’t even know how to start this without sounding dumb but I guess that’s kind of the point? You’re probably not the same person writing this anymore so…hi. I hope you’re okay….I hope you’re happy.
Right now I feel like everything is just starting. Like I finally made it somewhere I’ve been dreaming about for years. New York still doesn’t feel real, like I’m going to wake up and be back home again lol.
Did we stay? Please tell me we stayed.
Also…did we write it? Our book? I keep telling everyone I’m going to be a New York Times bestselling author one day and they all nod like I’m insane or don’t have what it takes. I think I do though. I think I have it in me. I just hope you didn’t give up on that.
Oh! And Manon, are we still friends? She’s literally my favorite person right now. We keep joking about living together after graduation like it’s a given. Did we actually do it? Because I feel like we would be so good at it. Does Sohee come to visit like he says he will? Does he freeload and steal our food before offering to pay us by singing old Justin Bieber?
There’s a pause in the letter. You can see it in the way your handwriting dips slightly, like you hesitated even back then.
Anton…I don’t know why I’m even writing about him but…he’s really nice. Like, really nice. Being around him makes me…happy. There’s something about him, I don’t know. Anyway, I feel like he’s going to do something big one day. I don’t know what yet but I know he has it in him. I hope he accomplishes all of it.
I hope we stay close.
Your vision blurs before you even realize you’re crying. The girl who wrote this…she sounds so sure…so hopeful. So painfully unaware of everything that would come after. You let out a shaky breath, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them.
You don’t even notice the second email come in right away. It’s only when the ding sounds and your phone buzzes again, sharp against your palm, that your eyes flick to the top of the screen.
Subject line: English 102 – Letter to the Future, Anton Lee.
Your breath stutters. For a second, you think it has to be some kind of mistake, a glitch. Maybe your professor sent things out in bulk and accidentally attached the wrong file to the wrong name.
You tap it anyway.
The screen shifts and there his handwriting sits. Neater than yours and slightly slanted. You can almost see him again, hunched over his notebook in that classroom, chewing on his pencil, tapping it against the page while he thought too hard about the assignment. You start reading.
It’s kind of funny how we’re supposed to capture something meaningful in a letter like this. As if we can freeze a version of ourselves in time and trust that it’ll still make sense years from now. I don’t think it works like that.
I think people change too fast for that. Or maybe not fast enough. Maybe we just carry different versions of ourselves at the same time and pretend they don’t contradict each other.
Right now, I feel like I’m somewhere in between a lot of things. Not really who I was when I first got here but not fully who I’m supposed to be yet either. People talk about “finding yourself” like it’s a destination, like one day you just wake up and everything clicks into place. I don’t think that’s real. I think it’s more like…you keep going and hope you recognize yourself along the way.
Freshman year is almost over and it already feels like something I won’t ever get back. Not in a sad way. Just in a…you don’t realize how important something is until you’re already moving past it kind of way.
Like how certain days feel bigger than others for no reason. Or how certain people do.
Your breath catches before you even get to the next line.
I think you’re one of those people for me. I didn’t expect that.
If I’m being honest, I didn’t expect to get this attached to anyone here. I’ve never really been good at that. Not in a cold way, I don’t think. Just…sometimes it feels like people experience things in a way I can’t fully reach. Like there’s always a small gap between what they feel and what I understand but with you, it’s different. Or at least it feels different.
You swallow hard.
I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like I’m overthinking something simple but I think about you more than I probably should. Not in a weird way. (Okay, maybe a little in a weird way.)
A broken laugh escapes you through your tears.
I think about the way you talk about things you love, the way you only ever read hard copy versions of books. The way you get frustrated when people don’t take writing seriously. The way you appreciate the more sentimental things life has to offer.
It makes me want to listen. Even when I don’t understand half of it. I don’t know what happens after this year. I don’t know what happens after any of this, actually.
Everyone keeps asking those big questions like where we’re going, what we’re becoming, what the point of all of this is supposed to be and I don’t have an answer. I don’t think anyone really does.
But I do know this: I’m really glad I met you.
Tears slip faster down your cheeks, dripping onto your screen.
I almost didn’t, which is the craziest part. (crazy am i right?)
If Sohee hadn’t dragged me to your door that day, I probably would’ve just…kept walking and you would’ve just been another person in the hallway. Someone I passed by without thinking twice.
And now I can’t imagine this year without you in it. I don’t know if I’ll ever say any of this out loud. I feel like I won’t. Not because I don’t want to but because I don’t know if I’m supposed to.
There’s a version of this where I tell you and everything changes. Maybe for the better, maybe not. And there’s another version where I don’t say anything and I get to keep what we already have. I think I’m a little selfish when it comes to that.
So if you’re reading this and I never told you…I think I liked you. No
The word is scratched out slightly, like he went back over it.
I know I did. I just didn’t know what to do with it. Maybe by the time you’re reading this, I figured it out. Maybe I told you and we laughed about how obvious it was. Maybe we tried. Maybe we didn’t. Maybe we’re still in each other’s lives in some way that makes sense.
And if we’re not…then I hope you’re still writing. I hope you didn’t let anything or anyone convince you to stop. I hope you became everything you said you would, even if it looks different than you imagined.
And I hope, in some small way, I was part of that version of your life. You were my favorite part of this year. I think you might be my favorite part of college.
And if I never got the chance to say it properly…then just know I would’ve chosen you.
The sob hits you before you can brace for it.
It tears out of your chest, sharp and broken, your whole body folding forward as if the weight of it all finally catches up to you at once. Your phone slips slightly in your grasp but you don’t let go, your fingers tightening around it like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.
“Fuck—” you choke, dragging in a breath that doesn’t quite fill your lungs. Your shoulders shake, your head dropping as tears fall freely now.
You walked away. You walked away from him.
From every version of him that tried quietly, stubbornly and consistently to meet you where you were too scared to stand. The freshman who hoped you’d stay close, the sophomore who fell for you in all the ways possible, the junior who asked you to stop pretending and the senior who laid everything out and still chose you.
“____?”
A soft calling of your name cuts through your self deprecating thoughts. You don’t look up right away, too far gone. It’s only when you feel a shift beside you that you finally blink through your tears to find Manon perched beside you on your stoop.
She sets her bag down beside her and just looks at you for a second, taking you in, your tear-streaked face and your trembling hands. “You got the letter?” she asks gently.
You hiccup, the sound catching in your throat as your brows knit together. “W-what? H-how did you—”
Manon exhales softly, leaning her elbows onto her knees. “I got mine at dinner.” She folds her hands before continuing. “Anton told me he wrote to you.”
Your head snaps toward her. “What?”
She shrugs one shoulder, nudging her bag further aside with her foot. “Beginning of sophomore year.” she adds.
“He—” you start then stop because what is there to even say to that?
Manon watches you carefully for a second longer before letting out a quiet breath. She leans back slightly, bracing her hands against the step behind her. “Are you finally done running?” she asks.
The question lands like a slap to the face. For a moment, you don’t answer. You just stare at the ground between your feet, your tears slowing but not stopping, your mind replaying everything at once.
Manon doesn’t fill the silence, lets you sit in it however uncomfortable it may be. For the first time in two years, you don’t deflect. “I didn’t know…I didn’t know he—” your throat tightens again, cutting you off.
Manon hums quietly. “Yeah, you did.” She says.
You flinch slightly at that. She softens almost immediately, nudging your knee with hers. “Maybe not like this but…you knew.” She amends, nodding toward your phone.
You don’t argue. Manon exhales, dragging a hand down her face before resting her chin in her palm. “I knew about the two of you before…Sohee knew too, by the way. Maybe not everything but…we knew enough. His feelings weren’t exactly subtle.”
A weak, humorless laugh escapes you. “I thought we were so slick.”
“Please,” she snorts lightly. “Everyone could see it except you.”
You shake your head, more tears slipping free. “That’s not…”
“It is. I’ve been watching you self-sabotage for two years.” She cuts in frimly.
The words sting. Not because they’re harsh but because they’re true. “I got frustrated,” she admits after a beat, her tone quieter now.
“Watching you push him away then get mad when he didn’t stay exactly where you left him. Watching you settle for…less.” She gestures vaguely, she doesn’t even need to say Jake’s name.
Your gaze drops as you think about every time she defended Anton during senior year. Every time she looked at you like she was trying to understand why you kept choosing the harder option.
“I should’ve stopped you…with Jake I mean. I knew you didn’t love him the way you loved..the way you love Anton.”
You don’t deny it. You sniff, wiping at your face with the back of your hand as you look away, the street lights blurring together in front of you. The two of you sit in silence for a beat before Manon speaks up again.
“...I still talk to him.”
Your head turns so fast it almost hurts. “What?”
Manon shrugs, like she expected that reaction. “Not all the time but...yeah. We keep in touch. Sohee too.”
“He’s…okay?” you ask.
She nods. “He’s good. Booked and busy. Music stuff is actually going really well.”
You smile, at least he accomplished his dreams. Manon studies your face for a second before reaching into her bag, pulling out her phone. “Actually…” she hesitates then unlocks it, scrolling for a moment. “There’s something you should hear.”
She taps her screen then turns it slightly so you can see. “It’s his latest release, he sent it to me two nights ago.”
You look at the title and your heart constricts all over again. Before You Leave Me.
Manon presses play and you listen with baited breath. You don’t make it past the first verse before your vision blurs again.
Darling, handle me with care
Cover me in bubble wrap
I’m scared you really mean it
That you’re never comin’ back
Your chest caves in slowly, your hand tightening around your phone as the next lines play.
Know I can’t change your mind
But how could you just leave like that?
Manon doesn’t say anything beside you. She just lets it play, lets it sink in. The chorus hits and it feels like it knocks the air out of your lungs completely.
Just give me one more night
Hold me like you’re still mine
Oh, love me for right now
Before you leave me
You squeeze your eyes shut but it only makes it worse. The memory overlaps with the sound, his arms around you, his voice against your skin, the way he held you like he already knew you were going to go. Like he was asking for something you were never going to give him.
I know it’s gonna hurt
Watching your footsteps turn
So, love me for right now
Before you leave me
Your shoulders shake as the realization settles in. He knew. Some part of him knew. Even that night when he was laying there with you, when he was telling you about brownstones and writing and staying, he knew you might still walk away but he loved you anyway.
You drag in a shaky breath, pressing your palm harder against your mouth. “Stop.” You beg Manon, turning away from her. “Turn it off!”
She complies right away. The music cuts off mid-line, the silence that follows almost louder than the song itself. “I can’t—” you choke, dragging a hand down your face. “I can’t listen to that. I can’t!”
“Okay. Then what can you do?” She asks.
You blink at her, thrown off by the shift. “What?” you rasp.
“What can you do, ____?” she repeats, leaning forward now, elbows braced against her knees. “Because I’ve watched you do this for two years. Self destruct and wait for the damage to pass by.”
Your brows knit together, a weak shake of your head already forming. “That’s not—”
“You don’t get to sit here and act like this blindsided you. None of this is new. The only thing that’s new is that you can’t pretend you didn’t know anymore.”
“That’s not fair,” you mutter.
“No. It’s not. That’s the point.” She rebuttals.
She softens slightly. “You knew he loved you and instead of meeting him there, you made him work for it then punished him by walking away. You don’t get to fall apart like this and act like you’re helpless in all of it. You made choices too.”
“I was scared,” you admit, barely above a whisper.
“I know,” Manon says.
Nothing is said beyond that. After minutes of sitting in silence, Manon pats your leg softly. “His number hasn’t changed.”
She doesn’t linger after that. Manon pushes herself up, brushing her hands against her dress before reaching down to grab her bag. She pauses for half a second, like she might say something else but whatever it is, she decides against it. Instead, she gives your knee one last squeeze then she turns and heads inside, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving you alone on the step.
You sit there a moment longer, your phone still in your hand, his letter open on the screen waiting for you to do something with it. Your chest still aches and your eyes still sting but you sniff once and remind yourself you caused this pain.
You look down at your phone again and swipe out of the email, not wanting to face it anymore. Tonight, you need to forget it all. You inhale slowly and push yourself up from the steps. Your legs feel a little unsteady at first but you adjust, sliding your bag back onto your shoulder and wiping at your face with the sleeve of your jacket.
You walk aimlessly down the street back towards the subway entrance. You swipe your metro car and step onto the platform, the train arrives in five minutes. You get on, not thinking of the destination, just letting your feet carry you.
Your mind drifts, your thoughts looping through everything that’s just happened; Jake’s face, Manon’s words, the letter, the song…Anton. You stare out the window as the train carries you further and further into the city.
Eventually, the train slows and the doors slide open. You step out onto the platform you haven’t stood on in a while, the familiarity hitting you in a way that feels almost disorienting. Your feet move before you can second guess it, carrying you up the stairs and out onto the street.
You walk and walk and walk. You don’t stop until you’re standing in front of phebes. The neon sign flickers faintly above the door, the same way it always did. You can hear the music from outside, muffled but familiar.
For a second you just stand there taking it all in. You haven’t visited NYU since graduation, haven’t made it to this side of town since you left Anton. You push down the thought the second you push open the door. Inside, it’s exactly how you remember. Dim lighting, sticky floors and music just loud enough to drown out your thoughts if you let it. The layout hasn’t changed.
You slide onto a stool at the bar without hesitation. The bartender who approaches you isn’t one you recognize. “What can I get you?”
You don’t hesitate. “Two shots of don julio, keep the tab running.”
The bartender nods, already reaching for the bottle. He pours quickly and slides the small glasses toward you with a dish of lime wedges. You grab the first shot and lick the salt rim before tossing the tequila back in one smooth motion. You suck in a breath through your teeth, chasing it with the lime, blinking hard as your eyes water.
“Rough night?” the bartender asks, seemingly unfazed.
You let out a humorless snort, setting the empty glass down a little harder than you mean to. “Try two years.”
He pauses for half a second, caught off guard by the honestly then offers a small awkward smile. “Yeah…that’ll do it,” he mutters, already stepping away to tend to someone further down the bar.
You don’t watch him go, you just reach for the second shot. This one goes down easier. Or maybe you just don’t care as much. Either way, you welcome the burn. You exhale slowly, fingers wrapping around the empty glass as you start to twirl it against the bartop. Your mind won’t stop.
Jake. Manon. The letter. The song. Anton.
You’re already lifting your hand to signal for another when the stool beside you scrapes softly against the floor. Your jaw tightens at the new presence, irritation flaring up faster than it should. It’s barely five pm on a Thursday, the place is practically empty. There are a dozen other open seats and this asshat chooses the one right next to you? Seriously?
You roll your eyes, turning fully now, already halfway into telling them to move. “Excuse me,”
The words die the second they leave your mouth and your eyes catch sight of who the stranger is. Sat before you is none other than Anton Lee.
For a split second, he looks just as caught off guard as you feel. His brows lift slightly, his posture stilling like he wasn’t expecting this either. It’s gone as quick as it came.
Your eyes tear away from his gaze to take him in greedily, trying to make up for two years worth of absence. His hair is longer now, falling around his face and dyed a deep auburn. It’s styled back enough to show his forehead.
Your gaze drops. His gold chain is still there, resting against his collarbone. The same Lange & Söhne Odysseus sits at his wrist. He’s dressed simply, jeans and a henley, sleeves pushed up to expose his forearms.
Your eyes lift back to his face. You find him staring at you too, like he was inventorying all the new details about you. Anton’s lips curve into a gentle smile despite everything that sits between you.
synopsis: you loved jaemin for eight long years. long enough to learn how to keep him in your life in the name of love. loving him meant accepting the faults even when it isn’t yours, changing every part of yourself to be a part of his narrative, wondering when will you ever become someone easier to love. every fight circled the same ache—him telling you who you should be, you apologising and promising that you’ll change. at jaemin’s first photography exhibition, muse, you realised that in a room filled with photos full of faces he chose to remember and hold onto, you were not part of it. and for the first time, you ask the question you’ve been avoiding all along, how much of yourself can you give before there’s nothing left to be seen?
highlight. "please don't go. please. i'm—" he exhales shakily, and when you turn back to look at him, his eyes are wet. jeong jaehyun, who never cries. jeong jaehyun, who smiles through everything. "i'll do anything. i'll be whoever you need me to be. just—don't walk out that door. i can't watch you leave again. i can't."
pairings. nonidol!jaehyun x fem!reader
genre. angst, non idol fic, college au, smut 18+
tags. angst, college au, communications major jaehyun, non-idol au, second chances, situationship, slow burn, yeaner jaehyun, exes to lovers, miscommunication, trust issues, emotional hurt/comfort, smut with feelings, needy jaehyun, desperate jaehyun, jaehyun begs, crying during intimacy, soft dom jaehyun, making up, hopeful ending, realistic fiction
warnings. desperate sex, begging and pleading, repeated apologies during intimacy, deep kissing, sloppy undressing, body worship, breast worship, praising whispers, fingering, oral sex female receiving, cunnilingus, clit sucking, tongue fucking, penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, height difference, smaller female reader with taller male, missionary, prone bone, eye contact, hair tugging, gentle aftercare, cuddling, holding tight, yearning desperate male character, no condom (lets pretend she's on bc, i forgot condoms again forgive me)
wordcount. 7k
part 1. | masterlist
it's 8:47 in the morning when your phone buzzes.
you're already awake, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a cup of instant coffee going cold on the nightstand. the screen lights up with his name, and you stare at it for a solid five seconds before flipping the phone face-down.
jaehyun.
you don't pick up. you haven't picked up since sunday.
the call ends. a minute later, a text comes through.
jaehyun: you awake? i'm outside
you don't reply. you don't even open it. the read receipt stays off, and you let your thumb hover over the notification before swiping it away.
outside your apartment building, jeong jaehyun is sitting in his black kia k5, engine idling, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his phone. he's wearing that gray hoodie you used to steal from him back when things were different. back when you still believed him.
he waits.
five minutes pass. then ten.
he checks his phone again. nothing.
he runs a hand through his hair—freshly cut, shorter on the sides, the way you once said you liked—and exhales through his nose. then he pulls up your chat history, scrolling up to see the last time you actually responded to him with more than one word.
you: ok
you: sure
you: thanks for the ride
that was friday. three days ago. before everything shifted again.
he types out another message, thumbs moving slowly like he's weighing every word.
jaehyun: did i do something?
he stares at it. backspaces. types again.
jaehyun: you have class at 9 right? i can drive you
send.
he tosses his phone onto the passenger seat and leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. the campus isn't far—fifteen minutes with morning traffic—but he's been coming here every tuesday and thursday for the past three weeks, ever since you let him back in. or at least, let him try.
rewind to a month ago.
september. the semester had just started. you were walking out of the communications building, earbuds in, bag slung over one shoulder, when someone fell into step beside you.
"you're walking fast."
you didn't have to look. you knew that voice.
"what do you want, jaehyun."
"to walk with you."
"i didn't ask."
"i know. i'm offering."
you kept walking, faster now, but his legs were longer and he had no trouble keeping up. he didn't say anything else, just walked beside you all the way to the bus stop, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, that stupid dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth like he was holding back a smile.
when the bus came, he didn't get on. he just stood there on the curb, watching you find a seat.
the next day, he was there again.
and the next.
by the end of the week, you finally cracked.
"what is this, jaehyun? what are you doing?"
he tilted his head, feigning innocence. "i'm walking you to the bus stop. is that a crime?"
"yes. it is. you lost the right to walk me anywhere."
the playfulness in his face flickered, something more serious bleeding through. "i know," he said, quieter. "i'm trying to earn it back."
you didn't believe him. you told yourself you wouldn't. you told yourself that jeong jaehyun was all charm and no follow-through, a communications major who knew exactly how to talk to people because that's what he was good at—talking. saying the right things. flashing those dimples and getting away with everything.
but he was persistent.
he started driving you to campus on days your schedules overlapped. he'd show up with coffee—your order memorized, even though you'd only told him once, months ago, before everything fell apart. he'd buy you lunch from that overpriced sandwich place near the library and leave it on your desk during your afternoon lecture without asking for anything in return.
he was doing all the right things.
and you hated that it was working.
mid-september to early october.
it went like this:
tuesday morning, he picks you up at 8:30 sharp. he's never late. the car smells like his cologne and the vanilla air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. he asks about your assignments, your group projects, the professor who always mispronounces your name. he doesn't talk about himself unless you ask, which you rarely do.
thursday afternoon, he's waiting outside the communications building with two cups of iced tea. "you look tired," he says.
"thanks. that's exactly what every girl wants to hear."
"i didn't say you look bad. i said you look tired. there's a difference."
you roll your eyes, but you take the tea.
saturday, he takes you to a hole-in-the-wall ramen place in hongdae. "you're paying," you remind him.
"obviously."
"and this isn't a date."
"obviously," he repeats, but there's a smirk tugging at his lips, and you hate that it makes your stomach flip.
he tells stupid jokes. like, genuinely stupid ones—dad jokes, knock-knock jokes, puns so bad they physically hurt. he does it on purpose, you know. he wants to see you crack. he wants to see that involuntary twitch of your mouth before you catch yourself and bury the smile under a scowl.
"why did the scarecrow win an award?" he asks one evening, driving you home.
"i'm not doing this."
"because he was outstanding in his field."
you groan, loud and exaggerated. "that's not even funny."
"then why are you smiling."
"i'm not."
"you are. your cheek is doing that thing."
"my cheek doesn't do a thing."
"it does. right here—" he reaches over, finger hovering near your face, and you swat his hand away before he can touch you.
he laughs. dimples on full display. and for a moment—just a moment—you forget why you were supposed to hate him.
but the thing about jeong jaehyun is that he's always been too good at this. too smooth. too effortless.
that's the problem.
you've known him for two years now. you met in intro to mass communication, ended up in the same study group, and somehow fell into something that felt like it could be real. he was charming then, too. flirty. always finding excuses to sit next to you, to borrow your notes, to ask for your opinion on his projects.
for a while, you thought it meant something.
when you walked away, he didn't stop you. didn't chase you. didn't text or call or show up at your door. he just let you go, like it didn't matter. like you didn't matter.
so when he showed up in september, all apologies and coffee runs and dad jokes, you didn't trust it. how could you? jeong jaehyun was a communications major in more ways than one—he knew how to say the right things, how to deliver the right lines, how to make you feel like you were the center of his universe even when you weren't.
you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
and then saturday happened.
saturday, october 11. minji's dorm room, 9:14 pm.
you're sitting on her floor, back against the bed frame, scrolling through your phone while she rummages through her closet for something to wear to her birthday party next weekend.
"so minseo isn't coming," minji says, tossing a black top onto the bed.
"wait, why?"
"because jaehyun's coming."
your thumb freezes mid-scroll. "what?"
"yeah, i invited him. you guys are talking again, right? i figured it'd be fine."
"no, i mean—why isn't minseo coming just because jaehyun's there?"
minji pauses, turning to look at you. there's a flicker of something on her face—realization, maybe, or regret for bringing it up at all. "oh. you didn't know?"
"didn't know what."
she hesitates. "they had a thing. like, months ago. minseo said it was serious. or at least, she thought it was."
the room feels smaller.
"when," you hear yourself say.
"i don't know exactly. around june? july? she didn't really talk about it until recently. i think she's still kind of hung up on him."
june or july. months ago.
the same months when jaehyun was supposedly realizing he made a mistake with you. the same months when he was allegedly thinking about you, missing you, regretting the way things ended. the same months he later described as "hell" when he was trying to win you back.
apparently, hell looked a lot like getting serious with minseo.
"hey," minji says, reading your face. "i'm sure it's not—i mean, you know jaehyun. he's..."
"yeah," you cut her off, voice flat. "i know jaehyun."
you leave her dorm twenty minutes later. you don't cry. you don't even feel sad, exactly. it's more like a dull, familiar ache—the same one you felt last spring when you realized he wasn't going to come after you. the same one that told you, over and over, that you were never as special to him as he was to you.
of course.
he's jaehyun.
a face like that, a smile like that, a way with words like that. why would he ever settle for one person when he could have whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and call it "just having fun" when things got too real?
you were an idiot for thinking anything had changed.
sunday, october 12. you start ghosting him.
it's subtle at first. you don't answer his good morning text. when he calls, you let it ring. when he sends a follow-up message—you okay?—you leave it on read.
monday passes the same way. he texts three times. calls twice. you ignore them all.
by tuesday morning, he's standing outside your building like clockwork, and you're still in bed, coffee gone cold, phone buzzing against the mattress. the vibration stops, starts again. he's calling.
you don't pick up.
outside, jaehyun checks the time. 8:52. your class is in eight minutes. if you don't leave now, you'll be late.
he calls again. straight to voicemail this time—not because your phone is off, but because you rejected the call.
that's when it hits him. this isn't a busy morning or a dead battery. this is deliberate.
he stares at his phone screen for a long moment. then he opens his chat with minji.
jaehyun: hey, random question. did something happen over the weekend?
three dots appear. disappear. appear again.
minji: uh
minji: i might have mentioned the minseo thing
minji: sorry, i thought she already knew
jaehyun closes his eyes.
minseo.
he presses his forehead against the steering wheel for a solid ten seconds, then straightens up and puts the car in drive. he doesn't speed off dramatically—he's not that kind of person. he just drives, merging into morning traffic, heading toward campus because he doesn't know where else to go.
he's not angry. he's not even defensive. he just feels... stupid.
because here's the thing: minseo was june. early june, right after finals, when he was trying to convince himself that he was fine. that he didn't mess up with you. that there were other girls, better girls, girls who didn't look at him like they expected him to fail.
minseo was nice. minseo was fun. and for about three weeks, jaehyun let himself pretend it could be something more. but it wasn't. it didn't matter how pretty she was or how much she liked him—she wasn't you. every conversation, every date, every kiss, he was thinking about someone else.
he ended it in july. told her he wasn't ready for anything serious. she cried, which made him feel like absolute garbage, and he spent the rest of the summer alone, replaying every mistake he'd ever made with you.
that was the summer that changed him. or at least, he thought it did.
he thought he could come back in september and prove it.
but old reputations die hard, and jeong jaehyun knows exactly what he looks like. the guy who never takes anything seriously. the guy who bounces from girl to girl. the communications major with the dimples and the charm who could sweet-talk his way out of anything.
he knows that's what you see when you look at him.
and right now, sitting in his car in the hanyang university parking lot, he's realizing that he might never be able to change that.
wednesday. thursday. friday.
you keep ghosting. he keeps trying—but quieter now, less persistent. a single text in the morning. a single text at night. no calls. no showing up at your building.
jaehyun: i know you're ignoring me. i'm not going to force you to talk
jaehyun: but when you're ready, i'll explain. about minseo. about everything
jaehyun: i'm not asking you to believe me. just to listen
you read them all. you don't reply.
it's easier this way, you tell yourself. easier to cut him off now than to let him in again and get burned. he's jaehyun. this is what he does. he's probably already moved on to someone else.
(he hasn't.)
(he's been going to class, coming home, and sitting in his studio apartment with the lights off, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he let this happen again.)
saturday, october 18. minji's birthday party.
you almost don't go. but minji is your friend, and you're not going to let jeong jaehyun ruin that. so you put on a decent outfit, fix your hair, and show up at the rooftop bar minji rented out, determined to have a good time.
jaehyun is already there.
you see him the moment you walk in—standing near the railing, talking to someone from your communications seminar. he's wearing a black button-down, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back. he looks good. annoyingly good. but there's something off about him. his smile doesn't reach his eyes. his dimples are nowhere to be seen.
you look away before he can catch you staring.
you spend the first hour avoiding him. it's not hard—the party is crowded, and you're good at making yourself small. you stick to the edges, nursing a drink, laughing at the right moments, pretending you're fine.
then you step outside to get some air, and he's there.
the rooftop has a smaller balcony section, semi-private, and he's leaning against the railing with his back to the door. his phone is in his hand, but he's not looking at it. he's just standing there, shoulders slightly hunched, like he's carrying something heavy.
you should turn around. you should go back inside.
instead, you clear your throat.
he turns. when he sees you, his whole body tenses—shoulders drawing back, hand tightening around his phone. for a second, neither of you speaks.
"hey," he finally says. his voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in a while.
"hey."
a pause.
"you've been avoiding me," he says. it's not an accusation. just a fact.
"yeah."
"can i ask why? or do you want me to figure it out myself."
you cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. the october air is cold against your skin. "i heard about minseo."
he doesn't flinch. doesn't look surprised. "i figured."
"so?"
"so nothing." he turns to face you fully, and you're struck by how tired he looks. dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight, none of that easy confidence he usually carries. "minseo was a mistake. i was—i don't know. i was trying to get over you. it didn't work."
"wow. that's very romantic. i'm sure she loved hearing that."
"she didn't," he admits. "i ended it badly. i'm not proud of it."
you don't say anything.
"i know how it looks," he continues, voice quieter now. "i know what you think of me. the guy who's always 'just having fun.' the guy who doesn't take anything seriously. and maybe i deserved that reputation. maybe i earned it. but i'm not—" he stops, exhales. "i'm not that guy anymore. or i'm trying not to be. i wouldn't have spent the last month driving you to class and buying you lunch and telling you stupid jokes just for fun. that's not what this was."
"then what was it."
"it was me trying to show you that i changed. because i knew telling you wasn't enough."
you look at him. really look at him. the tension in his shoulders. the uncharacteristic lack of dimples. the way his hand is shaking slightly against the railing.
you want to believe him.
but you've wanted to believe him before.
"jaehyun," you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "you let me walk away last time. you didn't fight. you didn't chase. you didn't even text. and then you spent the summer with someone else, and you expect me to believe that i'm different?"
he flinches. actually flinches, like the words hit him physically.
"i know," he says. "i know i messed up. i know i keep messing up. but i'm still here. i came back. and i know that doesn't fix anything, but—"
"but what."
"but what do you want me to do." his voice cracks on the last word. "tell me what to do and i'll do it. i'll stop trying if that's what you want. i'll leave you alone. but you have to tell me, because i'm not going to walk away this time unless you ask me to. not again."
the city hums below you. somewhere inside, minji's party continues—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses. out here, it's just the two of you and the cold october wind and the weight of everything unsaid.
you don't answer right away.
and for the first time in two years, jeong jaehyun doesn't try to fill the silence.
he just waits.
it's been two weeks since minji's party.
two weeks of him trying. not in the loud, performative way he used to—showing up unannounced, buying your coffee, filling silences with jokes. quieter this time. more careful.
he took his time, sucking gently, then softer, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt under his tongue. his free hand rested on your ribs, fingers spread wide, the size difference clear in how easily his palm covered so much of you. he switched sides, mouth warm and unhurried, little hums vibrating against your skin when your back arched slightly. “you always feel so good like this,” he murmured, lips brushing the underside of your breast before he kissed lower, open-mouthed and slow.
he texts once a day. not good morning or good night, nothing that expects a response. just small things. a song he thought you'd like. a photo of the campus cat that always sits outside the communications building. once, a voice memo of him attempting to play a song on his guitar, which he's terrible at, and he ends it with a self-deprecating laugh that you replay three times before you catch yourself.
you don't reply. but you don't block him either. you're not sure what that says about you.
on tuesday, you see him in the library. he's at a table near the window, head bent over a textbook, earbuds in. he doesn't notice you. you stand there for maybe fifteen seconds, watching the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating, the way he taps his pen against his lip. then you leave before he can look up.
on thursday, you run into him outside the communications building. literally run into him—you're rushing to your afternoon lecture, not looking where you're going, and suddenly there's a solid chest and familiar hands steadying your shoulders.
"sorry—" you start, then stop. it's him.
"hey." his voice is soft. his hands drop from your shoulders immediately, like he's afraid of holding on too long. "you okay?"
"yeah. fine. late for class."
"right. yeah. go." he steps aside, clearing the path. "i'll—see you around."
he doesn't say anything else. doesn't push. and somehow that's worse than if he had.
friday night, it rains.
you're at a house party in hongdae, a friend of a friend's place, and the whole night you've been restless. the music is too loud. the crowd is too thick. you keep checking your phone even though no one's texting you.
then minji grabs your arm, tipsy and grinning. "jaehyun's here."
your stomach drops. "what?"
"yeah, minho invited him. he's in the kitchen."
you don't go to the kitchen. you stay in the living room, wedged between the couch and a bookshelf, pretending to be interested in a conversation about someone's internship. but then the crowd shifts and there he is, leaning against the kitchen counter, a red cup in his hand, listening to minho talk about something with a polite half-smile on his face.
he looks tired. he always looks tired these days.
his eyes find yours across the room. he doesn't wave. doesn't smile. just holds your gaze for a moment—long enough to make your chest tight—and then looks away.
at 1 AM, people start leaving. you're outside waiting for a taxi, rain coming down in sheets, your thin jacket doing nothing to keep you warm. your phone is at 4%. the taxi app says 25 minute wait.
a car pulls up to the curb. black kia k5.
the window rolls down. "get in."
you hesitate. everything in you says no. everything in you says yes.
"i'm not going to try anything," he says, and his voice is so tired, so genuinely drained, that you believe him. "you're going to freeze out here. just let me drive you home."
you get in.
the drive is silent.
rain hammers the windshield. the wipers squeak rhythmically. jaehyun doesn't turn on music. doesn't try to fill the silence with dumb jokes or easy conversation. his hands are at ten and two, eyes on the road, jaw tight.
when he pulls up to your building, he doesn't turn off the engine. just sits there, waiting.
"thanks for the ride," you mumble, hand on the door handle.
"wait." his voice comes out strained. he clears his throat. "can we talk? not here. not in the car. somewhere. my place is close. five minutes. that's all i'm asking. five minutes, and if you still want to leave after that, i'll drive you back myself and you never have to see me again."
you should say no. you know you should say no.
"fine," you hear yourself say. "five minutes."
his apartment is small.
studio, really. a bed pushed against the far wall, a desk cluttered with textbooks, a guitar case gathering dust in the corner. fairy lights strung above the window—you remember helping him put those up. last year. back when things were simpler.
you stand near the door with your arms crossed. he stands near the kitchen counter. three feet of space between you. it feels like a mile.
"okay," you say. "talk."
he takes a breath. then another.
"i don't know how to do this," he admits. "i've been trying for weeks and i keep getting it wrong and i don't know—i don't know how to prove that i'm serious. that this is serious. that you're not just some—some game to me."
"maybe because you've treated everyone like a game for two years, jaehyun." your voice is sharper than you intended. "maybe because every time i let myself believe you, i find out about another girl. eunji. soyeon. minseo. how many more are there that i don't know about."
"there's no one else." he steps forward. you step back. he stops. "there hasn't been anyone since july. i ended things with minseo because she wasn't you. because no one is you. and i know that sounds like a line, i know that's exactly the kind of thing i would say to get out of trouble, but i swear—"
"swearing doesn't mean anything to you."
"what do you want me to do." his voice rises, cracking at the edges. "do you want me to get on my knees. do you want me to call minseo right now and let you listen. do you want me to—" he breaks off, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. "i don't know what you want from me. you won't tell me. you won't let me in. you just keep shutting me out and i'm trying—i'm trying so hard and it's never enough."
"because you let me walk away." your voice shakes. your eyes sting. you refuse to cry. "last spring. when i found out about eunji. i wanted you to stop me. i wanted you to fight. and you just—stood there. you let me go like it was nothing."
"it wasn't nothing."
"it looked like nothing."
"i know." his voice drops. "i know what i did. i think about it every day. i think about your face when you walked out. i think about how i didn't chase you. i think about what a coward i was. and then i spent the whole summer trying to convince myself i was fine and i wasn't. i wasn't fine. i'm not fine now. i haven't been fine since you left."
he's close now. you don't remember him moving, but he's close. you can see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the red rims around his eyes, the way his chest is rising and falling too fast.
"you're so good at this," you whisper.
"good at what."
"talking. saying the right things. making me feel like i'm the only person in the world. it's what you do, jaehyun. it's what you've always done."
"it's not an act." his voice breaks. "it was never an act with you. i know i messed up. i know i gave you every reason not to trust me. but i'm not—" he stops to take a shuddering breath, "i'm not performing. i'm not trying to win. i just—i just want you. that's it. that's all it's ever been."
you shake your head. "i can't do this again."
"do what."
"this." you gesture between you. "the hoping. the waiting. the finding out i was wrong about you. i can't."
"then don't hope." he steps closer. you don't step back. "don't trust me. don't believe a single thing i say. but stay. just—stay. give me a chance to show you. not tell you. show you."
your throat is tight. "jaehyun—"
"i know i'm selfish." his voice is barely above a whisper now. "i know i'm asking for something i don't deserve. but i'm asking anyway. please."
the word hangs in the air. please. jeong jaehyun doesn't say please. jeong jaehyun doesn't beg. he's too proud, too confident, too used to getting what he wants without having to ask.
but he's asking now.
something in you cracks.
"i should go." your voice barely audible. "this was a mistake."
you turn toward the door.
he moves faster than you've ever seen him move.
his hand catches your wrist—not hard, not grabbing—just stops you. gentle. desperate.
"don't." the word comes out strangled. "please don't go. please. i'm—" he exhales shakily, and when you turn back to look at him, his eyes are wet. jeong jaehyun, who never cries. jeong jaehyun, who smiles through everything. "i'll do anything. i'll be whoever you need me to be. just—don't walk out that door. i can't watch you leave again. i can't."
"jaehyun."
"i know." he steps closer, still holding your wrist, thumb pressed against your pulse. "i know i'm too late. i know i should've done this a year ago. i know you don't owe me anything. but i'm begging you. i'm actually begging you."
his other hand comes up, hesitant, hovering near your face like he's afraid to touch you without permission. his fingers are shaking.
"you're the only thing i've ever been sure about," he whispers. "and i ruined it. i know i ruined it. but if there's even a tiny part of you that still—"
he doesn't finish.
he kisses you instead.
it's not smooth. it's not confident. it's desperate and messy and his lips are trembling against yours, one hand still around your wrist, the other finally cradling your jaw like you're something precious. he kisses you like he's drowning and you're air. like he's been waiting months for this and he can't believe it's happening.
"please," he breathes against your mouth. "please, please, please—"
the word becomes a chant, a prayer, broken and breathless between kisses. his forehead presses against yours. his eyes are squeezed shut. a tear slips down his cheek and lands on your collarbone.
"tell me to stop," he says. "tell me you don't want this and i'll stop. i'll stop. i swear i'll stop."
your hands are in his shirt. you don't remember putting them there. his heart is pounding so hard you can feel it through the fabric.
you don't tell him to stop.
the sheets were already warm under your back when jaehyun kissed you again, his hand steady on the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. his mouth moved slow and deep, the kind of kiss that tasted like the mint from earlier and the faint salt of his skin. he kept murmuring sorry against your lips, the word slipping out between breaths like he couldn’t stop it. “sorry… i just—don’t go yet.” his voice was low, rough at the edges, nothing dramatic, just real and tired.
he tried to pull your shirt up but his fingers caught in the fabric, clumsy from how tightly he was holding on. you lifted your arms and did it yourself, tossing it aside onto the floor where his clothes already lay scattered. the cool air of the room hit your skin for a second before his mouth was on you, warm and immediate. “fuck… so pretty,” he breathed, the words barely above a whisper as he leaned down. his lips closed around one nipple, soft and wet, tongue circling slowly while his hand cupped the other, thumb brushing over it in lazy strokes.
he took his time, sucking gently, then softer, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt under his tongue. his free hand rested on your ribs, fingers spread wide, the size difference clear in how easily his palm covered so much of you. he switched sides, mouth warm and unhurried, little hums vibrating against your skin when your back arched slightly. “you always feel so good like this,” he murmured, lips brushing the underside of your breast before he kissed lower, open-mouthed and slow.
your pants came next. his hand fumbled at the waistband, pushing them down your hips but struggling with the angle on the bed. you raised your hips and helped slide them off along with your underwear, kicking them to the foot of the bed. jaehyun sat back just enough to yank his hoodie over his head in one motion, revealing the lean lines of his chest and stomach, skin already starting to flush. he was taller, broader in the shoulders, and when he leaned back over you the mattress dipped under his weight, making your smaller frame feel even smaller beneath him.
his fingers found you first, two of them sliding through your folds before pressing in carefully. “is this okay?” he asked, voice husky, eyes flicking up to yours. you nodded and told him to shut up, the words coming out breathy. he gave a small nod, lips pressing together, and focused. his fingers curled inside, slow and steady, thumb brushing your clit in gentle circles. the wet sounds were quiet, mixing with his heavy breathing and the low creak of the bed whenever he shifted. he watched your face the whole time, dark eyes steady, breathing through his mouth as he worked you open.
after a minute he slid lower, shoulders settling between your thighs. his mouth replaced his fingers, tongue flat and warm as he licked a slow stripe up your center. he groaned softly at the taste, the vibration traveling through you. he ate you out without rushing, lips closing around your clit and sucking gently, then releasing to lick again, over and over. his hands held your thighs apart, fingers pressing into the soft skin, keeping you spread for him. because of his height, his long arms reached easily, one hand sliding up to rest on your stomach, feeling the way your breathing changed.
you threaded your fingers through his hair, the strands soft and slightly damp with sweat already. he made a low sound when you tugged lightly, tongue pressing firmer, circling then flicking. the room filled with the quiet, wet noises of his mouth on you and the occasional hitch in your breath. he stayed focused, switching between slow licks and gentle suction, building it steadily until your hips started shifting against his face. he didn’t speed up, just kept the same deliberate pace, like he wanted to draw it out as long as possible.
when he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, chin glistening. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and moved up your body, kissing your stomach, then between your breasts, then your mouth again. his cock was hard and heavy against your thigh, the tip already wet. he reached down, guiding himself to your entrance, rubbing the head through your folds a couple times before pressing in.
he went slow, eyes locked on your face the entire time. “fuck,” he breathed as the head slipped inside, the stretch real and full. inch by inch he sank deeper, hips pressing forward until he bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours. a heavy breath left him, chest rising and falling visibly. he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, forehead dropping to rest against yours. his hand stayed on the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek.
you breathing harder, bodies moving together in the quiet of his apartment. he reached between you, fingers circling your clit again, the added stimulation pushing you closer. his thrusts faltered a little when he got near the edge, hips snapping forward with more urgency. “cum with me,” he said against your ear, voice strained. “please.” you clenched around him and he followed right after, burying himself deep with a low, heavy groan. his hips stuttered, pulsing inside you as he came, warmth spreading. he kept moving through it, shallow thrusts to draw it out for both of you, until the tension finally eased. his arms shook slightly as he held himself up, breathing hard against your neck.
he didn’t pull out immediately. instead he stayed buried inside, forehead pressed to yours, both of you catching your breath. his hand stroked your side slowly, gentle now that the intensity had peaked. after a minute he carefully slid out, a soft wince from both of you at the loss. he reached for the towel he’d left on the nightstand earlier, cleaning you first with careful wipes, then himself. nothing was said, just the quiet sounds of fabric and breathing. when he was done he pulled you against his chest, your smaller frame fitting easily into the curve of his taller body. his arm wrapped around your waist, hand resting on your stomach, fingers tracing idle patterns. the sheets were tangled around your legs, damp with sweat. he pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head, then another to your shoulder, his breathing slowly returning to normal. the fan kept spinning, the streetlight outside casting soft shadows across the room.
his fingers kept moving on your skin, slow and soothing, like he was still trying to keep you close even after everything. the apartment was quiet again, just the two of you tangled together on his bed, bodies warm and spent. he didn’t say anything more about leaving.
for now it was just this—skin against skin, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, the real, messy aftermath of two people who weren’t ready to let go yet. he shifted once, pulling the blanket up over both of you, then settled back, holding you tighter. his leg draped over yours, the height difference making it easy for him to surround you. sleep started to pull at the edges, but he stayed awake a little longer, fingers still tracing your skin, breathing slow and even against your hair. the night stretched on like that, quiet and intimate in his small bedroom, the outside world far away for the moment.
afterward.
the room is quiet except for breathing. the rain has stopped outside. his fairy lights cast soft yellow shadows on the ceiling.
you're on your side. he's behind you, arm draped over your waist, face buried in the back of your neck. he hasn't let go for twenty minutes. his fingers trace absent patterns on your stomach.
"are you awake," he whispers.
"yeah."
"okay." a pause. "i just wanted to check."
silence.
"i meant everything," he says. "before. during. all of it. i meant it."
you don't answer.
"you don't have to say it back," he adds quickly. "you don't have to say anything. i just wanted you to know."
his arm tightens around you. his lips press to the nape of your neck. soft. almost hesitant.
"i'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. "not this time. even if you push me away. even if you tell me to leave. i'm staying. i'm going to keep staying until you believe me."
you turn in his arms. face him. he looks young like this—eyelashes still damp, lips slightly swollen, hair a mess from your fingers. vulnerable in a way he never lets anyone see.
you reach up. trace the line of his jaw with your thumb.
"okay," you say.
his eyes widen. "okay?"
"okay. i'll—try. i'm not promising anything. but i'll try."
the smile that breaks across his face is small. tentative. nothing like his usual grin. but it's real. you can see it in his eyes—the dimple appearing, just barely.
"that's enough," he says. "that's more than enough."
he pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin. you feel his heartbeat against your cheek. steady. steady.
outside, the city hums. inside, jeong jaehyun holds you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
the image does not belong to me. credits to the original owner.
pairing: best friend!haechan afab!x reader
warnings: sex! oral (receiving and giving), mentions of overstimulation, throat fucking, protected sex (does not mention but the reader is on the pill), implied edging, some slapping like once, choking, begging, looking at your best friend’s huge dick there’s probably more…
summary: best friend!haechan tries to convince you that he in fact does have a big dick but you won’t believe him so he decides to show you.
work count: 3.5k
author’s note: took me a whole DAY to find this at the bottom of my google docs but i hope y’all enjoy <3 This is also in honour of The Pussy Destroyer 2000 aka TPD2000. Haechan has a large thick cock and that’s facts. Have i proof read this? Kind of. But knowing me there’s probably still spelling errors sjkdjks
MDNI/18+ CONTENT AHEAD
“You have a big dick? Yeah, right.” You scoff, your fingers tapping furiously at your laptop keyboard as you try to defeat the opposing team. You frankly had no idea how the topic of Haechan’s dick had come into conversation in the middle of a League of Legends game but in all honesty you did not believe him in the slightest bit when he told you he happened to have a large package.
“Well, I do, alright?” He argues back in a rather playful tone as his fingers skilfully move across the keyboard of his computer, controlling his character within the game.
“Who said?” You retaliate with a smirk on your face. The victory screen occupies both screens as you look over at him.
“All the girls I’ve fucked.” He moves the headset off his head and turns to you.
“Well, I’m not one of the ‘girls you’ve fucked’, so I don’t believe it.” You comment, clearly not convinced, your arms over your chest to prove your point and Haechan stands up from his desk, moving towards his bed where you were laying.
“Guess I’ll have to show you then.” He grins, lowering the laptop screen and removing the device off your lap, setting it beside you. He leans closer to you, until your nose is brushing against his and you swear, the look in his eyes, he could’ve taken you right there.
“Stop being so crazy.” You blurt out before he could tease you and push him away, creating space between the two of you.
Haechan chuckles, rising from his bed. “Just because you know you won’t be able to handle it.”
“What-I, no-” You stutter over your words watching the boy leave the room, mentioning something about getting drinks for the both of you and as he walks out, you catch yourself staring at his crotch.
He couldn’t be that big, could he?
Haechan returns with two cans of a fizzy peach drink, it’s your favourite but somehow today when he tosses you the can, you don’t open it immediately instead staring at the boy’s sweatpants. They’re grey. A nice shade of grey and you swear he’s somehow planned this out, telling you about his huge dick whilst wearing grey sweatpants. Just a Haechan thing.
“You’re…you’re really not as big as you are boasting, are you?” You ask, your finger tracing the rim of the cool can in your hand and trying to wander your eyes anywhere but his groin area.
“No,” He replies, taking a large gulp of the refreshing drink before settling it on his desk ago with the rest of the empty cans of Red Bull. Saying that he loved that drink was a bit of an understatement, the boy was addicted. “why? Do you want to see it?”
You choke on your own saliva when he asks you, so straight forward and he chuckles. “Are you planning on just whipping out your penis like a sword or some shit?” You try to bring humour into the conversation, in the attempts to conceal your flustered state.
“No, I plan on getting something too.” The can is back in his hands as he casually takes another gulp and you’re left wondering what that something is.
“A blowjob?” You question, eyebrows knitted together and Haechan nearly chokes on his drink, some of it even coming out through his nose as he tries to cough some up too. You watch him place the can back where it was on the desk as he leans over it and hides his face in his hands, a part of him is beginning to laugh at himself as he tries to contain the coughing (bruh I promise he doesn’t have COVID he just can’t drink in this fic).
“What? No, no.”
“Then?”
“Perhaps,” He’s finally managed to control the violent coughing and laughing at his misfortune, more like your suddenness but hey ho, Haechan had done the same to you many times so he empathised with you. “flash your tits, I don’t know?” He shrugs, noticing the shock on your face as he tries to take back his own words.
“That’s doable.” You comment, sitting up in his bed as you prepare yourself for his supposedly large dick and Haechan just grins at the thought of you flashing your own tits in front of him. “But if it’s the size of a pickle, you don’t get any boobs, alright?”
“Okay, okay.” He tugs his shirt up, one of his hands going into his grey joggers and suddenly you stop him.
“Wait.” You scoot closer to the edge of the bed, on your knees and your eyes are focused on his hand in his sweatpants.
“Wanting a front row seat, I see?” He comments, rubbing the tip of his cock inside his sweats and you just watch him, mind blank. “Are you ready?” He asks and you reply with the most neediness, pathetic whine. “M’kay, princess.”
Haechan teasing tugs his cock out, the soft pink tip coming in view before the rest of his thick length, very thick length and god was he long. If you were to take him in your mouth you’d probably get half way comfortably, but the rest? That would be challenging.
“You believe me now?”
You nod, still processing his large package as he was boasting on about earlier and all you can think about is how much you want him inside you, your mouth, your pussy- god, you didn’t care. You just wanted him deep inside you.
As Haechan is about to tuck his dick back in his Calvin Klein boxers, the branded underwear company’s name is visible on the band of his pants and he’s about to ask you to complete your end of the deal when you practically throw your arms out in the air, in an almost panicked state.
“Wait, w-wait, wait, can I… Can, can I suck you off?” You try to match his straight forwardness, it always seemed to work and by the taken aback look on his face, it worked this time too. “God, fuck you are so big. I don’t even know if I can fit you in my mouth. You really weren’t lying when you said you were big and-and how, just how did- how can you fit it inside a girl? Like how?!”
You don’t even realise you’re talking your thoughts aloud until Haechan interrupts you.
“No, I’ll make it fit.”
—
Haechan’s in your throat. Well, his dick is. The tip of it hitting the back of your throat as you lay on his bed. You hollow your cheeks, taking more of his length and you can feel the thing bulge in your throat.
“Oh, baby.” Haechan coos at the sight of his cock in your throat, it’s so fucking hot. He tries his best to resist the desire to pull out and slam the whole thing back in again, mainly because he can see you struggle with the urge to gag around him but you’ve never been so determined to accomplish something like this before.
You bring up your hands, holding onto Haechan’s hips, pulling your mouth off for a moment for a gasp of air before pushing your head off the bed and slamming his whole cock inside you.
Haechan nearly topples over you on the bed as you swallow around his length, making the boy let out the most arousing sounds that make their way straight to your pussy. You rub your bare thighs together for some friction, any friction and Haechan grips onto your naked waist, whimpering at the way you’ve managed to shove the whole thing in your mouth (and throat too)!
The tip of your nose is buried in his balls and you couldn’t feel more accomplished having taken your best friend’s large cock in your mouth. You smile, trying to do whatever tongue movements one could do with a very big penis in their mouth before Haechan’s grip tightens on your waist.
“I-I’m close-” He whimpers, it’s the first time you’ve seen his whimper like that. Usually he’s very loud and teases you right back but today, you’ve got the boy crumbling at your touch. Proudly, you push his hips further in your face, taking more of his length if that was possible and guiding him through gentle thrusts as you move your own head as you sucked him.
A string of more high pitched moans leave his lips and you can feel just how wet you’re getting at the sexual noises he’s making. You focus on finishing off, sucking as if your life depended on it before you even think about touching yourself.
When Haechan’s close, his legs begin to tremble ever so slightly and you can tell he’s adamant to hold off his orgasm because he doesn’t want to release into your mouth but you feel differently. You want to swallow it, every single drop and you don’t care if it’s too much. Like the saying, the more, the merrier and yes that applied to this situation as well.
“Y/n, I’m- I’m close, so close, please.” He begs and now that’s a first. “Oh fuck. ‘M cumming, ‘m cumming, cumming-”
You quickly speed up your movements, practically hugging his hips as you bobbed your head, your cheeks begin to hurt from all the sucking and your throat in some pain too from the pressure. ‘Cum’ you hum around his dick and that alone is enough to push him over the edge, shooting ropes of white inside your throat. You don’t move your arms until you’ve swallowed every drop, your throat clamped around his penis which only made him dig the tips of fingers into the skin of your waist, trying to ground himself and when you finally, finally let the poor boy go, gasping for air, there’s a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock.
Haechan lets out a loud sigh, your own chest heaving as you try to calm down and you offer him a tired smile. You’re still upside down with your head hanging off his bed, his cock still standing boastfully in front of your face and you just want to take it back into your mouth, despite how tired your jaw felt.
His submissive side makes a swift disappearance as his hands move up to your legs. “Let’s see what we have…” You feel Haechan’s grip on your thighs, prying them apart to reveal just how wet you were and you feel your face getting hotter. “…here. Oh, look at you baby.”
Haechan admires the wetness leaking out of your hole, glistening around your inner thighs and you try to close your legs, embarrassed but the strong grip Haechan has on your legs prevents you from doing so. “Shy?” He looks down at you, his cock centimeters away from your lips and you give him a timid smile.
When Haechan moves one of hands, sliding two fingers inside you with ease, curls his digits, making you gasp. Your hands immediately grasping onto his thighs, eyes closing in bliss as you moan out at the delicious feeling. His middle and ring finger just brushes close to that sweet spot inside you, his other hand joining in to bring you pleasure. His other digits rubbing circles over your hood and you’re struggling to keep your legs apart now that both of Haechan’s hands are preoccupied, not holding your thighs down.
When your best friend pushes his fingers deeper, curling them in the effort to find your g-spot, you gasp, thrusting your hips up and Haechan smirks. “Found the jackpot, baby.” Haechan begins to set a pace to his hand movements, his hand skilfully thrusting inside you and curling.
You are struggling, shaking under him as Haechan leaning over you and your arms collapse beside you, unsure of what to hold onto aside from the bedsheet due to the position you are in. You clench around his fingers, a signal to him that he’s doing a good job and he comments. “Are you close, baby?”
You let out a pathetic whine, furrowing your brows as his cock brushes over your lips and the urge to have it inside your mouth settles itself within you. “Cock, I want your cock.” You cry out and push your hips up once again almost as if you were guiding his fingers to the sensitive spot inside you.
Haechan moves back just a little to look at your face and so does his dick. “Where, baby? Where does my baby want it?” His hand leaves your clit hood but the palm of his other hand works its magic, rubbing against your sensitive bud.
Without any words, you push yourself up to engulf his length once again and Haechan groans, his tip still sensitive from the previous climax. His hand movements stuttering for a bit but soon he’s back at it, setting his pace a little faster as his fingers fucked your pussy and his cock fucking your mouth, a hand planted on the bed whilst he delivered thrusts, admiring your determination or neediness.
Within minutes he’s brought you to a climax, pulling his dick out before he could release another load down your throat and your thighs are still trembling around his hand which you seem to not want to let go, your grip almost vice-like. However, when you finally do, your whole body convulsing as your legs cave in, Haechan moves back to admire how fucked out you look. There’s cum on your face, his cum and your pussy is glistening with arousal. Your jaw is even more sore and you’re still in the same position but Haechan is quick to change that.
He manhandles you into a different position, grabbing your wrists and pulling you so your head rests on his pillow comfortably. He is able to move you with such simplicity, like you were his ragged doll and settles himself on the bed too. His hands wrapping around your ankles and pushing your legs up so he could admire your wetness from a new and closer perspective.
He’s done a good job preparing you, your juices spread around your cunt, inner thigh and some even leaking onto his bed. He is definitely going to have to change his bedsheets after this but for now, he wants to fuck you into one more and final orgasm. Reaching back, he grabs his shirt and tugs it off in one effortless movement. He looks good topless. No, scrap that he looks fucking sexy with no clothes on and you clench around nothing as he stares you down with an intimidating gaze. A faint smirk still playing on his lips as he bites them before taking in the two fingers he had fucked you with, sucking on them as if he were showcasing his oral skills.
With hooded eyes you watch him, hands under your knees, holding your legs up and apart. Once done licking your arousal off his finger, Haechan leans down to capture your lips in a rather passionate kiss. He can taste his release and you can taste yours.
How dirty.
During the kiss, Haechan moves his hands behind you to unclip your bra, it’s the only you’ve got on your body and since he’d shown you his dick (and let you suck it too), it would only be fair if he returned the favour. So, that’s what he does.
He gets rid of that bothersome piece of light clothing, tossing it to some corner of his room and dives in, placing kisses and sucking down the valley of your breasts. He moves down your stomach, continuing the kissing and sucking before he reaches your pussy.
The way you’ve held your legs, it’s inviting to him and just wants to get lost eating you out but he knows that you want him inside you. He did say he was going to ‘make it fit’, after all. So, he allows himself the chance to show you just how great he is with his own mouth, just enough to have you crying his name before getting on his knees.
“Listen here, baby…” He starts off, his lips and chin shiny from your slick as he holds onto the tip of his cock, positioning it right in front of your hole. “If you, try wrapping your legs around me, I will edge you two more times and you can toss the idea of a second orgasm out the window.”
You breathe out a yes, it’s a rather pitiful reply but that’s all you can come up with your eyes glued to his thick cock.
“Words, baby. You can speak or have I fucked your brain out?” he laughs as you struggle to form a reply, his threat to edge you twice making it rather hard to breathe. “M‘kay baby, here goes-” His words are cut off with a sharp inhale as he pushes it inside you and you tightly clutch around his penis. He’s big. Not that it wasn’t something you were only just discovering, you’d already settled that at first sight but his cock fills you right up and it makes you want to roll your eyes back in the pleasure or possibly even a little pain.
Haechan was able to reach places inside you that no other boy had before, you’ve had your fair share of sexual experiences but this was something new and you don’t think any of your trusty sex toys could top this. The boy is good with his thrusts, hitting your g-spot with such precision and making your back arch as he holds your hips to stop you from moving. Haechan was experienced in bed, definitely more than you and you struggle to hold your legs up. Perhaps it was the position, or that fact you had already been brought to an orgasm but you felt close again.
You were convulsing around Haechan as he railed into you, his pace fast and brutal. The bed was hitting the wall, but that sound was drowned out by your whiny moans and Haechan grunts. His eyes focused on the way your chest moved, your voice quivering with every thrust and your neck, how would his hand look around it?
A seductive gasp erupts from your mouth, your eyes darting up at the boy who had decided that his hand looked lovely as a necklace. He’s got a dark look in his eyes, his grip tightening at the sides and he leans down to connect his lips with yours.
Your hands have given up, settling themselves down on the bed as you inched closer to your orgasm, your legs settled over Haechan’s thighs but not wrapped around his waist as he had warned. He gives you one last powerful thrust, making you yelp as your pussy maintains a vice like grip, creaming his cock.
You’re so lost in the overwhelming feeling of your second orgasm, you don’t realise you’ve begun to tear up but Haechan picks up on that, teasing you immediately. “Can’t believe you’re crying over my dick and you tell me to stop being crazy.” His tone is playful as he slowly pulls himself out of you.
“Shut up.” You retort, laughing a little at yourself. “I’ve just never orgasmed twice, alright?” You wipe your eyes with the back of your hands, flinching a little when Haechan delivers a light slap to your inner thigh, sending shockwaves to your core.
“Well, now you have and I told you I’d make it fit.” He proudly stands up, most likely going to retrieve a shirt but your eyes immediately go to his soft cock, watching it carefully as he walks around to his wardrobe. You still cannot believe how big he is, never mind the fact he was inside you less than five minutes ago and you watch him grab another shirt from his closet.
When he turns to you, pulling down his shirt, you raise your hands with open palms and he understands with you even uttering a word, tossing you a plain red shirt. “I better get that back, it’s my favourite. Anyways, you staying over tonight?”
You hum happily knowing that you were about to put on one of Haechan’s favourite shirts before sliding back on your underwear. “Just let me text…” You mumble reaching for the discarded jeans on the bedroom floor and fishing out your phone, though for a moment you are side-tracked by the abundance of messages from the group chat. The chat consisted of your close friends; Mark, Renjun, Jeno and Jaemin.
“Hey, Haechan.”
“Yeah, baby?” He replies, still not dropping the new nickname he’d assigned to you within the last hour or so, as he tugged on a pair of clean black boxers before looking up at you.
You scroll through the multiple messages of the boys panicking on the group chat and some even teasing. “Did you leave your mic on by any chance?”
“…fuck.”
“Well, Jaemin and the rest just heard us having the best fuck and suck of our lives so…”
i’m never going to finish this but i think he’s a bit sexy here so….haechan doing the least and trapping you under his thumb
“You could stay the weekend.”
It’s a throwaway comment. It has to be. But…when you check, when you look up from your slice of cake just to see his face and maybe understand how you should react to the idea, you realize that it isn’t. It isn’t a throwaway comment and his eyes are fixed on you like he’s waiting for a Real Answer.
A sick feeling fills your stomach. You want to believe that your answer will change the course of your relationship, but boys are weird and you’ve never been able to tell what’s true or false with even the most honest, open-book ones. Attempting to figure out what’s going on behind Haechan’s words —to hope to read those soft brown eyes and find something more— is a pitfall. You’ve known that from the beginning.
You could stay the weekend. You could stay the weekend and sleep next to him and pretend for a few days that the person in front of you belongs to you. Maybe then you could get over the crush you’ve had on him since he was assigned to your team.
“What’s with that?” You aren’t sure where the question comes from, and you check your watch to keep from having to look at him. “My train literally leaves in twenty-seven minutes.”
“A train leaves in twenty-seven minutes. It doesn’t have to be yours.”
The piece of cake balanced on your fork falls, just barely making it onto your plate, and you set your utensil down as an afterthought. The sickness in your stomach twists, maturing into a curiosity that you have to swallow to settle down.
He’s right. Every statement is a fact. You could stay the weeknd. A train leaves in twenty minutes. It doesn’t have to be yours.
You turn them over and over in your head, feeling them roll around like one of those hotdogs under the heat lights at 7-11. You take an irrational stab: If you stayed the weekend, then the train doesn’t have to be yours; If the train doesn’t have to be yours, then you could stay the weekend.
It’s a fallacy—
“I’m serious,” he admits.
Oh. —but he’s serious. Whatever that means.
“If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Serious about what?” You sit back in your chair, pretending to consider his suggestion. (You’ve already made up your mind. Already decided on the easier choice...)
“If I said whatever way you want to take it, would you believe me?”
“No.”
“Yeah…” He laughs, breathy with amused disbelief. “I didn’t think so.
“I’m serious about you staying the weekend. I know we were working, but I enjoyed our week together. I—” He laughs, running his hands through his hair as he finally looks away from you.
For the first time all week, it feels like you can breathe. The rush of clarity tells you to go home. It’s a bad idea, babe. You know it. Nothing good comes from any part of this.
But, he looks back at you and that feeling returns, as though he has his own atmosphere. It’s thinner and warmer and makes everything else obsolete. You’re fucked, really. Each choice is the worst, and as you process this you realize that he’s offered you another fact dressed as a throwaway comment.
He takes a sip of his drink and the pull of his throat draws you closer.
You could stay the weeknd. A train leaves in twenty -seven minutes. It doesn’t have to be yours. He enjoyed your week in Busan.
“It’s selfish and childish, but I don’t want it to end yet.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
His eyes met yours again and they’re guarded. It’s something you’ve never seen from him before, and it only reinforces the fact that he’s a world of his own because it again pulls you closer. As though you’re nothing but some untethered thing searching for something to be found in.
“We should get going. If you want to make your train.”
You laugh this time, confidence blooming in you as he tilts his head curiously. “And if I don’t?”
Excitement passes over his features, brief but thrilling before his signature little smile quirks his lips. “Then we’ll keep walking. I live a street over.”
You take a sip of your tea before getting up from the table you’ve been sharing for nearly an hour. (It only just dawned on you that you’ve been back in Seoul for long enough to have dinner at one restaurant and dessert at another. With your suitcases tucked neatly together, as though it’s normal. Routine. When the truth is you aren’t particularly used to spending your Friday nights with anyone, let alone with handsome coworkers one-on-one.)
As he finishes off the table of desserts you’d been sharing, the fact that he uses your fork for one and doesn’t swap it out for the rest doesn’t slip by you. And when you stretch to shake off the day of travel and sitting, you don’t miss the way his eyes smooth up your body. It’s the most honest thing he’s ever done in front of you, made even more so by the way his cheeks visibly flush when he realizes you’ve been watching him the whole time.
Heat practically pools in your stomach.
“Yn-sunbaenim—”
You laugh, watching as he uses your now-shared fork to scoop up the rest of one of the desserts.
“—you liked this one best, right?”
He holds it up for you, free hand under to catch anything that falls.
“Yeah.” You take the bait, leaning in. “That bite is way too big…”
“It’s fine.”
His eyes are focused on your mouth as you let him feed you, and you share a laugh as he pulls the fork away, your cheeks full as he brushes crumbs from your mouth. He licks his thumb after, looking away to finish off the last cake, and you realize you’re done for.
Staying the weekend with him won’t address your crush. Not in any good way. But, you’re going to do it, anyway.
pure fluff and tomfoolery , mark x reader , established relationship , reader sucks at music , mark is our patient king , soft kisses , hand holding , mark teaching you to play the guitar basically , requested here !
"baby- just- just strum."
you ran your thumb along the harsh strings, wincing slightly as a harsh noise emitted from the instrument.
"maybe you tuned it wrong mark." you turned your head slightly to face him, his eyebrows knit together tightly in confusion.
"i tuned it wrong? babe no offense- but i'm mark lee. there's no way i tuned a guitar wrong."
you rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to the instrument in your lap, "so i just naturally suck-"
his chest moved against your back, his breath softly warming the skin on your neck, "don't say that- try again-"
you let out a small huff, hand moving to hold the neck of the guitar as the other rested near the strings, "mark i-"
"shhh- i'll help you-" he brought his hands forward to meet yours, long fingers guiding you across the guitar, "just be gentle-"
he placed your hand on the strings, softly helping you drag your thumb along the coarse steel.
you felt him relax behind you as a soft melody rang across the room, his head falling forward against your shoulder as he sighed with relief.
"mark! i did it!" you intertwined your fingers, bringing his hands up to plant soft kisses on his warm skin, "i- i really did it!"
he chuckled behind you, "thank god, i was starting to question my guitar tuning abilities."
I faked my engagement for free cake samples and got sued after I ran away AIO | haechan
pairing: haechan x baker!reader
genre: comedy, fluff, rivals (?) to lovers (?)
warning(s): quite possibly you will be inflicted with cringe, shameless scamming, mild swearing, one (1) innuendo
words: 5.4k
song recs: santa doesn’t know you like i do by sabrina carpenter, too late for chocolate? by kana hanazawa, like a raspberry by 宇宙ネコ子, honey by kara
a/n: ty to my queens lana and cat for gassing up this dumpster fire i wrote in a caffeine haze while watching my bf die every 20 secs in ds3. the initial plot was going to be far longer and more fleshed out but i fear i'm past my prime ( ._. )" i still hope you guys have fun with this one!! i got to play around with hallmark comedy far more this time, so overall it was a fun time writing <3 happy new year, my lovely mooncakes!!
part of a nonsense christmas: reddit edition collab <3
r/AmITheAsshole
u/YeastMode6969 • 3h
I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?
I (24F, small bakery owner) faked my engagement to get free cake samples at my rival bakery but the employee said I needed my fiance to be there. I panicked and grabbed the first guy to come through the bakery door after me. Turns out he’s not just some random customer. To top it off, he was ridiculously attractive even though he pissed me off every two sentences. I had a panic attack, told myself it’s totally not my fault, and moved on by baking fourteen cakes over the weekend. I thought I got away with it, but three days later, I got an email from him—he’s now suing me for “emotional damages” and “theft of pastries.” Am I doomed, or is this just karma with extra frosting?
⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 2,701 Comments
bun_theory0222 • 2h
INFO: Did you at least try the samples? Were they worth the lawsuit? We’re all dying to know here.
➥ Reply ⥣ 3.2k ⥥
muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h
nah cuz why is he suing when he CLEARLY wants to flirt??? this man is embarrassing but so are you. somebody matched ur freak <3
➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥
soggywaffle0205 • 6m
YTA why can’t this shit happen to me. AT LEAST I would commit to the bit.
➥ Reply ⥣ 420 ⥥
cerealfordinner0323 • 2h
Bro sued you just to slide into your life again. He’s not slick, and neither are you. Good luck with that wedding cake.
➥ Reply ⥣ 9,011 ⥥
. . .
If you could hop a few steps to the right, feign unconsciousness, and climb right into the active fireplace, it could potentially make everything okay. For you, that is. Not for the poor bakery employees who would have to call the cops.
“I’m sure he’s a handsome one!” The girl behind the counter giggles, light pink dusting her cheeks. “You’re- you’re so gorgeous!”
Setting aside the fact that most gorgeous women you know end up with malformed gargoyles, your current predicament is almost equally sinister. What started as an innocuous process to gain free wedding samples (in other words, a scam) has led to a question that should be obvious but completely escaped your mind following your trailing success.
“We’ll need to have you come in with your fiance for the free wedding cake samplers. Is he around?”
Is he around?! Boy, you sure hope so. Because now you’re also frantically looking around with the employee after you blurted out another lie: “He’s going to be here soon!”
When did you turn into a compulsive liar? You’re not sure if your mom would be proud of you for being so good at nabbing free food, or disappointed that you’re a filthy liar. After all, she did tell the buffet employees you were under 10 all the way till you were 14. So, really, you’re not the source of the problem! You brush your festive red skirt of invisible crumbs, trying to busy yourself.
The cafe itself is well decorated for Christmas—a silver reindeer bores holes into your head from by the front door, a small Christmas tree stands at the center that’s a little emaciated but the cute Sanrio ornaments in Santa hats make up for it, and most importantly, a beautiful Mont Blanc cake sparkles from atop the glass counter. (Seriously, why didn’t you think of this? Your own bakery is all sparkles and no play.)
You move out of the way of other customers, and casually glance at the source of your awe and joy. Powdered sugar dusts the top as idyllic snow, covering the sugared cranberries and sugared chestnuts, not dent in them under the white fondant star. The base of the cake is tied with an edible red ribbon, completing the seasonal aesthetic of it. A sigh rests momentarily upon your lips before it escapes.
You love Mont Blanc cakes, but you never quite get it right. That’s your biggest failure as an up-and-coming baker, and such is the reason for your unhinged serial sampling scam. You swear it started off as a search for inspiration in a creative rut but before you knew it, a lie had spilled from your eclair-sweetened lips, and another, and another.
It is at this point that you briefly consider bolting for the door. Tibet is great around this time of the year. Maybe if you convert to a monk lifestyle and atone for your sins, you’ll be granted a pardon in the form of delicious sweets. Before you can make your escape, however, the front door jingles, and in strides a sight unbelievably reassuring. A man with caramel hair enters, who might as well be wrapped in a giant red ribbon and seated atop a snow-white horse in golden ornaments.
It’s a Christmas miracle. Hallelujah! They still apply to you.
His smile—soft and sweet as meringue hearts—lights up the room as he inhales the warm, sugary air of the bakery. You’re hit with the vaguest sense of familiarity. He might be one of the few customers you get these days. For a moment, you falter. Are you really going to victimize this stranger?
Yes. Yes, you are. The situation is dire.
“Hi darling!” You exclaim within earshot of the employee, before lowering your voice. “Could you help me out a little here?”
The man blinks, dazed for whatever reason. “Uh… sure?”
“Okay, then follow along and ask questions later,” you reply, and loop your arm through his gingerly. The touch of his fuzzy winter coat makes you relax a little. It is chocolate-colored, with beige fluff around the collar. Not now, you think to yourself, You need to stop thinking about sweets for one goddamn moment.
“Here he is,” you laugh sheepishly as you bring the man forward. Gosh, what in the heavens are you doing? You didn’t even ask his name.
The employee stares, jaw agape. What’s with the reaction? He’s not that hot.
“O-oh,” she responds. “That’s quite the surprise. I never knew. Congratulations, sir!”
You turn to look at him. He simply scratches his chin with a sheepish smile, and manages to respond with a “Thanks, Kimi.”
He must be a regular, you think. Oh, (Name), what did you get yourself into? You’re just gonna have to read his name off his coffee order first.
“We have a selection of samples for our wedding cake choices,” the girl, Kimi, moves to the far side of the counter, offering a small menu card to the two of you. “I know you’re not a big fan of wedding cakes, Mr. Lee, but the latest tiramisu flavors should suit your tastes, no?”
Just how close are they?! You chew on your lip and try to calm your depraved little heart.
“Well,” he responds, thinking for a second, “I actually hadn’t thought this far. What do you think, honey?”
He turns to you with a radiant smile, but you sense a hint of mischief. You don’t have time to think of that though—so you just change the topic.
“Actually, do you have a Mont Blanc flavor? I’ve always had trouble perfecting it myself.”
Truth be told, that ‘honey’ had flowed from his lips and struck you straight in the heart. He’s not too bad to look at, you think now. His tousled hair catches the light with a playful sheen, framing his face and accentuating his disbelieving smile, while his fluffy coat adds a cozy touch to his charming, boyish demeanor. If you were to overthink a little, you’d find a hint of mischief in his voice. Alas, you’re a simple girl who only overthinks sweet treats, not boys.
“You bake?” He blurts, before his ears turn red from realization.
Kimi shoots him a puzzled look and your breath hitches in your throat. Was the miracle an idiot in disguise?
“I mean, uh, gosh, you make me so nervous, honey.” He looks like he’s trying his very best to ace an exam he never studied for. “I meant to ask if you're going to bake.. today? Don’t look at me like that.”
Maybe you should’ve picked a candied apple and prayed that a witch had poisoned it. You can’t even force out a smile at that pathetic save.
“You’re a lucky man, Mister,” Kimi jabs, a look of distrust in her eyes before they flash to you. “I’m afraid Miss (Name) in a wedding dress would make me drop dead at the altar.”
“Oh, you- you flatter me,” you choke out, “I promise you wedding gowns aren’t my thing at all. Besides, you’d look beautiful in white yourself.”
Why is she so into this wedding conversation? How close are these two? You’re not sure how to react, and neither do you know how this man is going to explain your mysterious disappearance the next time he visits the bakery. You’re sure as hell not going to continue the act beyond this. It’s time you retired from this scam business. You’re not even sure how you’ll talk your way out of this with the man, currently engaged in small talk with Kimi.
And— is he blushing?! Does he have something going on with the girl—Kimi? Did you just ruin something? Your heart tightens a little, and you have to physically restrain yourself from falling to the floor, head in your hands.
You laugh awkwardly, trying to diffuse the situation. When you open your mouth, you are interrupted.
“Actually, Miss, I think I take back what I said about the handsome part,” Kimi jokes, evident disdain sent towards Donghyuck.
Your natural response is a little laugh that leaves before you know it. Maybe, the feelings you sensed were of unrequited resentment. He does have the kind of face that looks like it’s often smacked by girls. No offense to him.
Kimi hands you the first sample (two delicious slices of Mont Blanc) and excuses herself to fetch the rest. The two of you make your way to a booth with the heaviest silence you’ve ever experienced. You might as well be at a funeral.
“So… free samples are that good, huh?” The man asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Shut up,” you mutter.
“I’m Donghyuck, by the way,” he responds with a youthful laugh. “Might I have the honor of knowing my fiance's name?”
“(Name). And stop looking at me like that.”
He lets out a short breath.
“You know, maybe we should’ve pretended it was an arranged marriage.”
“Quite proficient in the scamming business, are you?”
“Oh, you’re better off not knowing my dirty secrets.”
You couldn’t care less about his secrets but the look you shoot at him is certainly dirty.
He opens his mouth but you interrupt him to absolve yourself first. “Listen, I don’t do this often. And I’ll have you know it’s nothing personal. Well, not against you. The owner of this place maybe.”
Donghyuck blinks. “Oh? Do tell. I’m all for being a hater with my fiance.”
You stare at him, not impressed.
“Sorry.”
“Okay, so this started a month or two ago. I had been working tirelessly, testing recipe after recipe, trying to perfect the Mont Blanc cake. It was my dream to make it iconic, you know? But before I could even settle on the perfect combination of flavors, some smug bastard opens a bakery right across from me. And what does he have as his specialty? Why, the Mont Blanc cake of course. Seasonal! Cute, elaborate new decor every two weeks! Just how rich is he? I bet he doesn't even bother to create his own recipes. This guy didn’t just steal my idea, he’s turned my passion into some overpriced, generic trend!”
You heave, tired from the onslaught of frustration. Chewing on your lower lip, a pout naturally makes its way onto your face, and so do more complaints.
“And that’s not all, okay? I never see him at the bakery. I refrain from entering my competitors' establishments unless I greet them in person. But this asshole is just never there! What, is he too good to work at his own bakery? Too good to grace us lowly bakers with a visit? How could he just swoop in and steal my signature item?”
Donghyuck listens to your rant with intent, cheek resting against his palm. He even looks a little ridiculously charmed right now.
“Wait… so you’re the infamous Free Cake Phantom everyone’s talking about?” He gasps.
You’ve finally turned to your poor, neglected Mont Blanc sample, just for your heart to jump out. “What?”
“Just kidding. Your secret is safe,” he says, digging into the cake with infuriating nonchalance. “But hey, you’ve got good taste. This Mont Blanc though? It’s my personal recipe.”
Your fork halts halfway to your mouth. “Your recipe? What, you work here or something? And, no offense, but it’s overwhipped.”
If that’s a joke, it’s not very funny. The man looks more like a confectionary than a confectioner. There’s no way he works here. He’s probably some jobless guy drifting from bakery to bakery on early Saturday mornings.
His jaw drops. “Overwhipped? Are you kidding me?”
You wave the fork at him like it’s a weapon. “Chestnut puree shouldn’t have the texture of mousse. It’s called finesse, Mr. Lee.”
Before he can respond, Kimi returns with another tray, and you slip back into character, placing your hand on Donghyuck’s. “Thank you,” you coo at her. “I can’t wait to share all these flavors at our wedding.”
Donghyuck stiffens slightly at the unexpected contact, but he recovers quickly, plastering on the fakest grin known to man. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
Kimi laughs. “You’re such a lovely couple. When’s the big day?”
You freeze, and so does Donghyuck. For a moment, neither of you has an answer.
“Oh, we’re still, uh, deciding,” you blurt, glancing at him for backup.
“Yeah, we’re thinking spring,” he adds smoothly. “Cherry blossoms. Very romantic.”
“Y-yes. Maybe the Raspberry Rose should be in the winner’s spot then.”
As Kimi bows politely and walks away again, Donghyuck leans in to whisper. “Should I book the honeymoon now, or…?”
“Don’t push your luck,” you hiss, elbowing him in the ribs.
He makes a pained sound, but recovers quickly.
The second flavor is dubbed “Marble Eclipse”, a decadent blend of rich chocolate and vanilla, perfectly balanced with a luscious buttercream frosting. You try to focus on the taste, but Donghyuck’s smug grin as he watches you take a bite is more distracting than you’d like to admit. You’re not easily flustered, not by men. Unfortunately, he would have been the exact type you’d have tried to nab in college.
You shake your head. Focus, (Name), you think to yourself, You’re in the enemy’s lair right now!
“So… I might as well come clean,” Donghyuck says with a serious tone, right after you’ve taken a bite. You pause in horror. What arcane knowledge is he going to use for your humiliation this time?
“I visit your bakery often, and I must say your selection is just as good, if not better.”
You exhale.
“Oh, it’s better alright,” you retort, before realizing the unwarranted passion in your voice. You compose yourself. “I mean, maybe their Mont Blanc is… a solid competitor.”
Donghyuck laughs, clearly amused by the bashfulness on your face.
“Wait, are you patronizing me?”
“Of course not!” He places his hand over his heart in mock hurt.
“I think the difference is that this one keeps up with the youth.” He waves his fork about, explaining his point further. “Everyone loves new, shiny things. Cycle those as much as possible. Have you ever considered holding blind box events with your cupcakes? I’m sure the kids would love to find out which flavor of panda bear cupcake they got—matcha, my personal favorite, or coconut cream, or… god forbid, chocolate mint. Ugh. Have you considered removing that from the menu? Anyway, that shouldn’t take too much time and money, right?”
The youth? What is he, forty? However, however, the look on his face as he describes your own baked goods to you is enough to make you intensely flustered. Has this man visited so often? And you never noticed him? How could you miss that easy-going smile?
A familiar figure saves you from whatever awkward, garbled response you were going to muster.
Despite Kimi’s arrival, Donghyuck has a hard time taking his eyes off you. Lashes swaying with each flicker of his eyes over your face, he’s hardly taking a bit of the delicious marble cake, in fact. What, have you got something on your face?
Kimi apologizes profusely before you can say anything to greet her.
“There’s only one slice prepared for the Tiramisu Dream sample,” she explains. “I’m so sorry about this. Would you mind sharing this one? I apologize again.”
“No worries, Kimi,” Donghyuck responds, laughing a little. You shake your head and reassure it’s alright too.
Anyway, that slice is going to be yours. You’re ready to pry it from his cold, dead hands.
To your surprise, though, he shoots a friendly smile at you.
“Want the first bite?”
“May I?” You ask, just to be sure.
“By all means,” he says, gesturing grandly. “After all, what’s mine is yours, fiance.”
You swear, if he calls you that one more time, he’s going to end up in the cake display.
Kimi stares at the two of you blankly for a moment. It instantly flusters you and Donghyuck both, so much so that the idiot digs his fork into the cake slice and holds it up to your lips with a soft ‘ah’ —and so much so that you actually accept it graciously.
And all that only for Kimi to not even notice as she excused her way back to the counter. So now you’re just two idiots deep in your romantic charades. Donghyuck clears his throat, too late to cover his coral-tinted cheeks and ears. You’re certain you wear a similar expression.
“You’re- you’re so weird,” you jab, unable to come up with an insult higher than middle school grade.
“What, you wanted me to do airplanes too?!”
“Take that fork and drive it through your tongue, will you?”
“Woah, woah, no need for violence, Miss (Name). Peace and Love.”
Unexpectedly, it makes you break character into unbound laughter. The weariness of the act and the silliness of the whole situation leaks into the sound, and it’s enough to make Donghyuck join in. For passersby, you are just a couple already past your third, fifth and seventh dates.
“Any comments for the tiramisu cake?” Donghyuck asks, grinning ear to ear.
You catch your breath, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, I have a comment: who puts this much cocoa powder on top? Are you trying to choke your customers?”
“Awh, and I thought you were gonna be nice,” he whines, “Your smile is just so… inviting.”
As if on cue, he chokes on the cocoa powder.
“I still like it,” you continue. “I’d just do it better.”
“I have the utmost confidence in that.”
Gosh, his smile is nauseating—too bright, too easy, like he’s actually enjoying this. Maybe he’s a rising actor, and you’re the one being hoodwinked. After all, who looks at someone like that on a first meeting?
A moment passes, and suddenly his thumb is at the corner of your lips, brushing off the cocoa powder with a touch so casual it feels anything but. “Got it,” he murmurs, and the air between you shifts, warm and oddly heavy.
“So, how do you know all this?” you ask, changing the topic. You’re forcing yourself to focus, to breathe.
He leans back, a small laugh slipping out like he’s grateful for the lifeline. “You- uh- you could say I’m a connoisseur of pastries,” he offers, his voice lighter now. “I like to sample the best around town—just, you know, legally. I even take notes of my favorites.”
He gestures towards you, and you scoff.
The words settle between you as you toy with the edge of your skirt, smoothing the fabric down over your lap. There’s something about the way he speaks—so casual, so effortless—that needles at you. For a man so annoyingly confident, he sure seems relieved to have redirected the conversation.
Your hand grazes the tiny snowman buttons on your cardigan, tracing the cold plastic absentmindedly. His gaze flickers to the movement, then back to your face, a smile tugging at his lips like he’s trying not to laugh. You don’t know what’s more embarrassing—getting outed as the Cake Thief or the fact that he’s bound to know he flusters you.
You tilt your head, giving him a skeptical look. “How professional of you.”
The bite in your tone is softening, and you don’t like it one bit.
He holds up his hands, feigning surrender. “Hey, it’s an art. Someone’s gotta appreciate it, right?”
The faint chatter of other patrons fills the room, but his presence sharpens the moment, making it feel like it’s just the two of you. For a fleeting second, you catch yourself wondering what kind of person would take notes on pastries for fun. It’s so bizarrely specific, so utterly unnecessary—and yet, so like him.
His smile deepens, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teases.
You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the traitorous grin threatening to break through. You refuse to indulge him, even as you feel the faintest crack in your defenses.
"Maybe,” you say, finally.
He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine, before leaning back against his chair with a satisfied air, as if he’s won something. You glance at the tray, willing yourself to focus on anything else.
How awkward. How warm.
You spot a napkin fluttering off the table, carried by a sudden draft from the door. Instinctively, you step out of your chair to grab it, but Donghyuck beats you to it, scooping it up with an exaggerated flourish and a bow.
“Your knight in shining armor,” he declares dramatically, holding it out like a trophy.
“More like my nuisance in sugar-stained armor,” you retort, snatching it from his hand.
He laughs, unabashed. “Ah, so sharp. Yet here you are, sharing cake with said nuisance. Life is full of mysteries.”
“I’m just here for the cake,” you deadpan, dusting your hands off.
For a second, his smile falters—not in hurt but in sheer disbelief. He tilts his head, studying you with an incredulous expression, and you suddenly feel like a frog under a magnifying glass.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” he says, almost to himself, his voice low but still playful.
“Get what?” you ask, genuinely confused.
Donghyuck presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. He steps closer, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of chestnut cream. “I mean, I could spell it out for you, but that might ruin the fun.”
“Spell what out?” you press, a little flustered now.
He straightens with a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing, you airhead. Absolutely nothing. Is your head full of cotton candy, by any chance?”
You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can respond, he’s already pulling his chair back, resuming his seat with a sigh.
“Mont Blanc, Marble Eclipse, and Tiramisu on the first date,” he states, deep in thought. “Maybe Matcha Lemon, Lavender Peach, and White Chocolate on the second… Perhaps a Red Velvet and a Strawberry Shortcake before you realize I literally own this place?”
You feel the heat intensify on your cheeks. You almost miss the last part, clouded by the implications of the rest of his words. He… wants to go on more dates with you? Was this a date all along? You’ve been swindled into having fun with a man somehow. He even knows the ins and outs of a baker’s life. And he’s charming in an oddball sort of way. You shouldn’t be feeling solidarity with this weirdo. But then again, somehow, his laugh is very… endearing.
Wait a minute.
“You- you really own the place?!” A scream dies in your throat.
Donghyuck looks positively taken aback. “So you actually weren’t aware?!”
“What do you mean? How the hell am I supposed to know?! You described yourself as a connoisseur of pastries. I thought you were some kind of freelance failure so I didn’t pry!”
“Excuse me?!”
“Well, either that or you’re unbelievably rich. But then you don’t look it. Your sleeves have flour and oil stains on them, and your shoes are all dusty too, and there’s gold flakes in your hair—okay, how did I miss this?”
“Geez, way to judge someone by their looks. I’m not taking that from the local tart snatcher.”
The retort barely registers because your brain is too busy replaying the words “I own this place.” The realization hits, and before you can think better of it, the chair screeches back as you bolt upright.
“Wait, where are you—” Donghyuck’s voice is cut off by your shrill, mortified “Bye!” as you make a beeline for the door, leaving behind a very startled staff and a half-empty tray of cakes. Immediately after your exit, you let out a shriek.
What the hell are you doing?!
Your face burns as you speed-walk down the street, each step punctuated by the memory of your impulsive retreat. You must have cast your senses away at that moment, like some wide-eyed fool in a fairy tale, almost charmed by that silly man and his absurd little quirks. It’s not your fault, of course—it’s his, with his flour-dusted sleeves, that stupidly endearing laugh, and the way he talked about pastries like they were a love language. What was wrong with him?! you think, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was your awkwardness and runaway theatrics that had caused the scene. You’d blame it on sugar overload if it weren’t for the nagging realization that maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten under your skin, and the fact that you deserved it.
. . .
You hadn’t expected to hear from him again. Not after your embarrassing getaway. But three days later, you’re staring at an email with the subject line: "Notice of Legal Action for Unauthorized Sampling."
You open it with trembling fingers, only to find what can only be described as the world’s most dramatic—and definitely fake—lawsuit.
Your jaw drops as you scroll through the email. He’d even attached a fake case number: #CAKE-404-NO-FUN.
The body of the email was littered with ridiculous legalese. Phrases like "egregious acts of confectionery negligence" and "failure to properly appreciate artisanal craftsmanship" were scattered between absurdly specific accusations.
There is a diagram. An actual diagram. Arrows pointing to "Exhibit A" (the Mont Blanc) and "Exhibit B" (the empty spot on the tray), annotated with notes like "victim of hasty consumption" and "left to fend for itself."
And then, at the very bottom, there it was—the pièce de résistance:
“This suit may be settled by one (1) heartfelt apology and one (1) coffee date at the aforementioned bakery. Should you require legal counsel, I suggest bringing your A-game. I am, after all, a connoisseur of arguments… and pastries. 😉”
You groan, head thunking against the back of your chair. The audacity. The drama. The fuckass emojis.
This man is getting to you.
Your first reaction is, of course, panic. Your second? Rage. And by the time you storm into the bakery at ass o’clock before it even opens, Donghyuck is waiting for you, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. (Which he does, actually.)
He’s propped on his elbows, his posture easy and unhurried, as if he’s been expecting you. The black apron around his waist is slightly askew, and his beige T-shirt bears faint streaks of flour across the chest, a testament to an already busy morning. His fluffy brown hair is an artful mess, the kind that looks unintentional but infuriatingly perfect, with a few errant strands curling over his forehead. There’s a streak of something golden—sugar, maybe?—on his cheek, catching the light as he tilts his head to regard you with an expression that’s equal parts curious and smug.
“You’re early,” he remarks, his voice low and teasing, as though he isn’t the root of all evil.
“You think this is funny?” you demand, shoving your phone in his face.
Donghyuck grins, unbothered. “Hilarious, actually. Did it get your attention?”
“You can’t just send someone a fake legal notice!”
“Worked, didn’t it?” He shrugs, leaning back with infuriating calmness. “Besides, you owed me an explanation for your Houdini act. You know, poor Kimi had to clear your tray. She almost cried.”
“She did not!”
As if on cue, Kimi pokes her head out of the kitchen. “Oh, she absolutely did. It was tragic,” she deadpans before ducking back in.
You groan, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the second. “You’re unbelievable.”
Donghyuck leans back, smug as ever, and gestures to the email still open on your phone. “Unbelievable or resourceful? Let’s review: I sent a single, harmless message—full of creativity and wit, I might add—and look where we are.”
“At me wanting to strangle you?”
“At you running right to me,” he corrects, his grin widening. “What, were you worried?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap. “I’m here because—”
You stop, realizing you don’t have a decent answer. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I took you seriously.”
“Oh, you absolutely took me seriously.” He nods sagely. “I saw the panic in your eyes. Admit it: for a second, you thought you were going to have to pay me a hundred grand or grovel at my feet.”
“I- ugh- fuck you!” is all you can muster, stepping forward without thinking.
He mirrors your movement, the space between you shrinking by degrees.
“But seriously, you ghosted me, and I had to get creative. What the hell was I supposed to do? I figured the legal drama might get my point across.”
“What point?”
“That I wanted to see you again.” The words come out so easily, so matter-of-fact, you don’t know how to respond. When you finally glance up, he’s watching you closely, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.
“Just because you’re all cute and covered in flour like the star of some indie chef movie doesn’t mean you get to toy with me.”
“Ha! You’re presumptuous—despite all the fine details on me you seem to observe.” He leans in. “But guess what, I’m a greedy bastard that loves attention. So, look closer.”
And you look anywhere but his lips, too pink and too plush, as your face grows hotter than a convection oven on broil.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you manage, staring resolutely at the display of cakes. “That hardly counts as details.”
“Details,” he echoes, his grin growing wider. “Like the way I look at you?”
“You’re just a flirt,” you mutter.
He gasps, mock-offended, and gestures dramatically to the kitchen. “Kimi, did you hear that? I’m just a flirt!”
“You said it, not me,” Kimi calls back without missing a beat.
You laugh despite yourself, the sound surprising you. And Donghyuck doesn’t miss it. His gaze softens, the teasing edge in his voice dropping slightly. “There it is. I knew you could laugh without running away.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
For a moment, the air shifts, the humor giving way to something quieter. Donghyuck’s gaze lingers—not on your awkward posture or flushed cheeks, but on you, as though trying to piece together something he doesn’t quite understand.
“What?” you finally ask, defensive.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, but there’s a small, genuine smile now. “Just... you’re such a fidgety person.”
“Are you trying to shell out an insult?”
“No, I mean, I always see you scuttling here and there. Always on the move. Always observing, but never stopping long enough to be seen. You just… don’t seem like someone who takes much time for yourself.”
You blink, caught off guard. He tilts his head, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s crossed a line.
“I’m wrong?” he asks, almost sheepishly.
“I—” You pause, unsure of how to respond. “You’re nosy, that’s what you are.”
“That’s a yes,” he decides, grinning again.
Donghyuck chuckles, leaning just a little closer, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours. “Tell you what,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I’ll prove I’m not just nosy. Let me take you out. Somewhere you don’t have to bolt out the door halfway through.”
“You think I’d agree to that?” you retort, though your words lack bite. The proximity is doing something to your brain, and you’re acutely aware of how close he’s leaned in.
His grin is confident and infuriating. “I think you’d be curious enough to say yes.”
Your breath hitches as you realize how little space is left between the two of you, your noses almost brushing. “Woah,” you whisper, trying to play it off, “my mommy warned me about boys like you. All up close and personal with flour in their hair.”
He raises a brow, unrepentant. “Smart woman. But she didn’t tell you we’re pretty good at first dates, did she?”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes, soft but genuine. “Fine,” you say, straightening up and taking a step back before your pulse betrays you further. “But you’re paying. And no weird cakes this time.”
“Deal,” he replies, his smile softer now, more sincere.
And for a moment, you believe it—not just the act, not just the cakes and the banter, but the idea that maybe, somehow, this strange, sugar-dusted series of events has led to something real.
. . .
r/AmITheAsshole
u/YeastMode6969 • 16h
UPDATE: I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?
Fine, you guys were right. We’re dating now. Let’s just say we’ve been filling my cream puffs lately 🫠
Edit: I also got the Mont Blanc recipe!!
⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 3,297 Comments
kimikakes • 13h
KIMI HERE, REPORTING LIVE FROM THE SCENE: they literally argued over frosting consistency for half an hour yesterday. This relationship is built on chaos and croissants.
➥ Reply ⥣ 7.1k ⥥
bun_theory0222 • 2h
Hellooo where are the recipes. Priorities, OP :/
➥ Reply ⥣ 4.1k ⥥
lil_sugar_daddy0813 • 1h
man i was betting on donghyuck dying alone i dont wanna lose my $20
➥ Reply ⥣ 1.3k ⥥
muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h
Give me your money NYEOW
➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥
soggywaffle0205 • 6m
why are you suddenly a furry
➥ Reply ⥣ 1.1k ⥥
muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h
pays the bills
➥ Reply ⥣ 2.7k ⥥
PAIRING: mark lee x reader
GENRE: fwb, f2l, crack humour, fluff, smut, angst
WORD COUNT: 13.2k
SYNOPSIS: getting into a friends with benefits situation with your all time best friend was so (not) easy
CONTENT WARNINGS: explicit content, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, sofa sex, doggy, creampies, big dick mark as always (he gets cocky bc his cock is big), a lot of crack humour, kissing, make-outs, sorta slow burn, heavily implied jaemin x reader moments, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed
[AN]: a thank you gift for being patient with me while i take some time off, and also a thank you gift for the follower milestone. you guys are insane.. i love you.
“Wait, you what?” You screech incredulously, not caring about the loudness of your tone as you abruptly straighten up in your seat, the legs squeaking against the wooden flooring of the library. Other students with their heads shoved in books and laptop screens peek over to shush you angrily, one warning you about the volume of your voice but you pay them no attention as you’re staring wide eyed at Mark who sits across from you sheepishly.
Mark Lee—one of the hot throbs living on campus, the smartest and kindest guy in class, and the biggest marvel freak has been your bestest friend for the past few years, having met in the middle of a school’s basketball court where fourteen-year-old Mark had tried to shoot some hoops to impress his newfound friends, only for the ball to come flying straight at your face and leaving you with a swollen eyeball and a busted up nose.
Mark was unbelievably apologetic, buying jellies and ripping up flowers from potted plants to give to you, begging for your forgiveness over and over again until you socked him in the face, giving him a hefty nosebleed and a bruised cheek. A toothy grin was spread across your cheeks as you had taken the gifts out of his hands, a happy ‘now we’re even!’ leaving your lips as you had ripped open the packet, offering a jelly, offering your friendship.
The two of you became inseparable and if someone saw one of you, they knew that the other would be trailing along behind them. You were two peas in a pod, the dynamic duo. You were so joined at the hip that when you both enrolled for college, you tried signing up for a dorm on campus, wanting to be roommates.
It didn’t happen much to both of your dismay. Mark ended up rooming with one of his friends, Jaemin, while you got stuck with some girl you didn’t even know but had become acquainted with over a short period of time.
Still, you and Mark never strayed far from each other even with your roommates lingering around. Mark slept over at your place from time to time and vice versa, you’re certain that he even has a drawer for himself in your dresser filled with spare shirts, sweatpants and underwear. A lot of your mutual friends found it suspicious how you two could be so close with nothing going on, complaining how neither of you could be just friends even though it was the truth. You are just friends, you’re best friends.
“I’m just saying you’re complaining about not hooking up with someone for a few days while I haven’t slept with someone for, like, a month” Mark repeats to you with flushed cheeks, adjusting the black cap on his head with one hand while other skilfully flips a pen around his fingers, bottom lip jutting out. “Times are hard, dude. I got assignments coming out of my ass—”
“There’s no way you haven’t hooked up with someone recently” You hiss between teeth, refusing to believe a word that comes out of his mouth when he’s talking about such nonsense. A student from the table next to yours turns around in their seat in annoyance to look at you, pressing their finger aggressively against their lips to tell you to quiet down and you scoff, throwing them the middle finger with your own irritancy and annoyance.
“Can you not?” Mark scolds you as he wraps his hand around your own, squeezing in warning as he pushes it back down to the table and sends the student an apologetic smile, and as always, it works like a charm as they shyly smile back and return back to their book. It makes you scoff again and Mark is quick to look at you, “I’m telling you the truth, you know”
“Bullshit” You murmur, sending him a glare. “That girl from my study group was over at your dorm last weekend—I saw her snapchat stories”
“Dude, we’re in the same study group. She came over for some of my notes and stayed longer because Jaemin offered her an ounce of his ‘premium weed’” Mark explains, putting emphasis around the word ‘premium weed’ which has you snorting, knowing that there was nothing premium about Jaemin’s stash. “She eventually ended up sleeping over and fucking Jeno anyways”
Your face contorts into a look of confusion at that, “What? Jeno isn’t even your roommate?”
“I know,” Mark grimaces. “Jaemin’s sheets are still in the dryer”
“Oh…” You pause, humming as the realisation finally hits you. “So that’s why Jaemin didn’t have any sheets on his bed when I came over on Monday”
“Yea—wait, you came over Monday?” Mark’s head snaps towards you, eyes narrowing in on you as he jabs his pen in your direction. “Did you fuck in my bed?!
“No, of course not” You scoff, deeply offended by his accusation and Mark lets out a sigh of relief, relaxing his shoulders as he leans back into his chair. “We actually fucked on the sofa—”
“Are you fucking kidding m—”
“That’s besides the point!!” You cut him off before he can grill into you, silencing him as you raise your hand in front of his face as he tries to retaliate again. “You haven’t fucked anyone in a month, Mark. That’s… that’s blasphemy!!”
Mark deadpans, “I’m pretty sure that’s not blasphemy”
“Whatever, you know what I mean” You discard it, shoving your books and pens as far away from you as you possibly could, no longer interested in studying the endless amount of words on that page now that you’ve discovered your best friend hasn’t gotten laid in so long. You sit comfortably in your chair as you fully face him, tucking your legs beneath you. “I can’t believe you fucked someone in a month…”
“You’re telling me” Mark huffs, deciding to push away his studies too for the time being as he rubs at his face in frustration, groaning beneath his palms. You console him with a frown, rubbing his shoulder in pity and Mark drops his hands to his lap, looking over at you with a glare. “I can’t believe you didn’t believe me, dude… why would I lie about something like that?!”
“I don’t know—you fuck more than I do, of course I’m not gonna believe a word you say when you tell me something like that!!” You’re quick to defend yourself, both you and Mark knowing you’re speaking the truth.
Mark does fuck more than you. His boyish charm and adorable face doesn’t hide the fact that his body count is currently sitting in its twenties and that his online bank statements show how many packs of condoms he’s buying weekly, and maybe a few plan B’s lingering there somewhere for extra precaution. He was always on the safe side which didn’t surprise you, he was nowhere ready to be extremely stupid and possibly impregnate someone, especially a stranger.
“Dude… you didn’t have to say it out loud like that…” Mark mutters under his breath, cheeks dusting a slight pink as another student turns around in their seat to glare at the pair of you and comically widens her eyes as she meets Mark’s, shyly tucking her hair behind her ears with a kind smile that Mark reciprocates. You scoff at her reaction and lean back in your seat just as Mark’s attention is brought back to you. “Are we done with this conversation? I’d like to change the topic from my non-existent sex life to something more appealing”
“Fine… you still going to Johnny’s later?”
“Nah, he’s got some important family thing to go to so we’re hanging another time” Mark sighs softly, taking the cap off of his head to run his fingers through his hair before adjusting it back on. “You cool if I came over with you?”
“Sure” You grin, already shoving your books into your tote bag, eager to leave the library as soon as you possibly can. Mark snorts in amusement but follows closely behind as he shoves his own belongings into his backpack and rests the strap on his shoulder. You turn your head to see the girl still staring over at Mark and you smirk, slamming one hand on the desk in front of her to get her attention before jabbing your thumb in Mark’s direction. “If you want his number, I can give it to you. He’s been stuck in a dry spell recently so—”
Mark’s fingers curl around your elbow, dragging you away from the traumatised girl with a huff, “Move”
“I’ve been thinking about something…” You begin after a few hefty hours of studying and bingeing out on food, dropping your chopsticks in the empty ramen cup and pushing it to the side. Mark sits beside you on the sofa, his own ramen cup in hand as he stares at his laptop screen, taking in the words that need to be remembered for his class.
Mark gives you a pointed look as he slurps his ramen, “That doesn’t sound good”
“Wow, hilarious” You deadpan with a roll of your eyes as he chuckles under his breath, turning his head back to the laptop screen. “Anyway—and hear me out before you say some dumbass shit—I’ve been thinking about something that relates to that little problem we both have, and I may have just thought of a way to fix it”
“Why are you still hung up on this?” Mark whines between mouthfuls. “I don’t want to be reminded that I’m not having sex, dude—"
“Ah!” You hold up your hand to shush him and he goes cross eyed to stare at your palm. “I said hear me out”
“Okay”
“Great! Okay, so, me and you are the best of friends, right? Like, we always help each other out and—”
“Where is this going?”
“Hear. Me. Out” You warn once more and Mark sighs, nodding his head to let you continue. “We always help each other out, right? And there’s no awkwardness between us at all which makes us close. Do you remember that time we had to make-out in front of Sejun so he would stop awkwardly hitting on me? And that time I pretended to be your girlfriend so Rina would get the hint that you didn’t want to fuck her anymore?”
“That didn’t exactly work out because we slept with them a few days after it happened—”
“That’s not the point” You say as you frustratingly rub at your temples. “The point is that we always help each other out, no matter what the situation is because we’re best friends. So, as best friends, I think we should help each other out with our little situation”
“And how can we help each other out”
“By fucking each other” The second those words leave your lips, Mark chokes on his ramen, fist banging against his chest as he coughs, eyes watery and face red and it has you cackling, wishing you had your phone nearby to take a picture. Mark takes deep breaths as he finally consumes air, reaching down to grab his bottle of water that rests beside the leg of the sofa, gulping it down almost immediately. “You’re so dramatic”
“And you’re crazy!!” Mark shoots back, water droplets falling from his chin as he looks at you with wide eyes. “Do you realise what you just said?”
You grin, “Perfectly!”
“We’re not fucking each other, it’ll be too weird” You instantly find offense to that, your jaw dropping and Mark rolls his eyes. “We’re best friends. Best friends don’t do that type of shit—Stop looking at me like that!”
You huff, turning your head away from him childishly, “I’m just trying to help us out. I don’t think it’ll be weird, people have done weirder”
“Do you know how many friendships have been ruined because they fucked?” Mark questions you and you take a moment to ponder, wincing as you can easily name a few from the top of your head. “Exactly. As much as I find you attractive, I’m not going to ruin our friendship. We’ve been best friends for too long”
Your head slowly whirls back to Mark who’s already staring at you and you smile, flirtily batting your eyelashes at him, “You think I’m attractive?”
“You’re unbelievable, jesus fucking chri—” Mark cuts himself off, rubbing his forehead as he exhales deeply due to his frustration. You beam at the thought of getting under his skin, but you roll your eyes and reach over to press your foot into his side to bring his attention back to you.
Mark looks over at you with a deadpan expression and you grin softly, tilting your head to the side as you admire the view. You’ve always found Mark attractive even if it was in a friendly way, and you’d be lying if you said that sleeping with him has never crossed your mind, but that’s because you’re nosy and want to see what all the fuss is about when you continuously hear the girls gush about what he’s like in bed.
Some say he’s pretty giving, tending to their needs in all ways possible while others say he comes across as needy and desperate, begging for his cock to be sucked. It piques your interest immensely… Maybe it was wrong of you to think that way about someone you know so well, but you’re human after all, sometimes you can’t help the way you think.
“Look…” You speak first. “What I said was just a suggestion, okay? If you don’t want to do it then that’s fine—”
“How do you know that it won’t ruin our friendship?” Mark cuts you off and your eyebrows raise in surprise at the question. “We’ve been friends for, like, nine years or something, dude… I don’t know about you but I don’t want to throw that all away because we messed up and decided to fuck each other just because we’re horny”
“We’re not going to get into anything serious” You tell him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Sure, we’re probably going to be in some type of friends with benefits situation but we’re not going to include any of that ‘official’ or ‘exclusive’ bullshit. We just fuck each other for a release when we can’t find it anywhere else, it’s as simple as that. No complications”
“So…” Mark purses his lips in deep thought. “We can still fuck other people?”
You scoff, “Of course. You think I’d drop Jaemin for you that easily?”
“Fuck you”
Your lips curl into a smirk, “I’m hoping you would”
Mark stares at you before chuckling, shaking his head as his tongue pokes at his cheek. The little act spurs you on but you remain seating, wanting Mark to make the first move if he was game in fucking you to help relieve the stress you’re both feeling, maybe Mark more than you considering you fucked Jaemin a few days ago, but you were desperate to be filled again.
You watch Mark ponder for a moment, his bottom lip jutting down deep in thought, brows pulling together as he thinks about the pros and cons. His hands come up to pull the cap off of his head, his hair messily falling in front of his eyes and your thighs press together at the thought of seeing it between your legs with your fingers tangled through the locks. You snort at how deluded you sound.
“What time does your roommate come back tonight?” Mark questions you, his low voice bringing you out of your thoughts and your body buzzes with excitement, reaching over to snag your phone off of the coffee table to check the time and you grin wildly when you realise she won’t be home for another three hours. You inform him immediately and he nods, “Cool. Good to know”
“So?” You press, chucking your phone back onto the coffee table as you look at him expectedly. “What’s it going to be?”
“No titles—”
“None at all”
“We can still fuck whoever we want—”
“Even the neighbours”
“And most importantly…” Mark pauses with a deep sigh, leaning closer to you and holding up his hand with his pinky finger outstretched. “We’re still best friends”
“It’ll be like nothing ever changed” You say softly with a smile, raising your own hand to curl your pinky finger around his own, squeezing tightly. It’s silent between you both for a while and you can clearly see the cogs turning inside Mark’s head as he thinks about his next move, yet you’re the one that takes the initiative.
You rip your hand away from his to throw your arms around his shoulders, dragging him towards you to plant your lips on his in a heated kiss. You’re surprised at how fast Mark responds as his palms come up to cup your cheeks, tilting his head to the side to kiss you deeper as his tongue moulds with yours.
The few drunken kisses you’ve shared with Mark to help each other out of situations is nothing like the kiss you’re experiencing now and it catches you extremely off guard. You almost expected him to allow you to take control of the situation and lead him through, but with the way Mark’s pushing you down to the sofa and crawling in between your open legs with his lips still attached to yours, you’re stumped.
“Wait” You stop him, pressing your hand against his shoulder to push him back and Mark moves away with puckered lips, his fingers hovering above the waistband of your shorts which causes you to snort, “Why are we doing this on the sofa when there’s a perfectly good bed in my room?”
Mark glares down at you, “That didn’t stop you and Jaemin fucking on my sofa”
“Actually, there was no sheets on Jaemin’s bed, so—”
“Think of this as payback” Mark smiles at you sweetly and you snarl, knocking your knee against his side with force and he laughs through clenched teeth, “Besides, you’ve probably fucked a lot of people on this sofa…. Do you really care?”
“Are you implying that I’m a slut”
“Yeah”
“God, that’s so hot of you”
Mark snorts out a laugh and leans down to reconnect your lips as his hands pull your shorts and underwear down your legs, carelessly throwing them somewhere to the side and you hiss at the cold air that hits, yearning for warmth.
Mark’s lips trail down your throat and to the collar of your shirt, heading south to where your thighs shake in anticipation, watching as he shifts down to lay between your legs, hands pushing against your knees to spread you apart further.
Your hand reaches down to pull the cap off of his head, revealing his messy hair beneath and you toss it over the sofa, caring so little about where it lands as you thread your fingers through his locks, trying to tug him closer but he barely budges, staring up at you with his brows laced together.
“Hurry” You whine.
“Are you always this impatient?”
“Of course” You look at him like he’s stupid. “We’re both doing this for a reason and it’s to cum, not to take our sweet little time and—Oh fuck!”
“You talk too much” He drags his tongue through your folds, the pink muscle swirling around your clit and your body jerks, a gasp flying past your lips as you dig your fingers further into his hair, the feeling of his tongue wiggling between your folds and licking upwards to flick over your clit before his fingers tease at your entrance.
Your body goes slack against the sofa cushions as he eases his two digits inside the warmth of your walls, curling his fingers upwards as his lips wrap around your sensitive bud and you whine, tugging on his hair a little harder which causes him to groan, the vibrations causing goosebumps to rise to your skin.
You’re in shock at how well Mark uses his tongue and fingers against you. You’ve heard stories from your girl friends and Mark himself, but you didn’t realise he was this good and it completely caught you off track, unable to control the noises that rip from your chest when he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your pussy while his tongue continues to work wonders on your clit.
“Mark” You say his name with a moan, thighs twitching and closing in around his head and you feel him smile against your cunt, causing you to squeeze around his head in warning, “Stop it”
“You gonna cum already?” He asks as he lifts his head, mouth glistening with your arousal and his fingers hitting the spot that has your toes curling and back arching against the cushions. “You can cum, if you want. Let it go”
“You’re so cocky” You chuckle, but your amusement slips away and is overcome by pleasure as he pumps his fingers a few more times, the tightening band in your stomach snapping as you cum all over his hand, gasping through high pitched whines and trying to control the convulsing movement of your body.
“That’s it” Mark hums, pressing a quick kiss to your clit. “There you go…”
“Oh my god” You choke out, your hand falling limp on his shoulder as it drops from his hair, your fingers twitching over the material. “What the fuck was that?!”
“Me eating you out” He answers simply with smugness in his tone, popping his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean and your mouth drops in shock at the action. “You good?”
“Yeah, good” You nod dumbly, completely astonished at how nonchalant Mark is, watching as he tugs his jeans and boxers down his legs awkwardly when he sits up, your eyes immediately zoning in on his cock that slaps against his stomach once freed from its confinements.
Truthfully, you’ve seen Mark naked as he’s so comfortable stripping in front of you without any thought. But, you’ve never seen Mark hard and the sight alone is enough to have your mouth watering in anticipation. Your best friend is huge.
“Okay” Mark speaks to himself, shuffling forwards on his knees and hooking his hands under the back of yours to pull you closer, his thumbs caressing your skin. “You ready? You know there’s no turning back from this, right?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be” You grin, wiggling against him excitedly. “Give me what you got, baby!”
“Don’t call me that, dude” Mark tuts, shaking his head as he slowly slides his cock into you. Your eyes slowly start to widen at the stretch, the burn obvious in your thighs and your hand flies down to his in hopes to slow down his movements despite him going as slow as he possibly could.
You breathe steadily through your nose, lips pressed together tightly as you wince at the uncomfortable ache that spreads, your pussy squeezing down on him as if you were trying to prevent him from entering any further.
“Ow” You mutter beneath your breath, twisting your hips to try and get comfortable and relax but you wince at the movement you make, causing Mark to raise his head from where you’re connected to look into your eyes, his own pooling with concern.
“You alright?”
“Mhm” You hum with a curt nod. “Nothing of that significant size has been up there before, you know? I’m just… feeling uncomfortable, that’s all”
His lips curl into a grin, “You calling my dick big?”
You give him a hardened glare, “Not as big as your fucking head”
Mark laughs loudly, his hand laying flat across your lower tummy as he adjusts himself in between your legs, head ducking down to watch himself carefully push into you once more but the second your legs tense up, he sighs apologetically and strokes your tummy as he slides out of you and you whine at the feeling of emptiness, looking at him with a pout.
“Hold on…” He tells you softly, gently grabbing your waist to help flip you over on all fours, his hands sliding around your back and pressing down slightly, arching it to hold you in place as you feel his cock prod at your entrance. “This should feel better. But tell me if it still hurts, okay? I don’t want to hurt you anymore”
“Just—” You grit your teeth together. “Just fuck me, Mark”
“Okay” Mark whispers as he eases himself into you again at a slow pace and you gasp, your fingers gripping the arm of the sofa, your head dropping to rest on the cushions as you try to control your breathing. The new position was definitely better than the last, but you can still feel him stretch you out to fit you around his cock. “Is my dick really that big?”
“Are you asking because you’re concerned or because you want me to boost your ego?”
Mark smiles, “Maybe both”
You don’t even get a chance to retaliate as Mark begins to fill you up completely, his hips pressing against your ass and you whine at how full you feel, unable to think properly as he pulls his cock out, leaving the tip nestled in your cunt before thrusting back in.
He curses loudly behind you, fingers digging into your hips as he rocks his hips into you, his powerful thrusts sending your body jerking forwards. You squeeze around his cock and he moans, his pace speeding up and you can’t help but fuck yourself back onto him, whining and panting at the pleasure that swirls in the pit of your tummy.
The sound of skin slapping against skin is enough to have your eyes rolling back, the lewd sounds driving you even closer to the edge along with his rapid thrusts and continuous cursing. You’re positive you can hear him mumble about how ‘fucking tight your pussy’ is. You would’ve never guessed he was into such dirty talk, Mark continues to amaze you.
Your pussy swallows around his length when you feel his hand sneak beneath your body to reach between your fingers, the pads of his fingers rubbing diligent circles on your clit and you mewl, your own hand coming down to latch around his wrist.
“Sh...shit” You slur, drool seeping past the corner of your lips. “So good—Fuck, don’t stop—s’good”
“I’m not gonna stop” You hear Mark whisper and you could feel the tears build up in your eyes as Mark leans over your body, holding himself up with one hand on the arm of the sofa, his other playing with your clit as he quickens his thrusts, his cock hitting deeper than before that it has you seeing stars. Your toes curl and your body tenses up as his cock ploughs into your cunt, repeatedly hitting that spot over and over before your second orgasm of the night hits you violently.
Your screams are muffled by your own hand, walls pulsating around his cock as you cum, struggling to hold up your weight as your body falls limp on the sofa, pleasure buzzing through your veins and sending your mind whirling as Mark fucks you through it to reach his own high, moving his hand from your clit to rest on your lower back, arching your ass up to fuck you deeper.
“Where do you want me to cum?” He pants, his thumb stroking the top of your ass cheeks. “Fuck, tell me where I can cum”
“Anywhere you want” You garble your words, turning your head to the side to look at him, noticing how his eyes widen slightly.
“Anywhere?” Mark repeats as he slows his hips and you nod, yelping in shock when he pulls out of you completely and flips your body around once more, staring at him in surprise as he crawls up your body, resting his one hand on your cheek and pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb. “Here?”
Instead of giving him a verbal answer, you open wide and Mark grins, pushing the head of his cock into your mouth and sighing as your lips close around him, letting you suckle on his tip as he cums in long spurts down your throat, brows lacing together in pleasure and moaning softly as your tongue presses against his slit, drinking up everything he gives to you.
It’s silent between you both as Mark removes himself from above you, opting to crash down in the limited space between your body and the sofa, running his fingers through his sweaty hair as he breathes heavily.
It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what had just happened, staring between Mark’s naked lower half and yours before you abruptly sit up, rolling onto your knees as you stare down at him incredulously.
“Dude!” You screech, punching his shoulder with such force that has him wincing.
“Ow! Jesus Chri—”
“What the fuck?! Why did you tell me you were that good?” You immediately cut him off, not allowing him to speak as you shake your head. “We should’ve done this years ago!!”
Mark rolls his eyes in annoyance despite the grin that spreads across his lips as he throws his arm over his face, “Shut up”
“Okay, so, let me repeat that—” Renjun pauses to chew and swallow his sandwich, pointing between you and Mark on the opposite side of the table “—you two decided to fuck each other last night because neither of you have fucked someone in a long time and now you’ve made some sort of deal that when you can’t find release elsewhere, you’ll go to each other?”
“Yeah”
“What the fuck?!” Renjun exclaims, looking at you both as if you’ve grown an extra head before abruptly turning to Donghyuck and Jaemin who sit silently together, watching everything unfold. “Why aren’t you guys saying anything?!”
“I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re making it out to be” Donghyuck shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he turns to look at you with his brows laced together, “Although, I’m kind of offended you didn’t ask me to fuck you”
You grimace, “It makes me queasy thinking about where your dick has been”
“When was the last time you got tested, Hyuck?” Mark teases, a slight smirk curling at the end of his lips as he leans back into his chair, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants. Donghyuck rolls his eyes and retaliates by throwing him the middle finger to which Mark laughs at.
“And you’re okay with this?” Renjun questions Jaemin who slowly nods as he rolls a blunt beneath the table, lips pursed in concentration.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He grumbles, lifting his eyes to Renjun and raises a brow before looking back down to his lap. “Besides, sometimes I get so faded that I can’t even get my dick up. She needs good dick and I can’t give it to her when I’m that out of it”
You gasp in awe, reaching out to pinch his cheek, “You are so thoughtful!”
“So I’m the only sane person that thinks this is a stupid idea?” Renjun shakes his head in disbelief, biting into his sandwich with a sigh. His eyes widen, a piece of lettuce hanging from his mouth as he erratically pats his pockets, “Where’s Jeno? Somebody text Jeno”
“You know damn well Jeno isn’t going to give a shit” Donghyuck cackles. “Pretty sure he fucked his best girl friend last year”
“Yeah? And where is she now?” Renjun looks at you all for an answer and you frown, sinking into your seat with your arms crossed over your chest, “Exactly!!”
“Come on, dude, it’s not like that…” Mark tries to explain. “We talked about it. We’re not doing any of that exclusive or official stuff, we’re not making it weird”
“Meaning we can still fuck whoever we want” You add on, turning to look at Jaemin with a pretty smile and he looks back at you with a smirk, dropping his left eye into a flirtatious wink before resuming back in rolling his joint.
“So, what I’m hearing is—” Donghyuck pauses, leaning his elbows on his table and resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he bats his eyelashes at you, “There’s still a chance for you to fuck me?”
“I have more of a chance of getting fucked than you, Hyuck” Jeno’s voice interrupts from behind and you whiz around in your seat, grinning as you see Jeno nearing towards your table with his jacket in one hand and his books in the other.
He greets you all with a smile, placing his belongings down on the table before grabbing an empty chair from another, scraping the metal across the floor as he drags it to place beside Mark, slapping his hand down on his shoulder in greeting as he sits.
“Anyway, what are we talking about?”
“Mark and Y/N fucked” Renjun immediately jumps into it and you sigh, throwing your head back in frustration as Mark laughs beside you. “And they’re going to continue to fuck whenever they have no one else to, so—”
“Cool”
Renjun stares at Jeno incredulously. “That’s not cool!! You’re all helpless, every single one of you”
Jeno pulls a face, “You know, it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be—”
“That’s what I said~” Donghyuck sings.
“—and besides, they’re grown adults, they can do whatever they want” Jeno’s words make your brows raise with little surprise, watching as he flips open his book and grabs the pen that rests behind his ear, tugging off the cap with his teeth before looking at you, “I’m surprised it took you this long to actually hook-up, I thought it would’ve happened months ago”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just means I thought you two would’ve fucked months ago” Jeno smiles and shrugs innocently, blowing the cap out of his mouth and catching it with his hand before he begins scribbling on the pages and you roll your eyes, craning your neck over your shoulder to look at Mark who shrugs his own shoulders, not fully understanding the meaning of Jeno’s words but chooses not to dwell on it any longer as he reaches for his drink, sipping through the straw as he gives his attention to Donghyuck who angles his phone in his direction to show him something that you could barely see.
Renjun shakes his head in disbelief, shoving the last remaining bite of his sandwich into his mouth and grabbing his own book out of his backpack to take notes alongside Jeno before comically raising his head up to point his pen at you and Mark.
“Also, I don’t want to hear any complaining from either of you when this whole ‘friends with benefits relationship’ bullshit ends up going to literal shit” Renjun warns before slowly turning the pen to point it as himself, “Because I will laugh in your face and simply say, ‘I told you so’”
A scoff leaves your lips as Mark speaks up, “Relax, dude, everything is going to be fine. And besides, it could just be a one time thing… It might not even happen again” Mark eyes you, “Right?”
Your lips curl into a smile as you lean your elbows on the table, chin resting on the palm of your hand as you give him a short nod, “Right”
“Mark, Mark, Mark” You moan out his name repeatedly, back arching off of your bed and gripping the pillows behind your head, mouth open wide as Mark’s fingers pump in and out of your pussy, waves of slick splashing onto the sheets below and his boxers. He laughs as you shove your face into your arm, body trembling and whines slipping past your lips from the overwhelming sensation of him fucking you with his fingers.
Your legs clamp shut around his hand but he’s already prying you back open with his other, holding them down to the bed as his fingers curl up into the sweet spot that has you trembling through your orgasm, almost bringing yourself to tears at the pressure in the pit of your tummy.
“There we go…” Mark hums, milking you for every drop you can give. You quiver and gasp as Mark comes to a stop, grinning as he pulls his fingers away from your cunt and you mewl, struggling to raise your foot and kick him in his side but he captures your ankle in his grasp, drawing circles with his fingertips. “You good?”
“You good” You mock with a scoff, arms flopping to your sides as you take a deep breath, ignoring the way Mark laughs again. “I felt like I was going crazy... that was intense”
“Thank you” Mark cheeses, eyes beaming as he slips off of your bed. “You need to change your sheets though”
“So gentlemanly of you to offer to help” You mutter sarcastically under your breath with a tut, standing up from the bed and your knees buckle beneath you, causing you to reach out and grab onto a surface to steady yourself, throwing your middle finger up in Mark’s direction as he snickers.
He tells you to go shower while he takes care of the sheets and you immediately oblige, patting his arm in a quick thank you as you wobble out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, eager to clean yourself up after previous activities.
You take a little longer than usual to shower, taking your time to scrub your body clean and even wash your hair, not even caring about what Mark could be doing inside your home as he waits for you, but you pause your routine as you begin to think about your relationship with Mark.
You’ve been hooking up for almost three weeks, showing up at each other's place whenever you’re in need of sex and getting the deed done before hanging out, getting a bite to eat or even watching something on the TV. You still sleep with Jaemin, you’ve even fucked Jaemin and Mark on the same day. Mark doesn’t care, and personally neither do you, but you start to recall the amount of times you have chosen Mark over Jaemin, and it was a lot.
You and Mark fuck whenever you have no one else to go to, yet given the choices… you still choose Mark.
“Dude!” Mark bangs his fist on the bathroom door, yanking you out of your thoughts, “I need to piss, hurry up!”
“Just come in!” You yell back at him, frowning as you face the stream of water to let the soap run off your body as you mumble, “It’s not like you haven’t barged in before”
You hear the door yank open behind the shower curtain and you poke your head around just in time for Mark to unzip his pants to relieve himself, his head tilting back with a sigh. His eyes meet yours and his brows pull together, giving you an odd look.
“What?”
“Can I ask you a question?” He blinks before giving you a nod, “Are you still fucking other people?”
“Yeah” That answer relieves you a bit. “I was with Arin last weekend”
“Okay, I have another question”
“Why are you—”
“I’m asking the questions” You cut him off and he chuckles, nodding for you to continue as he zips up his pants and washes his hands. “Has Arin, or any other girl, been available on the same day that I’ve asked you to come over?”
“Um…” Mark ponders for a moment, his bottom lip poking out in deep thought as he dries his hands on the towel. “Yeah, I think so”
“And who did you choose to go to?”
“You” It shocks you at how fast he answers and you grip the shower curtain for support, the slippery floor of the shower almost making you tumble. He chose you too. Is that wrong? You’re uncertain and it makes you feel a little uneasy. Surely there must be a reasonable explanation to why you choose each other instead of fucking the other available people. “Why are you asking me that anyways?”
“Curious” You say as you close the curtain shut to block him out and continue showering, ignoring the way he’s laughing and muttering beneath his breath how funny you are. “Wait, I have another question—”
“Ask me when you’re done showering”
“Why?” Your voice turns sultry as you begin to smirk, “Is knowing that I’m naked behind this flimsy shower curtain turning you on?”
Mark doesn’t answer, instead his arm shoots out from behind the curtain, hand curling around the tap to turn the temperature of the water, laughing like a maniac as he hears you scream from the cold water that splashes on your skin.
You hated birthdays.
Realistically, you hated your birthday. You hated knowing you’re getting older every year, desperately wanting to go back to the ages where all you worried about was not making a fool of yourself in front of someone you crushed on or not knowing the biggest high school gossip about who was seeing who behind whoever's back. Now, at your growing age, all you worry about is failing college and not being able to get a good job to provide a future for yourself.
You wish nobody knew it was your birthday, but having such close friends who knew you better than you knew yourself, it wasn’t going to be easy, and you nearly spun around and darted out of campus when you saw Donghyuck twirling a gift bag in hand with helium balloons that spelled out ‘birthday girl’ in big, bold letters tied to his wrist.
“Oh! There she is!”
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.
“Happy birthday!” Donghyuck yells loudly when you reach their circle, letting your backpack drop to the grass beside Jaemin who looks up at you with a dopey smile. Donghyuck shoves the gift bag into your lap when you finally sit down, huffing at the weight of the bag. “I bought you something!!”
“We told him not to” Jeno tells you, a cigarette hanging between his lips as he looks at you through his bangs, “But as always, Donghyuck doesn’t listen”
“And I never will” Donghyuck chirps, untying the string of the balloons from around his wrist to tie them around yours instead, ignoring the dark look you give him as he smiles cheekily at you, “Look inside. It’s all the essentials you need, pretty”
“I swear to god, If you—”
“Shh” He presses his fingers against your lips. “Less talking, more looking”
You roll your eyes, whacking his hand away from your face before peering into the bag, a soft laugh leaving your lips when you first see two bottles of your favourite alcoholic beverage and a few chocolates, but you immediately deadpan when you see a pack of condoms and a plan B box sandwiched between the pair, staring back at you.
Jaemin peers over your shoulder to drop a premade joint and a few gummies into the bag for later but makes a funny noise when he sees the condom pack, dipping his hand inside the bag to pull it out, throwing it back at Donghyuck who fumbles to catch it.
“Hey—”
“She doesn’t use condoms”
Donghyuck gapes, slowly turning his head towards you with his eyes wide as he leans forward, his nose brushing against yours as he speaks lowly, “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?”
“Positive” You giggle and pat his cheek as he whines in defeat, slumping back into his own space. “Thank you for the gifts, but please… you know I hate celebrating my birthday. And were the balloons really necessary too? Did you have to make it more obvious?”
“But the balloons are pretty” Donghyuck frowns, tugging on the string.
“She doesn’t like balloons, dude”
Your head whizzes around so quickly that you’re positive you could hear it crack at the speed, grinning wildly when you see Mark standing behind you looking at your balloons in disgust, and your brows raise in surprise when you see Arin beside him. You greet her with a wave and she reciprocates, wishing you a quiet happy birthday which you thank her for and you gesture them both to join you in your circle but Arin shakes her head with an apology, announcing that she has to meet up with someone else.
You watch as she places her hand on Mark’s bicep and asks if they can meet up later but Mark shakes his head, telling her that he already has plans and her face deflates before nodding in understanding, bidding him and the rest of you goodbye before leaving.
Mark lets out a huff as he drops down to the grass, stretching out his legs and knocking his foot against yours, mouthing you a quick happy birthday and you smile in gratitude.
“Arin seems to be hanging out with you a lot recently” Jeno points out, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing out the smoke in Renjun’s direction, causing him to cough and swat the smoke away with the book he’s got his face buried in. “You like her?”
Mark shakes his head, “No. She was just asking me if I wanted to come over this weekend”
“Are you?”
“Nah” Mark mindlessly starts plucking the grass, avoiding everyone's eyes as they zone in on him. “I don’t have time, got some assignments to finish for my classes”
Hearing him say he hasn’t got the time sparks interest in you and you begin to wonder if Mark would end up asking you for some well needed release. It excites you, especially when you realise you haven’t been under or on top of him in a few days and you press your thighs together at the thought of possibly being dicked down sooner rather than later.
It’s a birthday gift, you think to yourself when you try to give an excuse to why you’re so needy to be fucked by Mark. It’s just a birthday gift. Yet, you have Jaemin right beside you, someone who’s easily available and someone who used to be frequent in giving you the best birthday sex.
You could ask Jaemin to come over tonight, but why isn’t the question being asked? Why does it feel like you’re stopping yourself from asking something so simple and easy? Perhaps you’re so used to sleeping with Mark that it doesn’t even occur to you to ask someone else anymore. Jaemin doesn’t seem to be bothered, maybe because he’s been getting his fix elsewhere too, so why does it bother you?
A soft call of your name brings you out of your thoughts and you turn your head towards the source, seeing Mark looking back at you with a kind smile. He shuffles further into the circle to get closer to you, voice dipping low as he speaks.
“Come home with me later? I have something for you”
“What is it?” You ask back, excitement filling your voice. Even though you weren’t a big fan of celebrating your birthday and receiving gifts, there was no doubt in your mind that Mark was probably one of the best people to receive gifts from, knowing he usually goes above and beyond to give you the most memorable birthday. You smile when you remember the three-day spa voucher he gave you last year when he had taken you away for the weekend.
It was the most breath-taking cabin you have ever been to, the sunset above the lake still photographed in your memory. The sight was beautiful, and you were grateful to have seen it with your best friend.
“You’ll find out” Mark tells you with a smile, refusing to give you a hint of any sort as he turns his attention to Renjun to engage in a conversation and you pout, shoulders slumping in defeat and Donghyuck knocks his arm against yours, voice dipping low as he whispers in your ear.
“That plan B will come in handy after all—OUCH!”
“This is fucking ridiculous” You giggle as you’re blindly walked in Mark’s apartment, his hands covering your eyes to prevent you from seeing anything even though you tried to peek through the gaps between his fingers. Mark’s chest rumbles against your back as he laughs, waiting for you to toe off your shoes at the entrance before leading you further into the apartment.
You have the layout completely mapped out in your head from the amount of times you’ve been at his place, already knowing that he’s bringing you into the kitchen just by the cold marbling that you feel beneath your feet.
You almost trip as Mark plants you down on a chair and he whispers a countdown in your ears before he removes his hands from your face. Your vision is blurry for a moment and you try to adjust to your surroundings with a few blinks, your jaw dropping in awe as the splotches begin to disperse, allowing you to see what’s in front of you.
“Are you kidding me?” You whisper softly in astonishment at the gifts that are presented in front of you on the table. You spot a few of your favourite scented candles stacked on top of each other, a bottle of perfume that you were 100% sure that was sitting in your wishlist on an online store you were browsing a few days prior and a miniature bag with the logo of your favourite jewellery store.
You feel overwhelmed, the urge to cry becoming harder to keep at bay as your eyes water and sting, throat tightening over how thoughtful Mark had been. You turn your head towards him with your bottom lip quivering and Mark snickers, pulling a party hat from god knows where and comes closer to you
“You asshole” You insult jokingly, using the sleeves of your shirt to wipe at your eyes, hoping that the tears wouldn’t dare fall as Mark secures the pointed hat on top of your head. You point to it, “Isn’t this a little cheesy?”
Mark rolls his eyes, snapping the elastic bad against your chin for extra measure and you hiss at the slight sting it causes, punching his arm in retaliation but he pays no mind, smiling to himself as he faces his back to you as he pulls open the refrigerator door to pick up a white squared box. He balances it on the palm of his hand with ease, using his foot to kick the refrigerator door shut as he makes his way back to you.
You’re grinning widely at the thought of what could be inside the box even though you’ve already guessed its cake, rubbing your hands together excitingly as Mark places it on the counter and gently slides it over to you, the box still in his grasp as it stops in front of you, drumming his fingers on the cardboard.
Sensing your eagerness, Mark lifts the lid off of the box and the excitement on your face drops almost instantly, turning blank as you peek inside to see the miniature watermelon themed cake staring back at you. You raise your head at Mark who’s already grinning at you, tongue poking at his cheek as he opens up a drawer to retrieve two plastic forks, twiddling them between his fingers.
You deadpan, “Are you sure we’re not celebrating your birthday right now?”
“Shut up, you like watermelon just as much as I do” Mark scoffs, handing you one of the plastic forks and you take it out of his grasp with a smile. You go to take a piece but Mark makes a weird noise, causing you to freeze mid cut. “Wait—dude—jesus, let me take a photo first”
You roll your eyes but happily oblige as Mark fishes his phone out of his pocket and angles it towards you. You pose, pointing to the cake with a wide grin, almost blinded by the flash when Mark takes the picture and you immediately rub at your eyes, trying to get rid of the blotches with a few creative curse words that make Mark laugh.
He quickly takes this opportunity to slide beside you and holds his phone high to take a selfie of you both. You poke out your tongue, using your free hand to make bunny ears behind Mark’s head who grins and uses his own free hand to grip your cheeks and squeeze to force you into pulling a weird face.
Before you have the chance to complain, you gasp in shock when you feel the coldness of the cake’s frosting touch your cheek and the shutter of the camera goes off when Mark takes another photo, capturing you mid chaos as you dig your fingers into the side of the cake to smush a piece against his cheek, grinning evilly as the green frosting covers his skin.
“Alright, I deserved that” Mark sighs with a light laugh, making sure his phone is tucked away and out of the icing zone. “Makes a good blackmail photo though, don’t you think?”
“If that goes anywhere, I will kill you”
“You already know that's going on my Instagram, baby~” Mark teases you and you scoff jokingly, shaking your head as you reach for the napkins that are laying on the side, trying your best to wipe away the frosting before it drops and stains your clothing.
Mark manages to clean himself easily but notices you struggling, deciding to help you out as he picks up another napkin and takes a hold of your chin, facing you towards him as he gently taps at your cheek, careful not to rub too hard at your skin.
You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity and you grow silent, watching as he cleans you up. The concentrated look on his face causes your stomach to whirl and chest feel warm, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed in on the area he needs to clean, tongue swiping over his bottom lip.
“Mark…” You call out his name softly to grab his attention and he pauses, staring right at you. He seems to notice how close you both are too as he takes in the limited space between you both, slowly taking his hand away from your face but he stops himself with a quiet noise, bringing his hand back to finish his job.
“Happy birthday, dude” Mark whispers to you as he finally wipes the frosting off of your cheeks, smiling down at you with adoration swirling in his eyes.
Your breathing stops for a moment at the affectionate gaze, unsure of what to say or what to do with him looking at you the way he is. Your hands move up to take the birthday hat off of your head, dropping it to the side carelessly as you curl your arms around his shoulders, pushing up onto your tiptoes to embrace him.
Mark’s arms slither around your waist, holding you close to his chest as he hugs you back, burying his face in the crevice of your neck and exhaling deeply.
“I’m so thankful” You mutter, squeezing him tight as the emotions within you struggle to be contained. “Truly, Mark. I’m grateful too… Thank you for making this birthday special again”
“It’s not over yet, you know” You hear him mumble. You go to pull back, to ask him what more he could possibly give you to top everything else but he’s already bending his knees, arms falling down to lock around your thighs and throwing you over his shoulder with a huff, smacking his hand roughly against your ass as he carries your giggly self to the bedroom.
Friday nights will always be your favourite nights to let loose and party: dressing up in your prettiest outfit that makes you feel confident, decorating your body with the shiniest jewellery you own and drinking the most intoxicating drink you could find while mingling with your friends.
Talking with your girls face to face after a week of classes had unfailingly lifted your mood, catching up with all the gossip you missed or briefly discussed over the phone, adding your own two cents into a situation which they eagerly agree with a nod their heads, tapping their cups to yours before taking a sip.
“Speaking of unusual relationships—” Sakura, one of your dearest friends, speaks up as she turns to look at you with a grin. “—girl, how’s it going with you and Mark? Things turned weird yet?”
“Nope” You shake your head, buzzing happily. “We’re fine. The whole hooking up with your best friend culture isn’t as complicated as everyone makes it out to be. Everyone gets dramatic about that shit”
Sua lets out a heavy sigh, nursing her drink in her hand. “I don’t know how you do it… I couldn’t imagine hooking up with Yeonjun. I mean, he’s attractive, but we’ve seen and know too much about each other to get physical on an intimate level. Props to you”
Heejin looks at you. “Do you still fuck Jaemin?”
“On occasion” You admit. “But honestly, I’ve been so wrapped in assignments—”
“And Mark”
You give Sakura a smirk, “—that I haven’t really had time to call up Jaemin and ask to fuck. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’s been busy smoking and selling weed for extra cash”
“What about Mark? Is he still fucking around?”
You pause at that, lips pursing deep in thought before you shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked recently”
Sua gestures over your shoulder, “Looks like you’re about to find out the answer”
You crane your neck to follow the direction she’s pointing in, noticing Mark standing near a back wall with a drink in hand, deep in conversation with Arin who’s smiling and nodding to each word he’s speaking to her.
Feeling your eyes on him, Mark looks up to capture your gaze, raising his drink in greeting and you grin, lifting your own cup and watching as he resumes back in conversation.
You take in his appearance with interest: a baggy white shirt paired with some loose fitted pants and doc martens you’re certain he stole from Donghyuck. A silver chain hangs from his neck and a cap sits backwards on the top of his head, you stifle a laugh at how much of a fuckboy he looks but you must admit, he looks good.
“Subtle with the lovey dovey eyes, sweetheart” Sakura teases, nudging your shoulder to bring your attention back to her and you laugh, tipping your head back to finish the contents of your drink. “He looks good though, so I don’t blame you”
“When was the last time you fucked Mark?” You aim your question towards Heejin who shrugs her shoulders.
“I don’t remember” She smacks her lips together. “Definitely more than two months, that’s for sure… No disrespect to you but god I miss his cock. How he walks around with that thing completely baffles me”
Sua's eyes widen. “Is Mark’s cock big?”
“Yes” You and Heejin answer instantly, causing you both to laugh and high five each other. You drone out the complaints Sua makes about wanting to fuck someone with a huge cock and how Yeonjun always recommends her people that are both shitty in bed and lack personality, too focused on looking around the room to find a clear path to get more drinks, dismissing yourself from the girls for a moment as you spot Jeno and Jaemin pouring vodka into each others cups.
You bound over to your boys, throwing your arms around their shoulders and startling them both with your presence, but Jaemin lazily smiles when he sees it's you and presses a chaste kiss to your temple as Jeno pats the back of your head in greeting, offering to fill your cup up which you happily give him.
“Where have you been?” Jaemin asks you, taking your hand in his and whirls you around, whistling lowkey as he takes in your dress. “You look pretty”
“Catching up with my girls because I spend way too much time with you guys” You explain, but cheesily grin at the compliment he gives you on your outfit and bow. Jeno hands you your drink back and you thank him, taking a quick sip as your eyes glance around the room. “Where’s the rest of the guys anyway?”
“Donghyuck’s trying to get laid and Renjun’s around here somewhere chatting up a girl from his classes” Jeno informs, gulping down his drink with ease. “Mark’s been talking with Arin for the past hour—sweet girl is trying to make her move”
“Why aren’t you trying to show off your charms tonight?”
Jeno stares at you suggestively, smirking behind the rim of his cup. “Why would I when I got you and Jaemin right here?”
Your tongue pokes at your cheek, struggling to fight the urge not to smile. “Not funny. It was a one time thing, Lee… You were only there because Jaemin felt guilty he couldn’t last long enough to make me cum”
“Still had you screaming on my dick though” Jeno teases, gently knocking his fingers against your cheeks as you laugh. “And don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone. Pretty sure if I tell Donghyuck I actually did get to fuck you before him, he’d end up losing his mind”
You ponder it for a moment, “It would be kind of funny though”
“What would be funny?”
“Donghyuck!” You squeal as he appears beside Jeno, staring at you all with a confused look but grins when you throw yourself in his arms to hug him tightly, swaying you both back and forth. “I thought you were trying to get laid?”
“I was” Donghyuck sighs, pulling away from the hug but keeping an arm wrapped around your middle. “But she had a boyfriend and he’s, like, six foot something and I didn’t feel like getting my ass handed back to me by slenderman himself”
You pout, pinching his cheek. “What a shame. The dry spell continues”
Donghyuck leans into your touch, batting his eyelashes prettily at you with a smirk. “You can change that for me if you want”
“In your dreams”
Donghyuck sighs jokingly, dropping his head low as his shoulders sag. “Guess I’ll keep on dreaming then. You sound even prettier when you’re moaning my name there—”
“What’s going on?”
The sound of Mark’s voice speaking up behind you causes you to whiz around quickly, beaming as your eyes meet his but it falters slightly when you notice the fake smile he’s sporting, wanting to turn the question around and ask him what’s going on.
But you didn’t want to bring attention to the subject, knowing it’ll make Mark uncomfortable putting him on the spot despite him continuously being open with the others. It’s not something to speak publicly about if it’s serious.
You touch his arm and give him a comforting squeeze to which he seems to relax, using your grip on him to tug you into his side and for Donghyuck’s arm to slip from your waist.
“The usual. Donghyuck trying to get her into his bed” Jeno fills him in, fishing a strawberry flavoured vape out of his pocket to take a drag and Jaemin retches at the smell, wafting it away with his hand. “How’s Arin?”
“Fine” Mark quips, licking at his lips as he turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here? Just me and you”
Donghyuck immediately takes offence to that, “What about us? We all came here together, man!”
“I’m taking her home to fuck her, Hyuck” Mark deadpans, giving him an unamused look while your tummy swirls with excitement. “Do you want to watch?”
“Well—”
“I was kidding”
You’re in complete bliss with Mark hovering above you, your back arched, bare chest pressed to his as he nips and licks at your neck, his hips lazily grinding into yours, cock hitting deeper than he’s ever been.
The pace is slow, something that you’re not used to when it comes to Mark, but you don’t find the voice within yourself to complain, fingers winding through his hair with cries spilling from your lips, legs hooking over his waist.
He’s grunting in the crevice of your neck with each deep thrust, one hand caressing the side of your face while the other rests beside your head, stopping himself from laying his entire body weight on you.
You’re whining from the loss of contact when he moves his head away, missing the feeling of his teeth on your skin and looking up at him pleadingly but he’s frozen staring down at you, despite his hips thrusting automatically into you.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty” You barely hear him mumble and your heart pounds in your chest at the compliment, body feeling a little more heated and warm.
“Mark—”
He cuts off your words by planting his lips on yours with the most sweetest and soft kiss, and you melt into the touch, fingers untangling from his hair to cup his cheeks in your palms, gasping through the kiss as Mark’s cock slowly pulls out of your pussy before pushing back in, causing electricity to shoot up your spine.
The band in your tummy tightens with each slow but powerful thrust he gives you, thighs quivering around his frame, unable to keep up with his kisses as your mouth falls open with short gasps and whines, white specs flickering in your vision as you feel yourself inching closer and closer over the edge.
“Cum” Mark whispers, breath fanning over your face. “Do it. Cum on my cock”
You wail as the band snaps, orgasm crashing down on you violently. Your body convulses, pussy squeezing around his cock, keeping him buried deep which has him moaning, his own hips stuttering as he cums. You feel him pulsing inside, painting your walls white as he fills you up.
Mark’s head slumps down on your shoulder as you try to catch your breath, cringing and wincing as you feel him slowly moves his hips back to pull his cock out of your sensitive pussy, your hand falling from his face to drop down to your centre, gathering his cum that pools out on your fingers.
“I’m sorry” Mark mumbles against your skin. “I’m sorry, I—shit, I should’ve asked if I could, you know—” Mark raises his hand to make a jerking off motion which causes you to snort. “—I got too overwhelmed. I’m sorry”
“It’s kinda cute that you’re apologising” You admit, gently pushing him off of your body to sit upright. “But you don’t need to apologise. This isn’t the first time you came in me, Mark”
“I know” Mark runs his fingers through his sweaty bangs. “I usually ask though”
“Mark. It’s fine” You reassure him, placing your palm on his bicep. “I’ll forgive you if you help clean me up though”
Mark smiles softly as he slips off of the bed, disappearing out of the room for a moment and returning with a wet towel. He sits between your legs as he gently cleans up the mess, gently dabbing around your sensitive areas and whispering apologies after apologies every time you hiss at the contact, thighs closing around his hand which he carefully pries open to resume his job.
You watch in silence as he cleans you up and you frown at the troubled look you see on his face, not used to seeing Mark being so closed up with his feelings and emotions. Mark hasn’t been open with you in a few weeks, he hasn’t come to you and asked for your reassurance or help. It makes you feel a little bit defeated.
Something was different, and you struggled to pinpoint what it was.
The questions lay on the tip of your tongue, desperate to be asked and even more desperate to get the answers you’ve been craving. Your relationship with Mark has changed since the proposition you’ve made about sleeping together, but he was still your best friend.
“What’s going on?” You finally ask. Mark freezes, hand clutching the wet towel in his grasp tightly. “And don’t lie to me. I can tell when you’re being truthful or not—”
“What am I to you?” Mark questions and you're a little stunned at your question being answered with his own question. He takes his hand away as you blink at him, feeling confused. “Even with all, like, this going on… what am I to you?”
“You’re my best friend?”
Mark seems to frown deeply at that, “So nothing has changed? At all? Even with us sleeping together? I’m still your best friend?”
“I—of course!” You’re baffled, assuming that with the way Mark is speaking about yours and his situation that he was worried that you’d have negative feelings towards him. You’re eager to reassure him, to let him know that everything is okay. “Mark, you’ll always be my best friend. We promised nothing would change. I’m keeping that promise”
Mark closes his eyes as his shoulders sink, “Dude, I—” He drops his head with a sigh. “I can’t do this anymore”
“Do what?” You ask quietly, bringing your knees up to your chest.
“This” He gestures between the two of you. “I just—I can’t. Not anymore. I can’t continue sleeping with you”
“Oh” You swallow thickly, a little surprised. “Why?”
“Things have changed” His voice is quieter now and it makes your heart crumble at the tone. Does he hate you? “I can’t continue whatever this is and be your best friend. It has to stop, it—” Mark sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “It can’t go on, I’m sorry”
“It’s okay” You mumble as your chin rests on your knees, hugging your legs closer to your chest to cover your modesty. You refuse to look at him now, finding interest in the sheets below you both as your throat tightens at the thought of him hating you so much that he can’t do anything with you no more. “I’m sorry too, by the way. I don’t know what I did you make you hate me, but I—”
“Wait, what?”
“—I’m just sorry. Especially if I came across too strong and for putting you in such a position” You’re babbling your words now, unable to control yourself due to the overwhelmed feeling that washes over you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry”
“Wait. I don’t—”
“Let’s just not tell the others, okay?” You raise your head to meet his eyes this time. He’s looking straight at you, confusion and disbelief swimming in his irises but you ignore it, chewing the inner skin of your cheek. “Mostly Renjun. I don’t really want to hear him laugh in our faces and give us the whole ‘I told you so’ speech he threatened us with at the start”
Mark calls out your name softly and reaches out to touch you but you’re already climbing off of the bed, looking for your underwear and dress that was thrown across the room due to prior activities.
You’re too embarrassed to continue the conversation, to ask him what exactly you did to make him grow to hate you. Truthfully, you didn’t really want to dwell on it too much, the pain of losing someone like Mark already making your heart ache.
You just wanted to go home—to be in the comfort of your own bed and curse yourself out, and probably cry to the point you might forget everything that just happened. You are feeling a little teary, but you wouldn’t dare to cry in front of Mark right now.
“I’ll, uh, see you around” You mutter, shoving the heels onto your feet, casting one final look his way. “I’m sorry”
It's been almost two weeks since your last encounter with Mark.
You shouldn’t be avoiding him like you are. It’s childish. But you can’t force yourself to face someone who used to be your best friend and now hates you.
Maybe you should’ve waited a few more minutes, to give him time to explain the entire situation and how he was feeling but you were selfish, you didn’t want to hear him explain in detail what you had done to make him change his feelings towards you.
You miss him. Of course you miss him. He’s been your best friend for years—your other half, more like. There was no you without Mark and vice versa. You weren’t exactly sure on how you could continue functioning with Mark by your side, as dramatic as it sounds, but you’ve always been dramatic.
The other boys have been blowing up your phone—courtesy of you ignoring them too, not wanting to hear Renjun rub it in your face on how the ‘friends with benefits bullshit’ you had with Mark did actually go to shit. And you didn’t want to hear the others continuously question what had happened and what had changed.
Even your roommate, someone who keeps herself out of your business and hardly ever bothers you, had cornered you one morning at breakfast, asking why you looked so glum and why the ‘shirtless Canadian fuckboy’ wasn’t joining you both.
You’re not the type to let anyone know your worries, but you’re surprised when you find yourself explaining to your roomie what happened.
She gave you a deadpanned look, calling you stupid for not staying behind and listening despite you voicing that you couldn’t bear to listen to why his feelings had suddenly turned negative towards you. Your face twisted and turned, offended at her harsh words but you allowed yourself to let her talk and not jump in even though you desperately wanted to.
“You’re jumped to your own conclusion” She told you when she was clearly up the dishes. “You know, for two close best friends who talk to each other every second of the day, you sure have some serious miscommunication issues”
So that’s what leads you to now: you sitting alone in the living room with your phone in hand, staring down at yours and Mark’s chat room with your thumb between your teeth, biting down on the skin anxiously as you try to figure out how to start a conversation, to let him know you will listen.
you: i think we need to talk.
mark: i’m almost at ur house anyway i had to go get something
you: ???? u coming over
mark: yeah
mark: i was going to make u listen to me
mark: its important dude.
You snort at his last message, sending a quick thumbs up emoji before throwing your phone to the side, awaiting his arrival. You catch your leg nervously bobbing in the corner of your vision and your brows furrow, placing your hand down on your knee and squeezing tight. As if that will stop you from feeling nervous.
You’re about to hear the reason why Mark’s feelings had changed for you so negatively, nothing can prepare you for it. Bite the bullet. Take it like a champ.
The rapid knock on the door rips you out of your thoughts, slowly turning your head with a confused look plastered across your face. Was that Mark? Mark never knocks—he freely walks in like it’s his own place usually, always makes himself at home.
You push yourself up from the sofa and make your way towards the door, peeping through the hole to see Mark’s form, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip with his hands behind his back, swaying back and forth nervously. You grow even more confused and concerned, unlocking the door and pulling it open to face him fully.
“Why did you kno—”
“Hate you?!” He cuts you off with a shout, immediately startling you with his tone. His eyes are wide as he stares at you, full of disbelief. “Hate you, I—jesus christ—how could I hate you?! Dude, I’d never hate you… god, you’re so frustrating sometimes”
Your lips quirk upwards, “Nice to see you too”
“I don’t hate you, at all… When I said to you that things have changed, I didn’t mean anything bad by it… it’s actually quite the opposite…” Mark trails off and before you can get the chance to ask him to explain what he means, your breath hitches at the back of your throat as he pulls his hands from behind his back: a bag of jellies in one and a handful of ripped up flowers in the other. Your heart thumps rapidly. “I’m going to tell you something and I just—I need you to listen”
You barely whisper, “Okay”
“Being in this friends with benefits relationship with you was not as easy as I thought it was going to be” Mark tells you, his honesty making you pull your attention away from the things in his hands to his eyes. “We promised each other that we’re not going to involve any of that official or exclusive title bullshit to make it complicated for us… yet here I am standing in front of you right now with the same jellies and flowers in my hand from when we first met about to confess my fucking feelings to you, I’m so—”
“You’re rambling” You cut him off quietly, a smile creeping onto your lips.
“Right, yeah, of course I am” Mark laughs with a shake of his head, awkwardly scratching his neck before he straightens out, keeping his eyes on yours. “I fell for you. I think I sort of realised it on your birthday but I didn’t want to say anything just in case I wasn’t really thinking straight… but when we were at that party and I saw the guys flirting with you, I realised how much I actually do like you and that it wasn’t my dick talking”
You snort as you repeat, “Dick talking”
“Shut up” He smiles at you, his own laugh fleeting past his lips. “I’m in love with you, dude. And I totally get it if you want to reject me because of how weirdly this turned out but, uh, I would like to continue seeing you if I could be your... boyfriend”
You’re too busy repeating his confession in your head to notice that Mark is waiting for an answer, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he bites down nervously, visibly shaking for excitement or the fact that he just confessed his entire feelings—you weren’t sure.
The silence from you kills Mark, and his face drops when you step forward to quietly take the flowers and the jellies out of his hand and step back inside the house. His shoulders slump in defeat, taking your non verbal response as a rejection to his proposal of him being your boyfriend and he goes to turn around, to get the fuck off of your doorstep and hope that the intense embarrassment that he feels coursing through his veins is enough to make him disappear quickly.
But he freezes mid escape when he hears the rustling of you ripping open the pack of jellies, turning his head to see you looking at him with the most gentlest smile. He watches, chest erupting with warmth as you reach your arm out, angling the treat in his direction and a grin spreads across his face, unable to control the giggles that leave him.
You’re giving him a jelly, you’re giving him a relationship.
just fluff , bsf jeno to lovers , haechan is haechan ofc, mark and renjun cameo , mentions of chenle and jaemin , touchy friends , pet names , cuddling , they don’t act like friends ofc , kissing for like 2 seconds , requested here !
"look at those two."
mark followed renjun's finger to the dance floor, you and jeno looking very friendly as your bodies swayed against each other.
"then she complains that she doesn't have a boyfriend, everyone in this party thinks they're dating! like come-"
mark held his hand up,
"wait wait wait, look."
now renjun was the one following mark's finger to the dance floor, there you were being pulled away by some mystery figure, jeno standing there dumfounded.
"oh shit."
"dude wait, wait act normal he's coming towards us."
mark turned his back to jeno, pretending like he was having some interesting conversation with renjun,
"and then i was like- oh hey jeno! didn't see you ther-"
"don't be an idiot i know you were watching us."
mark's lips formed a straight line as renjun laughed at him,
"nice one markie, always subtle."
"shut up renjun."
jeno rolled his eyes, the cup in his hand crinkling slightly under his grasp,
"how about both of you shut up?"
haechan joined the three of them, two drinks in hand,
"someones got an attitude, must be cause i just saw y/n-"
mark gestured for haechan to shut his mouth, his eyes wide as he swiped his hand across his neck in a cutting motion,
"and i will be leaving now, good day gentlemen."
haechan swayed his hips as he danced away. at least someone was in a good mood.
"can you all stop acting like that."
renjun stared into his drink, swirling it around the red cup,
"can you stop acting like you're not in love with y/n?"
renjun side eyed jeno, hesitantly waiting for him to respond. but instead jeno slumped against the kitchen counter, his hands coming up to rub roughly against his face.
"i'm not in love with her, she's- she's my best friend."
"if that's what you wanna call it dude, but renjun's my best friend and you don't see me dancing up on him-"
it was mark's turn to talk, a slight laugh in his voice as renjun made a gagging gesture,
"and i definitely don't get jealous when he's talking to other people."
jeno looked up at mark to respond when he felt a warm figure latch onto his side, and there you were, a small sleepy grin on your face. any harsh words that would've been directed to mark died in his throat as he brought his hands up to cup your face,
"ready to go home bubs?"
you nodded against his hands, eyes momentarily fluttering shut. you giggled as he blew on your face to wake you up, your eyes opening to see his soft smile,
"wake up, lets go home sleepyhead."
he let go of your face to wave his friends goodbye, giggling softly as you started to dig your face into his chest,
"we're gonna get going, you have a ride home right?"
their heads turned as a screaming haechan zoomed past them half naked, a man in a gorilla costume chasing after him. mark shook his head as he threw his thumb out to point towards where haechan had just been running,
"that's my ride! don't worry about it jen, you take care of your... friend there, me and renjun will take care of our haechan."
jeno let out a small laugh as he waved goodbye before turning to leave, not missing how mark shook his head, mouthing the words not best friends.
.
you didn't even know you had arrived home until you felt the warmth of your bed engulfing you, your puppy plushy tucked gently into your arms,
"jen?"
your voice was soft as you called out into your empty room, your bed no longer feeling as warm as it should. you sat up, arms hitting against your puffy duvet as you looked around for any sign of jeno.
he wouldn't just leave you. you didn't know why you felt so frantic as you rushed out of bed, the cool air making you shiver. your slippers quickly slid along your wood flooring as you shuffled out of your room, eyes searching around your living area.
he wouldn't just leave you. your chest tightened as you heard your bathroom door open, a worried looking jeno stepping out quickly. he rushed over to you hands immediately cupping your face to examine you,
"did you call me? is everything alright? i'm sorry i just wanted to wash up before-"
of course he wouldn’t leave you. you pushed his hands away, your arms reaching forward to pull him in by his waist. he smelled of your shampoo, warm and sweet. your voice was muffled against his chest as you let out a breath of relief,
"everything's okay, come to bed... please?"
you both walked awkwardly towards your room, your arms still tightly wrapped around him as you stood on his feet. he wobbled you both to bed, giggling as you refused to release him, your head shoved firmly against his chest,
"come on lovey, lets get into bed, i know you're tired."
you finally let go of him as you crawled into bed, a small smile on your face as you watched him get in after you. his body was warm against yours, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you against his chest.
"whats got you so smiley hm?"
you shoved your face into his shoulder hiding your growing smile,
"just happy you're here."
"would you have been happy if that other guy had brought you home?"
he bit his lip waiting for your response, real smooth jeno.
you placed your chin on his chest, a slight pout on your lips,
"no."
your response was simple, straight and clear. but for some reason the word no hung in the air, the slight shift in the room making you giggle nervously.
"i mean like- you know- just- just no."
"what if it was jaemin?"
your eyes rolled,
"no."
"chenle?"
you shook your head against his chest,
"nope."
"what about haechan?"
you stopped shaking your head to look at him, a grimace on your face,
"is that even a question?"
he laughed at your response, hands coming up to rub at your hair,
"so just me?"
"just you jen. there's no one like you."
you rubbed his chest softly. a light blush on both your cheeks as your words settled between you two.
“it’s always gonna be just us.”
us. was there an us? you were too scared to ask, scared of what an us might imply. but jeno always knew just what to say, he was good at that, even if sometimes he doubted himself,
“i only want it to be us. me and you. seeing you with someone else isn’t right.”
your blush now spread down your neck, your body radiating softly against his. his expression mimicked yours, cheeks a pretty pink as he chuckled nervously,
“yeah… just- be with me you know. don’t waste your time on other guys that don’t even know you, i’ve been here always and you- you- what are you thinking right now?”
he looked down to see you grinning up at him, your smile making his chest ache. you tried to hide your smile, ducking your head into his chest again,
“i just think- okay.”
“okay?”
his voice was a little confused maybe even a little surprised. what did you mean okay?
“just okay. this is nothing new jen, it’s always been just us, we were just too scared to put a label on it. i mean even haechan tried to show us and he’s the most-“
“haechan?”
you giggled against his chest,
“yeah, that guy that asked me to dance said that haechan promised him 20 bucks if he pulled me away from you.”
jeno brought a hand up to rub his face, groaning loudly,
“oh my god, and mark- and renjun! i can’t believe i fell for it!”
you gave his chest light pats rubbing after to soothe him,
“it’s okay jen, we all know you can’t hold in your jealousy.”
he held onto your hand, sitting up slightly,
“i was not jealous!”
you giggled as you leaned up slightly to plant a soft kiss on his cheek,
“whatever you say jen, whatever you say.”
he rolled his eyes at you unable to hold back his smile,
“give me another kiss and i’ll consider datin g you even after you left me to dance with some other guy.”
“and if i don’t?”
he pouted slightly before cupping your face, his lips spreading back into a smile,
“brat, you know i’m gonna kiss you anyways.”
only a soft mhm left your lips as he pressed his lips against yours, soft and sweet, the light taste of liquor on his tongue invading your senses.
you both parted slowly, dazed looks on your faces as you both just smiled at each other, cheeks pink and lips shiny.
warnings: infidelity, mark is an ass in general and is probably quite uncharacteristic because of this, mentions of sex
note: i posted parts of this on other sites (namely: writetheworld and my own personal blogspot) in third person a year or more ago! wanted to let y’all know jic. anyways,,, without further ado: cheater!mark… also the song the title is from is ‘in these walls’ by machine gun kelly, using a sample from ‘my house’ by pvris
extra note: i meant for this to be posted at 5pm but i accidentally posted it at 5 am AND it was yeeted out of the notes so yknow what i’m just posting this again now
synopsis: the breakdown of your relationship with mark due to his infidelity as seen through the eyes of the other 127 members
[4 years ago]
neon lights flicker across your back, illuminating the oversized leather jacket that covers you as you struggle not to shrink too far into it.
it isn’t yours, after all.
that’s probably why it feels so foreign against your skin even after a couple of weeks of wear, why the miniscule hairs on the ends of your arms are stick straight, why you’re freezing despite the massive jacket that envelopes you. the muscles in your shoulders are tight, a sign of stress that even you aren’t fully aware that you’re showing. most of your focus, instead, is on staying balanced on top of the thin concrete wall while you’re waiting. he’d stayed back to pay for both your tabs, telling you to go on and wait for him. you look down. scuffed gray chuck taylors meet your line of sight, old friends in this new world you’ve found herself in. your shoes, much like everything else, are bathed in the red light from the bar behind you, and for a second you can’t help but think that it’s almost as if everything’s covered in blood.
pairing: mark lee x f!reader
sypnosis: mutual pining between two hearts that yearn for eachother yet too afraid to just say the word.
wc : 1.4k
an # been obsessed with requiem lately saur..
It was obvious from the start.
From when you first approached him till your most recent hangout back at his place. Mark knew that you liked him. It may be a bold claim, and it really was.
He knew he couldn’t just assume what others felt or thought about him. But he couldn’t help it. It started with your stuttered words, how you always became this clammy and nervous mess around him. Until you two grew closer and from acquaintances your friendship blossomed into something more intimate.
Mark noticed the extra effort you seem to put it in whenever it came to him. How you force yourself to listen to his rants about beats he conjured in his studio or the latest spiderman theory he had thought while in the shower. Or when you always find the time to come at his call despite your hectic days. Even as simple as how you always choose to eat at that one restaurant he likes despite preferring to stay in the comfort of your home when the night gets chilly.
Can’t read your mind, when all you do is dance on the line
It would drive him insane how you would pull him close and then push him away, letting out words only to take them back. It was tugging on his heart and messing with his mind whether you would mean those subtle touches, those gazes that you would hold a second longer than necessary, the way you would look at him as if he was the prettiest sight your eyes have laid on.
He had no idea if his feelings were just getting into his head or if there really was a deeper meaning behind your words.
“y’know, you look extra handsome today” You pipe up after taking in the details of the boy’s face, the words leaving your lips before you could stop yourself.
Mark could feel his cheeks grow warm as the words you blurt out reach his ears, another one of those remarks that make his heart jump. “yeah? you mean that?”
“why wouldn’t I?”
“you could be messing with me”
A roll of your eyes was all he received as he continued to push away your compliment, taking it as another one of your sarcastic jabs at him.
Of course you weren’t a fool too, you weren’t blind to Mark’s feelings. But there always was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that the fragments of his feelings were only a part of your delusion. Which is why you held yourself back from explicitly admitting your feelings to the boy in front of you.
On fleeting instants, gathering the courage to do so, Mark found himself playing dangerously at the edge of the boundaries of your relationship, calling you baby when he felt brave enough. Though when you question him about it, he would throw an awkward chuckle and say it was because you were 'too childish' and acted like a baby.
Can't read your mind, all I need is a sign
A sign, a single indication was all he needed, was all he was waiting for to finally push forth with what he was feeling. That was the only thing holding him back from letting out the words he longed to say. That was all he was waiting for because he had this feeling, that you long for him too, that you search for his presence in every room you enter.
Mark's heart would race whenever you smaller hand finds his, making up some excuse like 'I don't want to get lost' or 'There's too many people here' just to find a way to keep some touch with him. And he knew that wasn't the real reason you wanted to keep him close, when you would reach an area with lesser people, your grasp would remain tight in his.
Somehow, you would always find a way to stay close to him. Playing with his hair, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, holding his hand and just sitting close to him. And he wasn't complaining at all, hell, he loved it. But he was afraid of your interactions feeding his dreams and delusions that you just might like him back. He often found himself thinking to himself if you were just as touchy with your other friends or if he was receiving some sort of special treatment.
But despite all those apparent gestures, Mark always had a cloud of doubt in his mind.
Say the word, I know what you're thinking but just say it first
It was another one of those nights where you would stay over at Mark’s place, just unwinding after weeks worth of stress and work in the comfortable space of humble abode. The lights were dimmed down, creating this intimate air that surrounds you. Two glasses of wine, both halfway drunk was set on the coffee table. You found yourself setlled comfortably on Mark’s lap, the alcohol in system making your head buzz, blurring out the line between rationality and impulse. Mark’s hand on your thigh felt like it set your skin on fire, but you couldn’t help but yearn for it more.
“something’s on your mind?” Mark’s voice breaks you out of your train of thoughts, bleary eyes traveling up to gaze into his own hazy oned. He looked like he was on the edge of closing his lids, his face nuzzling into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.
“do friends do this?”
Your question hangs unanswered for a few moments as the air grows heavier
“do you want to know what I think?” Mark finally replies, his whisper a bit harsh, having a rough edge to it.
And to his question you nodded.
Mark looked like he was bracing himself, contemplating deeply whether he should take the leap after all this time.
“No, friends don’t do this..”
“..they don’t just snuggle with each other the entire night, or wear each other’s clothes or touch each other like we do and call it as being friends. it’s just.. I don’t know.”
He heaves out a heavy sigh before shaking his head.
“Or maybe they do and I’m just looking too deeply into things”
Silence
It was that dense silence against that made his heart thump, making him cower from looking back at you.
“Do you want us to be just friends?”
Your voice was quiet, almost barely a whisper but Mark heard it clearly. His ears perk up and finally lifts his gaze to see you already looking at him, almost unsure but determined. Perhaps it was the alcohol that made your tongue loose or finally dismiss the lingering uncertainty in your minds. But it seemed like you weren’t gonna let this night end without discussing this constant push and pull between the two of you.
“No”
He breathes out, his voice quivering slightly
“I want us to be everything beyond friends”
you let out a soft hum, as if you were contemplating over his words.
"so... best friends?" Mark couldn't hold back the sigh of exasperation that slips his lips, his hand leaving your thigh to card his fingers through his hair "baby, are you being serious?" He felt the lingering annoyance fade away the moment he heard your giggles, the sound you always made when you successfully poke fun at him. "Of course not" A whispy chuckle comes from you as you turn to face him.
"I like you, Mark"
The words felt heavy but they flowed out from you easier than you first thought they would. But your doubt begin to fade as you saw the warm spark in his eyes, his lips quirking into a smile. Mark couldn't find the words to reply with your confession, his body moving faster than his mind as he plants his lips on yours.
Your lips met, a soft brush at first, a tentative exploration of this new territory of hesitance both of you have stepped on. As your lips lingered, the kiss deepened into something more slow and sensual. A warm feeling spread through you, your lips leaving his to catch some air only to be pulled back in. Your hand found his nape, resting on his skin as you keep him closer.
Your chests were heaving when your lips break away for good, the sound of panting fills the room as you try to catch your breath. Mark's cheeks were flushed, her hand moving up to cup your cheek.
"God, I like you too, so fucking much it hurts" He whispers against your lips, his forehead leaning forward to rest on yours.
"I'm all yours baby, you had me from the start, you just had to say the word"
Baby, say the word and I'll be yours
an # tbh idk if this is good (and i kinda think it stinks) but a little story time hueheu I actually got the inspo of writing this because this is how I feel with the guy I like rite neow.. he's confusing the hell out of me but whatever, if I don't get my happy ending at least they will!!
