“Sometimes you wondered if Jeno could smell the metallic scent of your period blood.”
Pairing -> Patient Boyfriend!Lee Jeno x Insecure Girlfriend!Female Reader.
Genre -> Lighthearted. Fluff. Slight Cringe. No Angst (I promise)!
Word Count -> 8k
Synopsis -> You find ways to get your boyfriend, Lee Jeno, to break up with you.
Disclaimer -> Reader is super insecure (I don’t condone this type of behaviour irl!!! Always love yourself first before you get into a relationship and if you wanna break up with your partner, just go ahead and breakup! Please don’t play these silly little mind games)!
Author’s Note:- Loosely inspired by the movie, How to Lose a Guy in 10 days.
PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARISE, TRANSLATE, OR FEED MY WORK TO AN AI SYSTEM ON ANY PLATFORM!
Enjoy reading :)
The reason you said yes to dating Lee Jeno, a handsome and well-liked popular guy who had secretly been crushing on you and confessed one day that he liked you, was so he would break up with you because you were so sure that he liked the idea of dating you and not you. The only way for him to get over his infatuation with you and get him to break up with you, was for him to get to know the real you and not the idealised version in his head.
However, much much much much later, you were still dating Lee Jeno and that was how you found yourself in this predicament.
The burning sensation on your legs was on fire but you couldn't stop pedalling unless you wanted to roll downhill and possibly get hit by moving cars. "How much longer, Jeno?" You panted in heavy breaths as the sweat dripped down on your skin and clung onto it.
"We're almost there, just a bit more." He encouraged positively while he biked in front of you. There was barely any sweat that rolled off him.
"You said that 30 minutes ago!" You complained. "And before that, 20 minutes ago!" You huffed and puffed heavily as you continued the strenuous pedal.
"I promise you, we're almost there." He reaffirmed brightly; even had the audacity to smile when he looked back.
Even with the tightness in your calves and the small backpack on your back that felt heavier by the second, you powered through and pedalled the bike through the rocky terrains of the hill; but not without secretly throwing curses at Jeno. You sighed, you should've known it was never going to be a "casual" bike ride with him. After what seemed like an eternity battling the bike pedal uphill, while Jeno cruised through it with ease, you finally made it to your destination.
The second the tires touched the flat earthy surface, you stumbled down from the bike, threw it aside, and wobbled over to the enormous tree. The first thing you did as you leaned against the tree was unlocked the straps of the bike helmet and took it off your head - a weight had been lifted off your head, literally. Desperate for some water to quench that dry thirst, you took out a water bottle from the bag on your back and chugged the cold water down your throat until there was no more liquid left. The delicious, cold water was a delightful treat for your body.
Unlike you, Jeno strolled to grab your bike that was abandoned in the middle of the field, and set aside both of your bikes in a proper place. "That wasn't too bad." He joined you at the tree and sat down on the bare ground.
You stared at him in disbelief: your legs were still burning with fire from the cycle, your face was covered in sweat, and your hair was matted from the helmet and it strayed in all directions. "You lied to me!" With whatever energy you had mustered left, you complained to him over the gruelsome journey. "We were never "almost there."" You airquoted with your fingers.
He chuckled and popped out two energy gels from his running vest, "but it was worth it for the view." He teared opened one energy gel and fed it to you, which you happily and naturally accepted it.
You followed his sightline and soaked in the view. Jeno was right because the journey was worth it for the view. On top of the hill: it overlooked the city skyline and cars looked like little ants, the picturesque blue sky with its fluffy clouds. "It is a beautiful view." You said in awe, appreciating the little nature and all that comes with it.
His line of vision shifted from the city below to you who was beside him. "My view's a lot prettier." He whispered as he stared at you.
This time, your body burned with shyness instead of tiredness from the cycle. "Cringe." You clawed your fingers in a joking manner but focused your sight on the view and not the handsome man beside you. But what was this guy even on? Even when you were this sweaty and disgusting you were pretty to him? It was definitely time for him to do an eye test because not in this state you weren't. Hasn't he had enough exposure to the real you to want to break up? The relationship between you and Jeno was definitely way past the "honeymoon" stage, but things were going very well in your relationship - almost too well. Sure, you and Jeno have had a couple of arguments here and there but you worked through those every single time. Your eyebrows furrowed at a thought that popped in your head. Eventually, Jeno may get tired of you and your relationship with him and feel like he had wasted his time. Maybe you should speed up the process, give him more attitude and annoy him into breaking up with you? That would be the ultimate inevitability.
It was settled, you were going to annoy him into breaking up with you.
Jeno's voice interrupted your dark thoughts. "It's the truth." He offered a sheepish smile, "by the way, we still have to bike home."
You furiously shook your head and planted your feet firm on the ground. "You can bike home. I'm taking a cab."
He let out a hearty laugh as he stood up and pulled you up with his two strong hands. "You can do this, baby."
You were so sure he was going to break up with you over this.
The barista at B E A N T H E R E, Chenle, was arguing with a customer yet again, while the rest of the baristas continued on with their day like normal. On days you were there, you would've absolutely eavesdropped to find out what was going on, but today, you couldn't care less. The mini fork in your hand fidgeted restlessly around the chocolate cake as you barely took a bite.
There was a bored scowl on your face which concerned Jeno. "Are you ok, babe?" Jeno asked for the umpteenth time. Jeno had ordered a delicious spicy Thai creamy pasta with an iced americano, but he hardly took a bite - too focused on you.
"Yeah, I'm fine." There was an intense eye contact between you and the cake.
"Are you on your period?" He asked you and opened the period tracker app on his phone, only to see you were still a couple days away from getting it.
"Do I have to be on my period to be in a bad mood?" You stabbed a piece of chocolate cake and shoved it in your mouth, pissed off at his assumption. No, he hadn't done anything wrong in particular. You just felt like being a little bitch to see how he would react.
"Uh, trick question?" He said hopefully and finally forked a pasta in his mouth.
"Sexist." You muttered under your breath, then sucked in the few drops of iced peach lemon tea left; you frowned since you were still thirsty but there was no more drink left. "Jeno, I'm thirsty." You grumbled quietly with your head down.
He put his fork down. "Is water ok, love?" and you nodded your head. So, he stood up from his seat, went up to the counter and ordered a bottle of water for you.
"Tip?" The barista, Hendery, asked him as he held the Tip Box in front of him.
"I tipped earlier." Jeno informed him.
With a bored attitude, "new order, new tip." Hendery notified him.
"What?"
"Sorry, store policy." Hendery shrugged.
Has it always been like this? Not willing to put up a fight and with a relented sigh, he dropped in a couple of cash in the box in exchange for the water bottle and returned to his seat. He opened the water bottle for you and returned to his pasta.
You drank your water and observed him as he happily ate his pasta. For some reason, watching him eat always invoked a certain sadness in you. It was the way he was hunched over like a shrimp, you tried fixing his posture you really tried, and inhaled the food that made you sad for some reason. But you knew he was more than happy while he was eating. Thoughts of him breaking up with you invaded your mind once again. You were determined to make him break up with you, and a lightbulb moment appeared for you - to really push him over the edge.
Jeno was in the middle of eating his spicy Thai creamy pasta when you asked him another question. "Jeno, can you get me more iced peach lemon tea?"
Once again, he put the fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Sure, babe," and went up to the counter, paid for the drink, tipped again, before returning to you with the said drink.
You muttered a small thank you and sipped your iced fruity drink. While Jeno twirled his pasta on his fork and took a big bite before repeating the same action.
You purposely waited until Jeno was back in "eating mode" before asking him again. "Jeno, can you please order a tiramisu?"
He froze and then swallowed the food in his mouth. "Do you want anything else while I'm up there?"
"No." You shook your head.
"You sure?" He asked once again.
"Hmm." You hummed.
"Ok, then." Yet again, he set down his fork and wiped off the pasta sauce with his napkin, then made his way to the counter.
"Hey, is it ok if I don't tip this time? I've already tipped twice within the last hour." He asked the barista in front of him when he ordered the tiramisu.
However, it was a different barista who was manning the counter, Jisung. Whereas Hendery was making drinks for other customers. "Sorry, new order, new tip." Jisung repeated the store's mantra.
With a deflated sigh, he dropped another bill in the Tip Box and left with your tiramisu. He was tired of having his eating disrupted but he smiled when he saw how your eyes glimmered at the sight of the iconic tiramisu.
You fed him the first bite of the tiramisu and then took a bite after him. "Hmm, so light and airy." You moaned at the deliciousness of the dessert. Jeno liked it as well but he craved to finish his spicy pasta without interruptions.
You ate bite after bite until the plate was sparkling clean. It took every bit of self control to not resist the urge to clear out the coffee shop’s entire tiramisu stock. Another person walked by with a salted egg croissant and the buttery smell just hits you. You glanced at Jeno who cleared more than half of his plate off within the time you ate your tiramisu. He was chomping down bite after bite with urgency. You almost felt bad for what you were about to ask him to do. "Jeno." The intonation of your voice was a familiar sound.
Jeno pursed his lips into a thin line and took a deep breath but lovingly paid attention to you. "Yes, my love."
"Can you get me an egg salted croissant?" You fluttered your eyelashes at him.
"Of course, my love." Once again, he got up from his seat, wiped his mouth with the napkin, and ordered at the counter. "One egg salted croissant please and do you mind warming it up?" Jeno ordered and Jisung keyed in the order. Yet again, he inserted a bill in the Tip Box even though he didn't want to.
After waiting for a few minutes, Jeno finally received the egg salted croissant on the plate from a different barista, Jungwoo. "Seems like you're having girl trouble. Trust me, I get it. I have my days too." Jungwoo sighed as he handed the plate to Jeno but without the fork and spoon.
"Oh be quiet, you're not the only one with a girlfriend. Hendery has one too and you don't see him complaining." Chenle remarked at Jungwoo.
"You're just jealous because you don't have one." Jungwoo mocked Chenle and stuck out his tongue.
"Oh, shut up." Chenle raised his voice at him.
Meanwhile, Jeno stood waiting for the utensils. He cleared his throat, "can I just get the fork and spoon, please?" He was desperate to get out of the situation.
"Oh, my bad." Jungwoo said and gave him the fork and spoon.
On the way back to his seat, he swore he could feel all four of the baristas' eyes on him but that was just probably a coincidence, right? In a slow motion, he turned his head back to the counter but they were all occupied with something else. Surely, they would never snoop on customers like that.
He placed the egg salted croissant in front of you and sat down in his chair - ready to finish his pasta. Again.
Your tummy grumbled at the sight of his pasta as you realised Jeno hadn't even offered his pasta to you. What a jerk! "Actually, I want to eat your Thai creamy pasta." You said after he set down the egg salted croissant.
"Do you want me to order another one?" Jeno asked.
"No, that will take too long. I want it now." So, you switched the plates and placed the egg salted croissant in front of him while you had his pasta. Jeno let out a defeated sigh but he let's you eat his pasta. You grabbed a forkful of pasta and brought it close to your mouth but Jeno took a bite out of it first. "Jeno!"
He only responded with his signature eye smile and you couldn't help but muffled a giggle at him. You so deserved that. You ended up splitting both the spicy creamy Thai pasta and the egg salted croissant.
When you returned home, you went to the bathroom and you did get your period but Jeno had already left your place. The cramps were coming down hard so you slumped on the couch. You debated on texting Jeno, asking if he can buy you chocolates since you didn't have any at home, but you gave him major attitude today.
Tears rolled down your cheeks at the thought of him; you missed him and the way he would always lay on your tummy to fight away the bad cramps. Was it going to be like this if you broke up with Jeno? No more asking him to buy you chocolates or help you with your cramps. You wanted to break up with him, right? It was only inevitable, especially since he's seen the bad parts of you. Your eyes were bloodshot at this point when you heard a doorbell on the other side. You went up and checked the peephole to see Jeno was standing there. "Jeno?" You cried. "I thought you went home."
He didn't expect to be greeted with tears when he dropped you off 20 minutes ago. He instantly wrapped you in a warm hug. "Why are you crying baby?" He unwrapped himself from you and observed the state you were in, and gently wiped the tears off your cheeks with his knuckle.
"I didn't know whether I could text you." You bawled and leaned against his chest.
"You know you could text me at anytime, baby." He hugged you tighter and rested his chin on your head.
"Even when you're mad at me?" Your voice was muffled but he heard your question.
You felt the vibration of Jeno's laugh. "Especially, when I'm mad at you. Sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but I went to buy some chocolates for you and you're going to call me a sexist pig for saying this, but your period might come soon." He grimaced and showed you the plastic bag full of chocolates and sweets that he held in his hand.
You cried again at his thoughtful gesture. "It came," you wailed your eyes out. "And it hurts so bad."
Jeno chuckled. "Come, let me help you," and led you to the L-sectional couch. It was a good thing your roommate was out of town so Jeno could stay with you. It was your normal routine whenever your period came; you leaned against the couch while he rested his head on your tummy, the extra weight on you always helped ease the cramps. But sometimes you wondered if Jeno could smell the metallic scent of your period blood.
You turned on some mindless tv and ate your favourite chocolate bar with one hand, while the other ran through his hair and stroked it. Sometimes, you would stop and scratched his head instead; he would always cozy up to you even more and if you ever stopped stroking and scratching his head, he would let out a little whimper. "Sorry for being a bitch today." You said softly.
"It's ok, you're my bitch."
Darn it, Jeno and his unlimited patience and the way he rarely gets bothered about stuff! When was he going to break up with you?!
You were so sure he was going to breakup with you over this.
Somehow, you ended up moving in with him - a new apartment for the both of you. The timing just aligned with the way both of your leases were coming to an end with your respective roommates, it was only natural for him to asked you to move in together.
This was it. Living together meant a test of patience; a test of compatibility. It was a learning curve for both of you. Sure, you've slept over at his place countless times and vice versa, but it was different now that you were living together.
Jeno moved in with only a large suitcase, his gaming setup, and a deflated pillow in hand; in which he later threw away as he favoured your fluffy pillows more. He was a neat person who kept his side of things and his dirty laundry was always in the laundry basket. Even though he wasn't much of a cook, he was always more than happy to prep the ingredients and wash the dishes afterwards. Gosh, he even cleans the bathroom before he showers!
Eventually, you both fell into a harmonious rhythmic pattern of living together. On his days off, he would sleep in till afternoon, so you would often use that time as your "me" time: making breakfast and would set aside an extra one for him, indulge in your little hobbies, or a quick meet up with your friends.
At this point, you thought you would discover a habit of his that you wouldn't like and ultimately break up with him, but no, there was nothing to complain about. Aside from the occasionally "man scent" that lingered in the room after he was done with a workout and his gaming addiction, but you knew and accepted it long before you moved in together.
If there was nothing you could do to break up with him, then maybe you could do something that will ick him out so he would break up with you! So, you left your dirty dishes in the sink, didn't pick up after your dirty laundry, and let the trash pile up. That inconsiderate bastard said nothing and just picked up after you! You were clearly trying to break up with him but he wasn't making it easy.
It had to be revealed sooner or later, but sooner was the answer. There was a secret you had been keeping from Jeno. Less of a secret and more of a habit you had been hiding. You see, your natural sneeze was loud, very loud, and almost screechy-like. But that was only something you did in the comforts of your home. In public and in front of Jeno, you forced yourself to sneeze in a polite manner because you had to and was embarrassed of your sneeze. "ACK-choo!" Your sneeze echoed throughout the apartment even though you covered it with your elbow.
Jeno, who was washing the dishes, turned his head to you and froze. "What the heck was that?" He asked you out of concerned.
"Just sneezing." You replied nonchalantly.
"I've never heard you sneeze like that. Like ever." He was dumbfounded at the sheer sound of your sneeze.
"It's because I hold it in when I'm outside. I have to let it go when I'm at home."
A small grin appeared on his face as he titled his head at this new revelation and resumed washing the dishes - Jeno was amused.
You knew one sneeze wouldn't deter him away. Therefore, you kept doing things like inhaling dust, so you would sneeze more often. Jeno would occasionally get shocked at the loudness of your sneeze, but slowly, he grew accustomed to it; no longer surprised by the suddenness or the volume of it. Sometimes, he even laughs about it when it comes out of nowhere!
Darn it, he's definitely not going to break up with you over this.
You were so sure he was going to breakup with you over this.
There was something about those furry animals that rubbed you the wrong way. No, hate was not the right word for it. You could never hate on them with the amount of cute cat and dog videos you watched, besides, they were always the funniest little beings. Icked out was a more fitting term. Because why is a small animal that is so furry actually moving? Weird.
Despite his allergy to cats and their furs, Jeno was cat sitting for a friend. He couldn't care less if he got sick and snotty from them, they were way too cute. Hence, he couldn't pass the chance to cat sit while his friend was away.
It was a white, Persian cat named Pookie. From the second Pookie stepped foot in the house, she was glued to Jeno at all times. She followed him to the kitchen, the living room, and even the bathroom. The only place Pookie was banned from was your shared bedroom.
At first, since Pookie warmed up to Jeno so quickly, she made attempts to approach you. She tried to sit beside you on the couch or rubbed herself against your leg but she was always met with your constant flinching and you shooing her away. So, she stopped trying to be friends with you and started hissing whenever she saw you. She took all of Jeno's time and he doted her with so much love and care.
It was your designated tv time with Jeno and you both settled on watching, Is Love Next Door? There she was, all cuddled up in Jeno's lap while he scratched her little head. Jeno cooed at how pretty she was and she cozied up even some more to him with a content expression. TV time usually meant that you would be the one to cuddle up to Jeno on his lap, not a cat. You couldn't believe you were getting jealous over a cat, even though you knew it meant nothing. Pathetic.
Instead of sitting close to Jeno, you sat on the other end of the L-sectional couch, far from Jeno and Pookie. Every movement from Pookie, raised the hairs at the back of your neck. You often stole glances at her through your peripheral vision, to make sure she was far from you. Your attention was so focused on Pookie, that you could barely enjoy the drama in front of you.
"Why are you so far away?" He knows you're scared of cats, you made that more than obvious from day one, but liked teasing you to see your reaction. "Come closer," he patted the seat beside him.
"No thank you, that's way too close. I'm living dangerously right now." You crossed your arms and scooter closer to the edge of the couch.
"She's not going to bite you." Jeno chuckled and tried to pull you closer with his long arm but you resisted.
"You don't know that! She hisses at me! Hisses!" You tattled to him. "I swear her eyes turn red and everything."
"It's because you shoo her away when she just wants you to be her friend. Give her a couple of treats and stroke her like this." He demonstrated how he stroked her silky and furry skin and she purred at his comforting actions.
"Ew." You pulled a less than pleasant expression.
"What?"
"It's just…icky."
"Look hot cute she is!" He held her up.
"I didn't say she wasn't cute!" You defended yourself.
"You said and I quote, "ew."" Jeno imitated you.
"Ew to touching her fur!" Disgust was written all over your face at thought of touching a cat's fur. Ugh.
Apparently Pookie was not happy at the lack of attention that was she getting from Jeno, so she let out a desperate meow to get him to focus on her. "Were you calling for me Pookie? Sorry Pookie." He cooed at her and continued to give her cuddles and scratches.
Great, you were being replaced by a cat. What if Jeno wants a cat one day? You sulked at the thought of him adopting a cat but you could not live your everyday life with a cat, which would ultimately lead to a breakup. You saw how happy and affectionate Jeno looked with Pookie, the way his face instantly glowed at the sound of Pookie. Maybe Pookie being here meant that he would realise that he wanted to lead a different life than yours; a life with cats and with someone who adored them like he does. And not with someone who runs away at the sight of them. But it would be great for you because you needed him to break up with you.
Even though your eyes were focused on the drama, your mind was somewhere else. Until, Jeno started poking you with his free hand that was not stroking Pookie. You paid him no attention, however, he was persistent and kept poking the sides of your body, so you swatted his hand away but he kept on playing around. While he kept on poking you, you noticed Pookie's eyes fluttered up and down till it was completely shut - she was peacefully sleeping. Cute.
"Just watch the drama, neno. It's getting interesting." Your whine sounded cute in his ears and you interlocked his fingers with yours so he would stop disturbing you; he grazed his thumb against your hand and traced invisible patterns on it.
At some point, your thoughts floated away and you were immersed in the drama. The tension in the drama thickened as the second leads locked lips in a semi-public space. The close up of their lips interlocking and their bodies mingled in a heated hurry, stirred something in you. You glanced down at the cat on Jeno's lap; she was still peacefully sleeping and even you know that once a cat is asleep on a lap, you. don't. move. So, you turned your focus back to the drama, silently sulking that Pookie had all of Jeno's love and attention.
You felt Jeno's touch leaving you as he unlocked his hand from yours and got up from the couch with Pookie in his arms. He placed her on her bed beside the couch and hurriedly went to you. He hooked one arm behind your knees and the other supported your back and lifted you off the couch."I can't hold it back any longer." He whispered to you.
A stupid grin showed up on your face. You 1 - 0 Cat. Ha! He carried you to your shared bedroom and softly laid you on the bed before your lips collided in a deep exchange.
Meow, meow, meow. That was the sound of Pookie crying for Jeno's attention. Usually Jeno would go running to her and attend to her every need but it was like her cries went deaf in his ears as he left kisses on your jawline. Since Jeno did not come to her, she entered the room stroked herself against his leg that dangled off the bed- begging for his attention.
You pulled away from Jeno since Pookie was now in the room but not without Jeno groaning a disapppinted sigh. Darn it, should've closed the door!
Now, Pookie disrupted the mood and you were so sure that Jeno was going to go put her to sleep again. Instead, Jeno turned to Pookie and shook his head with a cute smile on his face. "Not now, Pookie." He carried Pookie out the room and closed the door on her. He walked back to you with a huge grin on his face, "now, where were we?" and hovered over you. Once more, Jeno pressed his lips against yours but sounds of hisses and scratches from the other side of the door were getting increasingly loud.
"Shouldn't you take care of the cat?" Your voice was slightly concerned as you heard Pookie hissed and scratched.
But Jeno ignored it and only focused on you. "I'd rather take care of this kitty."
You were so sure he was going to breakup with you over this.
"Kill him, kill him, kill him." Jeno scolded in frustration at his headset, the neverending clicking sound of the mouse irritated you bit by bit. At this point, he had been gaming for several hours nonstop and you were sure he stayed up all night, judging by the open cans of energy drinks on the desk.
"Jeno, you said you will go to the festival with me." You whined as you sat on the bed with your arms crossed and a pout on your face. This festival was something you had been talking for the past couple of days and Jeno agreed to go with you but he was still stuck to his gaming chair. You even gave him the benefit of the doubt; you showered, did your makeup, and wore a cute little skirt for today hoping that by the time you were dressed, he was done gaming.
He barely glanced at you but lifted one side of his headphone off. "Babe, we'll go after one more game," and his focus was back on the screen.
You rolled your eyes at him with attitude but he didn't even noticed it. "Sure." "One more game," was a lie you've heard a million times. You clicked your tongue and stormed out of the apartment with your handbag and car key in hand. One way or another, you were going to that festival with or without him. So, you dialled up a close friend of yours and picked her up.
It was something you should've done from the beginning. It was so much more fun going out with your friend instead of your boyfriend; matching cute outfits, selfies, and complaining about your no-good-boyfriends together. The cherry on top? You wasted no opportunity to use Jeno's card. From the beginning of your relationship, Jeno gave you access to his card and had never put a limit on it, so you could use it whenever you wanted. However, like the considerate person you were, even though you regularly used his card, you were still mindful of your purchases. But screw being considerate and screw Jeno Lee! He was going to break up with you, so you might as well spend his money before you both separate. Yes, this would definitely call for a breakup. Thus, you and your friend went on an impromptu shopping spree after the festival - courtesy of Jeno's card, of course. You bought everything you set your sights on until both the trunk and backseats were full.
It wasn't until night had fallen when you received a call from Jeno. Ignore. Then came in the texts.
jenoneno: im sorry babe where ru?
jenoneno: ok ik ure mad
jenoneno: have fun baby
jenoneno: let me know when ure coming home imy
Now he misses you? That pissed you even more. He had the audacity to play games when he promised that he was going to go with you. Surely, he had seen the endless notifications from his card on his phone and that was the reason he even remembered you existed. Both you and your friend stayed out till 2 a.m until she called it quits. So, you dropped her off at her place and routed to go back home when you received another phone call from Jeno. Ignore. You didn't want to see his stupid face, so you checked into a five-star hotel, on his card obviously. You were going to let him suffer for the rest of the night.
It was a comfortable, modern, and luxurious suite with an incredible bathtub. It had been a such a long and tiring, but fun, day thanks to your friend so you settled for a bubble bath to unwind for the night. Surrounding yourself with the calm bubbles helped elevate your mood and released tension. After awhile, you finally came out of the bathroom with the hotel's bath robe wrapped around your figure and a small towel on your head, only to be met with Jeno on the bed. You jumped a little at the sight of him.
"I was worried about you." He said with his arms crossed.
"Jeno, how did you get in here?" You ignored his statement.
He shrugged. "Told them I lost my key."
"And they let you in?" You asked skeptically.
"Yes, because it's on my card." He brought up.
You cleared your throat and feigned ignorance. "I see. Kinda craving room service." You wanted to walk away to the hotel's telephone but Jeno gently pulled your wrist and sat you on his lap, tightened his hold around your waist. You attempted to wiggle your way out of his hold but he anchored you down. Truth be told, you didn't put up much of a fight because the way he holds you was always just so comfortable. Even if his boney bones started hurting you after awhile.
But his strength was sometimes too much. "Stop working out so much." You slapped his chest out of annoyance.
He snickered at you. "Had fun today?" He asked.
"Barely." You rolled your eyes at him as you lied to him. Obviously, you had fun today.
"Barely?" He let out a weird noise. "My bank account says otherwise." He lightly squeezed your hips." His voice dropped to a soft murmer as his gaze on you intensified and his hold on you tightened; while one hand traced up and down your spine.
You drowned in his brown orbs. This was it - the breaking point. He was going to break up with you for mindlessly spending his money. Luring you in with a false sense of security and then dropping the b-bomb. You can already see it, so you embraced yourself for the next words and held in your breath. Those words you had been thinking about loomed over your head like clouds.
He let out a heavy breath, "sorry for being a dickhead today," and rested his forehead against yours. "I should've gone to the festival with you like you wanted." He apologised. "I was worried when you didn't come back home."
You released the breath you were holding and separated your head from him. "You're not mad that I spent an outrageous amount of money?" You were flabbergasted but secretly relieved that Jeno was apologising to you.
Most people would be slightly pissed off at your behaviour, instead, he chuckled and pinched your right cheek and squished it. "You're so lucky I love you. My spoiled girl," and he sealed his words with a kiss on your lips.
Why wasn't he mad at you for spending his money on stuff you don't need?! What kind of sick behaviour was this?!
The aroma of the musty warehouse-turned-boxing-ring clouded your nose senses and the overhead lights highlighted the chipped paint wall; Jeno signed up for an amateur boxing competition. It wasn't your favourite hobby of his, solely because of how he would come home with parts of his face bruised up and his body injured. You voiced out your concerned to him once while you plastered those heating patches on him, suggesting to take up a different hobby but he said that it was just "practice," so it wasn't too bad.
If you knew how bruised and injured he looked when he came home from boxing practice, you couldn't imagine how he would look when it was a competition. You were hesitant to go watch, because you weren't a fan of watching your boyfriend get beaten up, but he wanted you there for his first competition. So here you were: There were multiple boxing rings in the gym where each competitor would fight one on one until there was an ultimate champion. There were multiple strong competitors but Jeno was beating them up, one by one - it went by so fast that he was the first determined finalist.
The other finalist was yet to be determined, so Jeno joined you in the front seat to watch the next fight. You were so close to the front that you could see the competitors warming up.
"Heard that guy is a beast." Jeno spoke in a low voice to you and pointed to the guy throwing practice punches in the corner.
You followed his sightline and glanced at the figure. The male had his face towards the wall, so his back faced the audience, you squinted your eyes at the figure. Something about his silhouette was familiar, especially the way he moved even though you couldn't see his face.
The male turned his face towards the audience and his eyes widened at the sight of you. "Yn?" He stepped closer to you, disbelief that you were here in this run-down warehouse. "It is you!" He smiled brightly which brought out his dimples.
"Hyunsuk?" You reciprocated the energy. "What are you doing here?" You smiled as you got up from your seat to where he stood.
The first thing he did took you by surprised since he immediately hugged you and twirled you around, completely forgetting that he was fighting in a few minutes. "I should be asking you." He put you down and quirked his eyebrows. "Are you here to fight too?" A playful tone teased under it.
"No, but my boyfriend is!" You replied and a flash of disappointment crossed Hyunsuk's eyes but he quickly masked it with a smile.
Jeno flinched from his seat as he watched the guy twirled you like that. His jaw clenched at sight of his natural repartee with you. He stood up from his seat and headed towards you, hand firmly planted on your waist. Up close, he can see the way Hyunsuk easily towered over everyone else, including Jeno.
"Jeno, this is Hyunsuk from high school." You giddily introduced them to each other. "Hyunsuk, Jeno, my boyfriend."
There was a firm grip from the Jeno and Hyunsuk as they shook each other's hands. "Hey, this your first competition too?" Jeno asked Hyunsuk.
"Officially, yeah. Been doing it on and off since high school." Hyunsuk replied. "I've seen you in the ring, you're a tough one." He complimented Jeno but if you listened close enough, it almost felt like a threat. "If I'm lucky, I'll see you in the ring."
The name "Hyunsuk" sounded familiar to Jeno but he couldn't put a finger on it. He knows you've brought up several names from your high school days in conversations, including Hyunsuk's, and it was just on the tip of his tongue but there was a vital piece of information that felt like it was missing. Jeno gritted a smile. "Will see."
On cue, the announcers called out Hyunsuk's name and his opponent to the ring. "I'm about to rip this one out. Stay and watch me?" He asked you as he took off his silky robe from his body; the lights reflected off his chiselled pecs and ridged abs, and his biceps were pure muscles.
You couldn't believe how much Hyunsuk had changed. The last time you saw him, he was lanky and even you had more muscles than him. "Wow, you buffed up! I used to be stronger than you." It felt nostalgic to see a different version of Hyunsuk.
He flexed his biceps extra hard for you. "Yeah, we'll, not anymore, and you can touch it if you want."
"Yeah, you're all sweaty." You joked and pretended to gag. Hyunsuk laughed and then joined the ring as you and Jeno went back to your seats. You missed the way Jeno was grinding his teeth the entire time.
Once seated, Jeno wrapped his arm your shoulder and pulled you even closer to him, knowing that Hyunsuk was watching.
Hyunsuk flashed a smile at you one last time, and gave a small nod at Jeno, before he fought his opponent. The match started and he could see Hyunsuk's height was an advantage for him because it was hard for the other opponent to attack him. While he was mainly in defense mode but his attacks were quick and precise. It was a fierce match between the two of them but Jeno wasn't immersed in watching the match - all he was thinking about was Hyunsuk and you until he finally realised where he recognised that name. He whispered closely to you, "is this Hyunsuk the Yoon Hyunsuk you dated in high school?"
You nodded your head. "Yup." However, your focus was on Hyunsuk and the fight so you didn't notice the intense gaze coming from Jeno.
"Why'd you guys break up again?" Jeno asked.
"We were going to separate universities. You know, long distance, the usual stuff." You answered but you were still focused on the match.
"And who suggested the break up?"
"I did, it was better to avoid the inevitable." You were completely oblivious at how jealous your boyfriend was getting.
It confirmed all of Jeno's suspicions from the beginning - Hyunsuk was still in love with you. He doesn't think you're aware of it but it was obvious to a guy like Jeno. Jeno brewed with jealousy at the thought of that guy being your first serious boyfriend. Sure, Jeno's relationship with other women were a bit more colourful compared to yours, but there were all meaningless until he met you. Even though you had gone on dates with other men in the past, Hyunsuk and Jeno were the only serious relationship you had.
Hyunsuk won the match, so he was the other finalist that would go up against Jeno, and sent a cocky smirk your way.
That was it for Jeno. It was Jeno vs Hyunsuk; a personal battle of the male egos. Jeno had an inkling feeling that Hyunsuk would steal you away from him in a heartbeat, especially since there was no ring around your finger. Jeno joined boxing because he enjoyed the rush of adrenaline from fighting. And maybe on days when he came back home a little bruised than normal, he liked how you pampered him with attention, and kisses. Maybe. But you didn't need to know that.
Winning the competition wasn't initially a priority for him, just getting a hit was satisfying, but he couldn't and wouldn't lose to Hyunsuk. The match started. Even though Hyunsuk had a height advantage, Jeno was agile in his defense. It was an intense match of punching and dodging punches; the winner was unpredictable until the very last second where, Hyunsuk, won.
You hurried over to Jeno as he got off the ring. Win or lose, you only cared about his well-being. "Jeno, you're bleeding." You lightly cupped his face in your hands and inspected his bruised lips closer.
Truth be told, he had become numb to the pain and there was nothing a little ointment couldn't fix. But he loved it when you fussed over him like this, he felt fuzzy on the inside. "My poor baby." You pouted at him. "Hyunsuk, I can't believe you damaged my boyfriend." You scolded Hyunsuk.
Hyunsuk scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I damaged him? Dude can take a punch and throw a punch." He said. "Look at this shit." He pointed at his bruised eyes.
You gasped at how quickly the bruise was turning blue. Ouch, Jeno punched hard. You went closer to Hyunsuk and examined his injury. Jeno instantly pouted when you withdrew your touch from his face.
So, Hyunsuk was in a much worse state than Jeno. Out of instinct, your finger lightly brushed against Hyunsuk's bruise and he winced in pain. "Sorry, sorry." You apologised to him. To you, he was still that lanky kid who was afraid to do stuff even though he's grown past that. "You really need to ice it." You suggested.
"Can you help me ice it, yn?" Hyunsuk asked in a pathetic tone.
Jeno rolled his eyes behind your back as he grew annoyed at Hyunsuk. It was obvious as daylight that Hyunsuk was in love with you even though you were clearly taken by him. So, Jeno did what all men did. He winced out in pain and pretended he injured his shoulder. "Ouc-ouch, I think I dislocated my shoulder, babe." He pretended that it was hard for him to rotate his right arm.
"I didn't go anywhere near your shoulde-."
"Ah, ah." Jeno exaggerated his winced.
Hyunsuk's bruise seemed minuscule compared to what Jeno was going through, so you turned your attention to Jeno. "Do you need to go to the hospital? Where's your coach?" Your voice was concerned.
"No hospital. Maybe those heating pads would do the trick." Jeno covered up his white lie.
"Are you sure? We have to go to the hospital if it's dislocated."
"Maybe not dislocated but it hurts. Let's go baby." He wrapped his "injured" shoulder on you but not without giving Hyunsuk a sly smirk at him. Hyunsuk may have won the match but Jeno left feeling victorious.
This was it.
You were so sure he was going to breakup with you.
The way Jeno had been acting these days made your heart, irregularly, beat faster: he had been coming home late nowadays, no dinners together, and he was always busy whenever you called him.
It was even worse when he was at home, the last couple days had been full of awkward silences and glances from Jeno. Every time you approached him or asked how his day was, he would respond with one word answers, nor did he initiate any romantic touches with you. Which was unlike him to do that. He even cancelled on your designated tv time together!
You received a text from Jeno asking you to meet him at a certain the time and location. It was the impending doom. Your tummy churned and your heart grew heavy at the thought of it finally ending. This was what you wanted, wasn't it?
You dressed up in a nice dress because the location Jeno sent was an upscaled restaurant; he was treating you to one nice meal before he ended it. You've been prepping for this day and went to the venue with a heavy heart - ready for heartache. This was what you wanted the entire time, for him to break up with you.
When you arrived at the restaurant and mentioned the reservation under Jeno's name, the waiter lead you to a different location instead of sitting you in the general dining area. The waiter stopped in front of a French double door, and your heart thumped with nervousness and you forced yourself to take heavy breaths.
This was the end.
With shaky feet, you stepped into a private balcony and gasped as you looked at your surrounding: dimly lit candles, flower petals that lead straight to Jeno on one knee with the sun setting in the background. "Will you marry me?" Jeno asked while he was on one knee with hopeful eyes. He presented a three-stone marquise diamond ring with both of your birthstones on either side of the large diamond in the center.
You gasped in shock at the sight of the ring, that was your dream ring and you only mentioned it once to Jeno in a casual conversation. "You don't want to break up with me?" You choked as tears formed in your eyes.
He blankly stared at you from down below. "Why would I break up with you?" His eyebrows pinched in confusion.
"Because you hate me." Tears flew down your cheeks. "You've been ignoring me the past few days and we didn't watch Is Love Next Door? together!" You were officially a mess, if it hadn't been for your fixing spray, your makeup would've already been ruined.
"I'm sorry baby, I was busy preparing the proposal and was nervous you would find out because I tell you everything." He stood up and tightly hugged you. He was never going to let you go. "I love you, my love." He kissed your temple.
"I love you too, Jeno." You wiped your tears on the lapel of his blazer.
He detached himself from the hug and lifted your chin up. He gently wiped the remaining happy tears with his thumb. "So, what do you say?" Referring to the fact you still haven't answered his proposal.
"Can we watch Is Love Next Door? after this?" You asked.
"Of course, we can." He laughed at the absurdity of your response.
"Then, yes, yes, yes, a million times yes." He lifted you up by the waist and twirled you around. You were glad that after all that he had seen, he still wanted to be with you.
If there was one thing you were certain of, it was that Jeno would be by your side for life.
maybe you shouldn’t have gone on that bike ride.
Thank u for reading <3 (I think she cries too much)
You've never had a positive male figure in your life, so when Mark Lee shows up with his unexpected silliness, curiosity and care, you're suspicious that it's all an act and it's just a matter of time he'll finally show his true colours.
Until he shows you that he is genuinely a good guy.
➳ Characters: neighbour!Mark x female reader/you
➳ Genre: romance, comedy, opposites attract, sunshine x sunshine protector, badass female lead x loser boy energy, manhater fl x best boy ml
➳ Words: 10.3k
➳ Warning: mentions of food, drinks, misogyny, men being jerks, lack of positive male figures in reader's life including a demanding and unsupportive father
➳ A/N: Dedicated to @dat-town with all my love ❤️ Because you're the Johnny to my Mark haha #4yearagegapmeansnothingtous
Also, I recommend you listen to 'Little Miss' by GIRLSET for the vibes!
The only reason you said yes to this blind date was because your mother specifically warned you not to intimidate the guy she would want to set you up with.
Which meant that you had successfully intimated some guys before, enough that she would hear back from the indignant mothers of the other douchebags you had been set up with. Also, if being honest and being yourself meant that guys were scared of you, then so be it. You needed no one’s approval to live your life the way you wanted, much less a man’s.
It’s not that you hated all men. You knew there were nice ones out there. Like your primary school headteacher, your next door neighbour when you had been living in a flatshare during university, the elderly men selling your favourite mandu, the owner of your favourite second-hand bookshop and so on…
However, all the men in your life were just disappointments. Your grandfather had never cared about you, not even before he had become a little too reliant on alcohol (your other grandfather had passed away when you had been little, so you couldn’t fault him). One of your uncles was someone who would never admit that they were wrong even when they were and completely controlled your aunt whereas the other one wouldn’t lift a finger to help out at home and as soon as he got home, he turned on the TV and stayed there until he fell asleep on the couch, so your aunt had to bring him food and drinks.
Let’s not talk about the worst of all: your father. The sad thing is that you used to idolise him. He was smart, hard-working, and seemed to know everything you were curious about as a child. For this reason, he had seemed so perfect, and you had wanted to be just like him. So you had followed his every word, his every command, and soon enough, you had lost yourself.
You had realised that you weren’t happy doing the things that he wanted, not like they were ever enough. It was like a zero sum game: you could never win no matter how much you tried. Even if you did just what he wanted - you chose the university he wanted, the major he wanted, the career he wanted -, he wasn’t satisfied. There was always something he could nitpick, and worst of all, you had started noticing how he had always put women down. He thought of his female engineer colleagues as less than him, always complained about your mother’s hobbies because he didn’t deem them sophisticated enough, and he said that business in any way was not for women.
So you had disappointed him majorly when you had left engineering behind and moved abroad to study financial management at a university that you had chosen for yourself in a country that you had chosen for yourself. Guess what? You had graduated with a first-class honours degree.
On the other hand, the most important thing was that you had found yourself in the process. Your university had offered free counselling and you had taken advantage of it, working through your past of people-pleasing, inability to say no, inability to set boundaries and holding yourself back from being yourself. Being in a foreign country on your own was challenging enough, but it was also deliberating. Away from home, you realised even more how surface-level your father’s care was, and that was the final nail in the coffin.
When you had moved back to Korea, you had also started looking for a new place because you wanted to move out of your parents’ house to start living on your own as soon as possible. You had enough money because you had worked a couple of years as an engineer and worked throughout your second degree, so you didn’t need to ask your parents for money. Of course, your father had disapproved of it, but you couldn’t care less. You had become a different person, a stronger, bolder, more confident person, and he wanted nothing of it.
Fine, it was his loss anyway. He could go back to idolising your sister no matter how much she fucked up because her? She was perfect. Even without straight As or a flawless track record of classroom behaviour, she had always been his favourite. That you couldn’t really compete with, and you hated how much you had let it affect you growing up; chasing a mirage in the desert, an illusion that had nothing to do with reality.
As for your mother, she tried in her own way to stay in touch with you including setting up blind dates for you. You were practically a spinster in their eyes, and she thought that she was doing something good by playing the matchmaker, but in all honesty, her efforts were futile because all the guys you had met so far were complete idiots. Cheating, lying, manipulating, two-faced jerks.
This time too, the date was a disaster. The food at the restaurant was at least good and more easily digestible than the nonsense the guy was spewing. Frankly, he resembled your father so much that you felt like trampling on his ego with your high heels. Did he really think that by criticizing your choice of profession, you would fall at his feet, pleading with him to marry you, so that you could be a housewife instead of working in finance?
“Look… As they say, time is money, and I feel like I’m nearing bankruptcy listening to your nonsense, so I suggest we both go our own ways instead of wasting our time here. You won’t change my mind about my career, you won’t change my mind about a woman’s place in the household, and you definitely won’t change my mind about you being a jerk, so…”
You shrugged at the end of your monologue, your smile so mellifluous that someone without context might think that you were actually harbouring feelings for this prick who was not only shocked but also annoyed upon hearing your words.
Ding-dong. That’s when they all show their true colours…
“You listen to me, you little-”
“Blablabla, I can’t hear you, and you can’t tell me anything I haven’t heard before, so let me just remove myself from this extremely uncomfortable and unsupportive atmosphere,” you announced as you stood up from the table and pushed your chair back.
You gave him one last death stare before turning on your heel and leaving the restaurant, his not-so-pleasant words thrown at you not reaching you anymore.
Needless to say, you weren’t really in a good mood after such a disastrous date. So the last thing you wanted was to run into your neighbour when you got home, but as you were fumbling with your keys in front of your door, the door of the flat opposite of yours flew open and a chatty male voice called out:
“Hey, yo! I finally ran into you.”
Hey, yo? What on Earth?
You cautiously turned around, your keys in your hands, ready to be faced with a typical fuckboy who felt like he could talk to women like one of his dudes, but instead, a boy who literally looked like a boy-next-door kind of guy looked back at you.
He wasn’t super tall, he wasn’t super muscular either, but he had these big doe eyes and boyish features that made it difficult to guess whether he was 16 or 26. Though judging by the fact that the landlord said that one single guy lived on this floor, he should have been over 18 to live alone.
“Hi!” You greeted him back, your voice neutral at best, but the guy either didn’t catch onto it or he was this merry-go-round even when faced with a girl who wasn’t in a good mood.
“I’ve heard that someone was moving in, but I guess we didn’t manage to catch each other before,” he chatted excitedly, but you just deadpanned as you mumbled.
“Apparently.”
An awkward silence filled the air which was usually the cue for the other person to whimper away, but this boy looked way too casual and friendly for his own good. Plus, he beat you to it, so instead of you excusing yourself to actually enter your flat, he introduced himself as Mark Lee.
So you had no choice but to introduce yourself too, solely out of politeness.
“Uhm, so, what do you do for a living?” He asked as if you had all the time in the world when you just wanted this day to end.
On the other hand, this Mark Lee guy didn’t look like he meant harm, so you unlocked your jaw and dropped your shoulders (you were usually tense and cautious around new people) before you answered.
“I work in finance.”
“Wait, so you’re like a finance bro! But in a female version, of course. Is there a female version to the term? Finance lady, perhaps?” He blabbered, carefree like a puppy waggling its tail.
You had to give it to him that you had never been asked the same question when people heard what field you worked in, but men didn’t usually react like this, they merely judged your choice of profession.
“I wouldn’t know. There’s only one other female employee in the finance team.”
“What? That’s not right.”
Mark looked as if you had told him that the world would end the next day. Truth to be told, it was kind of flattering that a guy could ever react like that when it came to your job and the environment you worked in. Needless to say, the only other female employee in the finance team was your manager, the one who had hired you. She had been promoted after the previous male manager had left for a different company, so she knew exactly how hard one must work in this field to be taken seriously as a woman. You were lucky that you could confide in her though.
“What about you?” You asked about his side instead of pondering over his reaction, and he immediately switched back to chatty mode.
“Oh well, I’m not really good with numbers. I’m actually a songwriter. But don’t worry, I don’t make a lot of noise at home. I have my equipment in the studio,” he explained in detail even if you didn’t ask.
When the second momentary silence fell over you, you took it upon you to break it by announcing:
“Well, it was nice meeting you, but if you excuse me, I’ll head inside now.”
“Yeah, sure. My bad,” he replied with a semi-nervous chuckle and he literally stepped back as if you were heading that way.
Instead, you turned back to your own door and let yourself in, feeling the weariness of the day taking over you as soon as you got rid of your high heels.
Ah, what a day!
It was truly astonishing how men had the audacity to make comments on a woman’s body, choice or opinion, but when women bit back, they got offended, pleaded that they were only joking or blamed women for being too emotional or uptight or perhaps being on their period.
Like that day when you went to pick up your new blanket chest from the store. Even though the order was under your name, the man at the collection point dared to ask you where your boyfriend was to help you take it home. When you proceeded to tell him that you would be fine on your own, he laughed and said that “eventually all women are broken in”.
He even dared to smirk at you as if you were ready to fall at his feet and marry him for being so witty. Instead, you picked up the box on your own and pulled your lips into a mellifluous smile as you remarked:
“Women are not horses, but how would a man like you with the brain capacity of a bathroom rug know that?”
Now, he didn’t feel like smirking anymore, but you were already out of the store by the time his comeback would have reached you. You definitely didn’t need a man’s help because though the blanket chest wasn’t that big, it weighed quite a bit, but that’s why you were exercising. Not to look good and definitely not to appeal to men, but to be able to carry everything you wanted, let that be groceries or new furniture.
Thankfully, you had a seat on the metro, so you were saved from holding the box for half an hour, but you were panting a bit by the time you reached your flat.
Obviously, Mr-eager-neighbour just had to walk out of his flat as you reached your floor.
“Oh hey, Y/N! Need some help with that?”
“What is with you men thinking that a woman can’t do this on her own?” You muttered, rolling your eyes, as you put the box on the floor in front of your door. Then, you turned towards Mark who looked back at you with his big doe eyes, ready to defend himself. Before he could do so, you continued. “I’ve brought this back on my own all the way from the store, so I think I can manage for the last few metres.”
“Oh wow, you’re strong!” He remarked in awe, but as soon as he saw your unamused expression, he explained himself. “I mean, you’re right. You were literally just three steps away from your door. I guess it just came naturally to me to offer help. Not because you couldn’t do it on your own, but in case you were struggling but didn’t want to say so yourself.”
“Oh, I will tell you if I need help. I’m not one to hold back my opinion,” you laid down your cards in case he was wondering if you were a damsel in distress.
If you genuinely needed help, you would say so without shame, without caring what others might think. You had grown a thick skin over the years, so such things didn’t make you freeze on the spot anymore, leaving you with regrets as to how else you could have handled the situation.
If Mark was like the typical example of the male species you usually encountered, he would make a comment on how you were high on your horses or how you were so brazen. Maybe he would even give you a seductive smirk, saying that he liked girls who didn’t hold back. Or he would even remark that you should know your place and this was no way you should speak to a man.
Instead, Mark looked so apologetic (like a puppy who did something wrong) that you felt bad for him for a millisecond before the walls around your heart recomposed.
“That’s absolutely fine. Honestly. Like… just be yourself, you know?” He tried to play it cool, but his wild hand gestures didn’t exactly help his awkward self. He giggled like a school girl when he realised that he had just made a fool out of himself, but then, as if lighting struck him, he snapped his fingers and asked:
“Does it mean I can also ask you for help?”
You were about to open your mouth to say something when you realised that you weren’t quite sure how to word yourself. This was not a question you had been asked. Even when you were young, your father had only asked you to help your mother (because obviously he was too mighty to help out his wife), not him. Never him. Even when he had wanted you to take after him and be an engineer, he had literally never let you see the projects he had been working on. You had never done those experiments at home together that other kids who had nothing to do with physics had done with their parents.
“I mean… sure,” you blurted out, slightly uncertain, but even that was enough to light up his whole face.
“Cool. I might ask your opinion on some songs that I’ve been working on because I need a female’s perspective on it. I’m only working with dudes, and to be honest, I don’t want my lyrics to come across negatively to the most likely female listeners that will listen to it. If that makes sense.”
Mark’s whole monologue was said in one-go, and though he was clumsily trying to get to his point, you actually appreciated his idea. Huh, a male songwriter who cares about what female listeners would feel about his lyrics? How unlikely. How revolutionary for the male species!
“Okay,” you bobbed your head, giving in.
“Thanks. That would be awesome!” Mark hollered excitedly. At times like this, it was even harder to tell just how old he was because he looked like a kid at an amusement park. “I gotta go now though. See you soon!”
He bid his goodbye with a wave of his hands and a big smile, and all you could do was to watch him go down the stairs with the most perplexed expression ever.
Just who was this guy? And what was his deal?
Surely, he would show his flaws soon. He would make those remarks, go against your opinion, try to mansplain and make you regret that you had ever allowed him to talk to you.
Surely, it will happen soon.
Mark’s personality confused the hell out of you.
You were always ready for him to drop his act, to finally act like the douchebags you had the chance to meet previously, but it never came. Instead, he just appeared more and more… innocent, if you will.
As it turned out, he was the same age as you, but he was still in awe at random things like the project you were working on at work. One time, he even showed you the picture he took of the sunset, claiming that you just had to see it because it was the prettiest sunset he had ever seen. He said it with such enthusiasm, it felt like he had just won the lottery.
Then, there was his kind heart. Even though you had been suspicious at first, the boy had literally never said anything offensive to you, had never even looked at you any differently no matter what you wore or how much make-up you put on (as neighbours, he frequently bumped into you in your PJs as you were taking out the trash or in smart casual clothes when you were going to work). He was rather clumsy and silly at times, stumbling over his words and going on whole monologues about his point instead of getting straight to it, and he got shy more often than not when you challenged him with a question or gave him one of your trademark death stares.
He was… different. For the first time in your life, you had no idea how to act around a guy because you couldn’t diss him for who he was because he was a nice guy. He didn’t even bat an eye when you vented to him about men. In fact, he even took your side! So very strange…
Also, he did end up asking you for help with a couple of songs. He said that he wanted face-to-face feedback if you were up for it and suggested coming over to his flat, but the alarms went off in your head immediately. You told him ‘absolutely not’ and asked him to choose a neutral place instead - a coffee shop or a park, for instance.
So you ended up going to a coffee shop where one of his friends allegedly worked, and sat down at a table somewhere in the back. Right away, a tall guy appeared at your table and after a few ‘hey, dude, how have you been’ questions, Mark introduced you to his friend, Johnny.
“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Just so you know, you’re the first girl Mark brought here, so I have a feeling you must be special,” Johnny gave you an amused smile, but your eyes immediately averted to Mark’s who wanted to hide his face behind his hands.
“Dude, don’t embarrass me like that,” he whimpered, and truth to be told, the sight was kind of funny.
And cute.
Good god, not cute.
Not… cute.
“I was just stating facts,” Johnny shrugged (though Mark couldn’t see it because he was covering his face with his hands), and gave you a knowing look before he went behind the counter to get started on your drinks.
It took Mark a few seconds to pull himself together and be able to look you in the eyes. Not that you would take it the wrong way that you were the first girl he brought here. In fact, it showed you that he wasn’t the womanizer type, and this wasn’t the place he frequently brought girls to. Not that you were on a date or anything, but it was good to know. He could get a cookie point for it on your non-existent nice guy chart.
“Sorry about that. He’s too…”
“Honest?”
Mark let out a semi-awkward giggle before he answered.
“Well… yeah.”
It was evident from the way they interacted with each other that their friendship was very brotherly. Which made you curious about how they had met because Johnny did look older than him, and they apparently didn’t work at the same place either.
So you decided to ask the boy about it and he let you know that he actually lived across the street when he was at uni. Johnny had already worked here back then, and they had become friends almost immediately.
“Sometimes I feel like he treats me as if I was his little brother. Which is funny because neither of us have any siblings,” he shared casually before asking if you had siblings.
“I have a sister, but we don’t really talk to each other when it’s not necessary. She’s always been the favourite child and I was not.”
“Oh, shoot, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. I’ve never mentioned it, and it’s not your fault that it’s the way I was brought up,” you pointed out, your voice measured.
Others’ pity didn’t help your situation, but you had learned how to be okay with that. It took you a long time, but by disappointing people around you, you actually became the happiest, most authentic version of yourself. Turns out not everyone loved you for who you really were when you finally spoke up, stood up for yourself and chased your own dreams, but that was on them, not you.
“Still. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Mark said so apologetically that coupled with his big doe eyes, you found it difficult to contain the stoic facade you usually had on.
“It’s okay, Mark. It really is,” you reassured him, your voice more gentle than ever before.
The moment was interrupted by Johnny who showed up with the drinks, his eyebrows furrowed when he caught sight of your facial expressions.
“I’m sensing a tense atmosphere here. What happened?” Johnny asked first thing first as he started serving you the drinks.
“Nothing,” you said in unison with Mark, but that just made Johnny more suspicious. He squinted his eyes as he looked between you two before turning towards you.
“Let me know if you ever need better company than Mark’s.”
“Dude!” Mark said in that boyish, whining voice of his, and for the first time that day, you found yourself smiling at their antics. That seemed to put Johnny’s mind at ease because he walked up to another table instead, a smile hiding in the corner of his lips.
As you turned back to Mark, you prompted him to show you the songs that he had prepared.
“Oh, right. The songs. Silly me. That’s what we’re here for,” he singsonged giddily before he opened his laptop and smashed his keyboard a few times a bit too enthusiastically.
You brought your own noise-cancelling headphones, so after pairing it with his device, he started playing the songs for you one by one. You listened attentively, taking a few notes in your trusty notebook, and you discussed your feedback in between songs. Mark really did appreciate your comments, and he never seemed offended by what you said. Which was a relief because you hated men who told you how you should feel.
However, at one point, you couldn’t help but chuckle and slid your headphones off because you couldn’t continue with the song.
“What is this ‘long ass ride’ part?”
“Ah well…” He let out an awkward little giggle, his hand scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Is it bad?”
He blinked back at you with those chocolate-brown eyes of his, worried as if you were about to say that it was the worst piece of songwriting you had ever encountered in your entire life. He really did look so innocent at times.
“It was certainly… surprising,” you decided on the appropriate word before adding with a shrug. “But it’s not really a love song either way, so I guess it’s fine.”
He seemed so relieved by your comment that he gifted you with the widest, happiest smile you had seen from him, and you instinctively followed. How on Earth did this guy have this effect on you?
Either way, you weren’t here on a date, so your smiles didn’t mean anything. Even if Mark turned out to be a nice guy, it didn’t mean that you were in love with him or something. You had so many bad experiences with men around you (even without dating them) that you couldn’t just fall for a guy like him.
Interestingly so, even if you were neighbours with Mark, you didn’t usually bump into each other in the neighbourhood. Which was funny because you had a downstairs neighbour, Xiaojun, who lived together with his friend, Ten (and Ten’s three cats), and you always bumped into him when he was taking his dog for a walk. At least his dog (Bella) was pretty quiet, so her barking didn’t disturb the peace of the apartment, but you just couldn’t imagine how two guys with four pets managed to live together.
Either way, that particular Friday night, you spotted Mark sitting by himself beside the windows at the local GS25 with a steaming bowl of noodles in front of him. He seemed quite deep in thought or maybe he was in a bad mood. Either way, something in you moved at the boy’s apparent lack of spirits, and you decided to sit beside him when you were done filling up your own plastic cup with water.
“Hi Mark!” You greeted the boy as you halted beside him, but he just kept staring ahead, so you cleared your throat and repeated yourself.
He snapped his head back when he heard you, and gave you an apologetic smile.
“Oh hey, Y/N! I’m so sorry. I was totally zoning out. My bad.”
“It’s okay,” you shrugged because it was no big deal, really. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”
“Not at all,” Mark replied immediately and shook his head. He even adjusted his chair, so that you could have enough space for yourself by the table even though there was already plenty to begin with.
You were never really one to comfort people, especially not men. However, Mark had been nothing but kind and supportive towards you, and you felt like fighting anyone who might have caused his smile to turn into a frown, so you couldn’t help but inquire if everything was alright.
“Ah yeah… I just…” He started cautiously, scratching the back of his neck out of nervousness. He was usually bubbly and talkative, so seeing him not just nervous but sad as well did not sit right with you. “Well, a lot of my songs were rejected at today’s meeting, and it felt… not so good. They just said that the songs wouldn’t fit the artists they wanted them for, but no constructive feedback was given. And that wasn’t so helpful, you know? Like… how else am I going to… you know… improve?”
He was trying to hide behind a nervous chuckle, but you could tell that his features were solemn instead of soft and he was clenching his jaw as well. He was so not fine despite wanting to appear fine in front of you.
“And I know it’s silly because my songs get rejected all the time because that’s how the industry works, you know? Usually, it doesn’t affect me either. But today, it just hurt,” he admitted, his voice becoming quieter and quieter by the end of his monologue.
Then, he sucked in a deep breath, and if nothing had happened, he turned his head towards you and forced a smile onto his lips.
“How about you though? I’m sure you have bigger problems than I do,” he tried to direct the conversation elsewhere as soon as the confession was out, but you didn’t have any of it.
“Mark…” You started tentatively, trying to think about your wording, so you would get the message across and he wouldn’t feel even more disheartened. “It’s okay to talk about yourself. It’s okay if something hurts you even if you usually don’t take such things to heart. But it’s not okay to belittle your own problems because you think that someone else has bigger problems. Okay? You are a completely different person and you have a completely different life. There’s no use in comparing us to one another.”
This was something that you had to learn the hard way, and you wanted nothing more than to see everyone else adopt this mindset, too. The world would be a much better place if people didn’t bring each other down but rather celebrated each other’s success. Everyone was on such different paths, there was literally no use comparing yourself to others.
You used to compare yourself to your sister as well, wondering why she was the favourite child and why you weren’t, but as years went by and you started to become more in tune with your own emotions, you realised that you were chasing a fantasy. Sisterhood should have never been about being in a race or a competition, and even if it was, being second place didn’t mean that you were a bad person. It just meant that your parents created the rules differently for your sister.
Mark’s shoulders visibly slumped in ease and he unclenched his jaw. His lips began to form a pout and he let out a sigh before he spoke up.
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I guess it’s just hard since I’m surrounded by dudes all the time. They don’t really like to talk about emotions,” he pointed out what you had already assumed, but you were glad that he drew that conclusion himself.
“That’s why you’re better than them,” you blurted out without thinking twice about it, and Mark’s face literally reddened hearing your words.
“Oh, so you think I’m not like other boys?” He teased you playfully, the dimples around his lips deepening. The sudden change in his behaviour put your mind at ease, but being called out didn’t feel so good, so you turned back to your noodles and urged the boy to do the same before his food would get cold.
While having cheap convenience store food, you talked about everything from work to hobbies, misogyny to sustainability, childhood memories to future goals. Mark was an easy person to talk to because he had something to say about everything, but you meant it in the best way possible. He wasn’t trying to mansplain anything, he was rather conversational and curious, and someone willing to share so much about his life. He never wanted to tell you what you should think even if you didn’t agree with him on something, and he was such a down-to-earth person. A guy who was down-to-earth… now that was a big thing in your eyes.
He was also really funny and had a childlike innocence to him. He also used big hand gestures and made funny noises when reacting to things. You couldn’t really put it into words, but the way he saw the world was both mature and full of that kind of curiosity that kids possessed. You had long lost that kind of curiosity in the world, in the little things in life, in the positivity hiding behind the negativity. You were usually focused on major problems like global warming and gender inequality, but he did see the good in everyday interactions and he did see the good in people. You wished that you could see the world through his eyes a bit more, too.
After talking for what felt like hours, you ended up walking home together, but before you would have opened the door to your flat, Mark called after you and thanked you for today.
“Anytime,” you responded with a smile, and you were surprised to realise that you were actually being serious.
You didn’t help Mark with his lyrics to get something in return, but the boy kept telling you that he wanted to repay you, especially after doing a couple more sessions together when you helped him finetune his words.
Obviously, Johnny was there to witness the other sessions too, and you caught him staring at you two whenever he wasn’t serving customers. Which could have been scary and outright creepy under different circumstances, but he was a nice guy, and he really acted like a big brother to Mark, so you had a feeling that he was just watching over you two. Plus, you generated some extra income for him and the coffee shop because the sessions did stretch for a couple of hours at times, so he really couldn’t complain.
At first, the boy just kept dropping things off in front of your door - such as your favourite brand of mango juice or your favourite flavour of Pepero -, then, he kept paying for your drinks at the coffee shop. Then, he ended up asking you if he could take you somewhere, but it would be a secret, so you couldn’t know beforehand where it was. When you told him that you hated surprises, he insisted that you would enjoy it.
And oh boy, was he right… Because the guy literally took you to the very same exhibition that you had wanted to attend the day later, the one about gender inequality globally and in Korea, dissecting topics like the underfunding regarding women’s healthcare research, gender pay gaps in the workplace, the freedom (or the lack thereof) of women’s clothing choices back in the day vs modern times and such. It was an exhibition put together by sociology students from two Korean universities and their partner universities in Europe, and displayed at an art gallery where mostly men’s art pieces were shown, further encouraging conversation around these issues.
“You like it?” Mark inquired tentatively when you set foot inside the art gallery (after getting lost because he was terrible with directions), and when you looked at him, he appeared genuinely nervous, biting down on his lower lip as if he was ready for a scolding.
Which, to be fair, wasn’t unwarranted coming from you, but this time, your lips curled into a smile, and your voice was free of sarcasm when you admitted:
“I love it! This is an exhibition I’ve also wanted to attend!”
“Oh my gosh, really?” Mark’s eyes widened to twice their size before he let out a joyous giggle. “Gosh, I’m so relieved. I was scared for a second when you didn’t say anything,” he confessed truthfully, his eyes twinkling with mirth. You joined in on the laughter before sharing with him that you were actually at a loss for words because you were surprised that he knew about this event in the first place.
Mark chatted your ears off about how he had come to find out about this exhibition, and what other ideas he had in mind to repay you for your help. Some were more fitting for your personality than others, and you laughed when he mentioned that it had even crossed his mind that you should have attended one of Johnny’s barista workshops because he was sure that you wouldn’t hear the end of it from the older guy if you had ended up attending it. Though Mark was more afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you (and Johnny) than you actually being there with him.
The exhibition was fascinating, but Mark’s presence did make it even better because he was his usual curious self and oftentimes asked you if you felt the same way about the experiences that were shared or admitted that he didn’t even know about such inequalities when it came to women. Most men you knew would never admit that they were in the wrong, but he was unashamed about it, and you loved that about him.
Wait, what?
Love?
No, nope… not in that way, of course. You loved that about his personality, that was a better way to put it.
After the exhibition, you headed to a coffee shop together, and as you were waiting for your drinks to arrive, you asked the question that had been on your mind for quite some time now.
“Why don’t you ask about it?”
“About what?” He asked back, his eyebrows furrowed in question. He looked genuinely perplexed, but you were more surprised by the fact that he hadn’t yet inquired about the reason behind your hatred towards men.
“About why I hate men so much,” you stated (what seemed like) the obvious, and his features softened hearing your words.
“You don’t have to tell me anything that you aren’t comfortable sharing. Besides, I’m sure you have your own reasons, I know some men can be real jerks,” he shrugged as if it was common knowledge, but yet again, you were at a loss for words because how could you object? How could you go against his words?
You simply couldn’t because he was yet again being understanding and empathetic, and given that you had not really encountered men who had admitted such things, you weren’t sure how to react. On the other hand, you were saved by the barista who showed up with your drinks, and gave you some time to think.
You decided on telling him the reason either way. About how you had not had a positive male figure growing up; about your father’s obsession with getting you into engineering and his disapproval when you had chosen to do a degree in finance; about your grandfather never really caring about you even before he became an alcoholic; about your uncles being lazy and controlling and not helping out their wives at home, even when they had kids they could have taken care of. You had talked about high school classmates who had objectified women and watched porn during breaks besides the sports field, and men during your time abroad who had looked down on you simply because you were a woman studying finance.
Mark was big on reactions, and even though he was listening attentively, he couldn’t hold himself back from saying things like “Whaaaat, that’s crazy” or “Oh my god, are you being for real? That’s insane” when you had told him what you had been through. Of course, not every single male had been a complete jackass in your life, and you made sure to point that out, but the ones who should have been role models and who should have set good examples were exactly the ones that had made you feel small, uncared for and easy to control.
Mark apologised on behalf of all the men who had wronged you before, and said that he completely understood why you acted the way you did. Then, he added that he hoped that he could set a good example, and show you that not all men were bad.
“Don’t worry. You aren’t in that category,” you eased his nerves as you turned towards him, and he gifted you with the kind of smile that also made his dimples visible.
“I’m glad then.”
So were you.
But you were equally concerned about what your feelings might have been hinting at, and you weren’t sure that you were ready to face them head-on, so you turned back to nursing your drink instead, and let the conversation steer towards a different topic.
One would think that just because you hated most men, you also hated romcoms.
However, you were actually a big fan of romantic movies, dramas and books because fictional men were way better than real ones. Fictional men couldn’t cheat on you, disrespect you or disappoint you as real men could, so what could go wrong?
That Friday too, you were binge-watching a newly dropped Netflix series when you heard muffled sounds from the corridor. You usually didn’t pay attention to such noises because you lived with others, so it was natural that they made some noise. Mark was usually quiet, but it was odd that he would talk to someone outside of his flat for more than a few minutes close to midnight.
So after you gave it a couple more minutes, you decided to look through your peephole to see what Mark was doing, and realise that he was actually not with someone, he was talking to himself.
The boy was swaying in front of his front door, dramatically clutching his chest while singing something about not remembering the numbers (what a weird thing to sing about), and you could already tell from his miniature version through the peephole that he was drunk.
You opened your door much to the boy’s surprise who almost stumbled over his own feet when he turned around to face you.
“Oh heeey theeeeere,” he singsonged giddily and hiccuped after his words.
You rolled your eyes at his antics but to be fair, you were more afraid of him falling down the stairs than him making a bigger fool out of himself.
“What are you doing out here, Mark?”
He pouted like a little child, his eyes shining dreamily, and even his cheeks were tinted pink, so there was no way you would not call the sight cute even though he had very obviously underestimated his limit and you usually didn’t condemn such behaviour.
“I forgot the numbers to my doorlock,” he whimpered, looking back at his front door with such a sad expression that you would have thought somebody died.
Oh, so those were the numbers he was singing about…
You tried to ask him if it was his birthday or his parents’ birthday or anything like that, but he said that he had tried everything that he could think of. He faintly remembered having it changed recently, but he couldn’t recall as to what the new combination was.
“Oh my god… do you think I’m going to have to sleep on the streets? Alone? In the rain?”
His voice was so desperate (yet dramatic), you had a feeling that his tipsy self actually believed it to be true. That’s when you noticed that he was already wet, tiny raindrops sitting on his pitch-black hair, and the sleeves of his puffer jacket was darker than usual.
“Stupid, stupid me… why did I change the numbers? I mean, I had to… for security reasons or whatever the doorlock company said, but argh…”
Mark continued acting like a child, complaining about his lack of memory regarding the new combination, but when he started saying that he will just sleep on the floor in the corridor, an alarm went off in your head, and you immediately said something that you would have never thought you would say to a man:
“Are you crazy? Stay at my flat instead!”
Despite his drunken state, the guy looked as shocked as his sober self would, and his eyes widened as well. Then, he drooped his head low and mumbled something akin to:
“But I don’t want you to hate me.”
“Don’t be silly! I don’t hate you, and you better believe it because I wouldn’t offer such a thing to someone I hate,” you stated matter-of-factly.
He still seemed pretty reluctant, but when you opened the door wider to let him inside, he tentatively walked in and immediately started taking off his shoes. Gosh, he had manners even when he was drunk…
You gave him a pair of unused slippers, and beckoned him inside. He looked around as if he was Alice in Wonderland while you were busy getting him some water and some towels for his hair from the bathroom. When you went back to the living room, he was sitting on your couch, looking at a framed photo of you with your peers on your graduation day abroad.
“There were so many guys in your class just like you’ve said,” he pointed out when you put the glass of water on the table in front of him. It was pretty amusing that he remembered such a small thing that you had said to him a while aho but not his new doorlock combination.
“Groupworks were pretty gruesome. None of the guys really wanted to pull their weight.”
“Ah, such a shame…” Mark noted as he put the photo back on the table. “Your parents must have been so proud,” he added as he turned towards you, but when he saw the change in your expression, he hit his forehead with his right hand. So dramatic, even when tipsy!
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I just remembered that your father didn’t approve of your studies. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
“It’s alright. My mother actually said that she was proud of me when I graduated, so there’s that,” you shared with him, and that seemed to put his mind at ease.
Instead of dissecting your graduation story, you inquired why he had been drinking so much. He said that one of his songs got an award, and he was really proud of it, but because he wasn’t the artist, he wasn’t invited to the ceremony, and only got to know about it at work, so he and his colleagues went out for some drinks to celebrate.
“I swear I started with apple juice!” He tried to save some face, but you just shook your head.
“Sure…” You replied, but there was a smile in the corner of your lips. “Now, dry your hair and drink some water!” You practically ordered him, but you didn’t want him to catch a cold. Or to wake up with a throbbing headache tomorrow morning.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He saluted for you and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Gosh, he was really something.
However, Mark was quite childish when tipsy, and though he did gulp down the glass of water you had given him, he was fussy about the towels. He said that he wasn’t even that wet and that he was actually more sleepy than cold, but you just rolled your eyes at him as you reached for the towel.
“At least don’t wet my couch,” you reprimanded him before starting to dry his hair yourself, but you realised at the same time as him how awfully domestic this scene was because he suddenly seemed all too sober, his foggy expression replaced by a surprised one.
However, instead of making a comment on your odd behaviour, he blurted out something that no one had ever told you before.
“I’m so sorry that men have been such jerks to you. You deserve better. You’re such a wonderful person,” he confessed gently, and though it was rare that you were rendered speechless by a man’s actions, you were unable to form a response. What is more, you felt a squeezing sensation around your heart.
You were staring into each others’ eyes for what felt like an eternity before his sudden hiccups ruined the mood and you decided to drop the towel on the edge of the couch. The boy picked it up himself this time and ended up drying his hair to a pretty chaotic mess but at least it wasn’t wet anymore.
“The bathroom is to the right. If you need anything, just knock on my door. I’m a pretty light sleeper,” you told him before turning away and closing yourself in your room, your heart hammering away rapidly.
Thankfully, Mark didn’t make things awkward the next day. He profoundly apologised for his behaviour and ended up gifting you a hamper box as a token of his apology two days later with all your favourite things (which, by this point, didn’t surprise you because he was perceptive like that).
On the other hand, you weren’t sure what to do with your feelings because surely, you should have been frustrated, angry and disappointed. You never liked people who drank too much (mostly because of your grandfather), and you definitely wouldn’t let just any man sleep over at your place. However, Mark was not just any man, and somehow, his tipsy antics didn’t put you off. Rather, you found it endearing. The thought itself should have disgusted you, and you were very surprised by how you were feeling, so you tried to give yourself enough time to ponder over it.
After all, Mark was the first and only guy you let close to yourself, and he went against anything you had against men in general. He had never acted like a walking red flag, had never disrespected you (or for that matter, any women), and he had seemed so genuine, you were sure that he wasn’t just acting. He was curious and empathetic, and yes, he was a bit silly and childlike, but not in a bad way.
On the other hand, you had always been alone, and your experiences with men were rather disappointing, so you had never imagined yourself beside anyone, let alone a man. You had never liked any boy either, not as a crush, not as a boyfriend. You had been perfectly fine on your own, and even though admitting to yourself that you liked Mark was nowhere near a confession, you were kind of torn about what the next step should be. After all, just because you liked Mark didn’t mean that he liked you back even though his words and actions sometimes made you think so.
Your unsaid questions were answered when you bumped into Xiaojun one day who was taking Bella on a walk while you were walking back to your flat after work.
“Hey, Y/N!” The guy greeted you cheerily, and as he halted in front of you, Bella also followed suit and started sniffing your shoes enthusiastically.
“Hi Xiaojun!” You greeted him back before crouching down to pet his dog. Sometimes you wondered if your love for dogs replaced your love for men because you sure would have liked spending more time with dogs.
You had a little chit-chat about work and Bella before Xiaojun’s question made you freeze for a moment.
“You’re coming to Hendery’s wedding, right?”
“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows in question, sending him a deadpan look.
“Hendery and Ahyun’s wedding, you know,” he looked back at you quizzically, but that didn’t help your case one bit. You still had no idea what he was talking about. The name ‘Hendery’ rang a bell (was it one of Mark’s colleagues?), but the girl’s name… not so much.
“I don’t know whom you are talking about.”
The guy let out a surprised ‘huh’ before he asked a question that yet again made you confused.
“Mark hasn’t asked you to be his plus one yet?” He quirked an eyebrow, but you just shook your head hearing his words.
You stopped petting Bella to be able to stand up and look him in the eye for further explanation. As if hit by lighting, the guy hit his forehead with his hand before he exclaimed as if he had set something on fire:
“Oh shit… I shouldn’t have told you that. Mark asked me to keep it a secret.”
He looked genuinely remorseful, but you were more intrigued by the ‘why’ behind Mark’s actions than Xiaojun’s guilt.
“Why would he want to bring me as a plus one though?” You questioned as you laced your arms in front of your chest, becoming uneasy.
You were sure that you had not met the said Hendery or the said Ahyun, but if Mark wanted to bring you as a plus one to their wedding, he must have been serious about it. He wasn’t flimsy about these things, especially because he knew how much you hated surprises and last minute plans.
“Because he likes you,” Xiaojun shrugged as if it was common sense, but when he caught sight of your flushed cheeks and your surprised expression, he hit himself on the forehead yet again.
“Damnit, I shouldn’t have told you that either. He hasn’t told you yet how he feels, has he?” He asked for confirmation, and you shook your head in return.
He let out an aghast sigh, so loudly that even Bella perched up, wondering what her owner was so dramatic about.
“Oh no… I just ruined everything for him. He said he wants to wait until he feels like you’re ready to hear his confession because he wants to respect your feelings, and he doesn’t want to force you to reciprocate his feelings. Oh gosh! Act like you haven’t heard anything,” he frantically shook his hands in front of his chest and immediately made an excuse about having to take Bella closer to a green area because she had that pooping face on her.
Poor dog looked so confused at the mention of her name, and though you knew Xiaojun was chaotic like this, you would have never thought that you would one day get to know that Mark liked you back thanks to his loose mouth.
The remaining question was how to let Mark know about it, too.
The thought of confronting Mark about what you had heard didn’t entirely scare you. It was rather unsettling because you had no idea how to bring up the topic and also admit that you liked him back without him thinking that you were joking.
You knew that you could come off rather standoffish and stiff, and you wanted nothing else than the boy to think that you weren’t serious or worse, that you wanted to make fun of his feelings. Of course, you didn’t care about men’s feelings on the daily because if they said something rude or misogynistic, women weren’t allowed to feel hurt, but if a woman said something slightly offensive about men, they were ready to start a revolution.
However, Mark was different. You had to realise that you did care about his feelings because he deserved it. That wasn’t an easy feat when it came to you, but you genuinely cared whether your words hurt him or not, because he was so gentle and kind and honestly too good for this world. You weren’t even sure how he had ended up liking you, but if he did, who were you to question his feelings? You felt the same way, so you should have been happy.
On the other hand, you had never done anything like this before, and being sentimental wasn’t your forte either. So you decided on sleeping on it, but it seemed like someone had other plans because Mark ended up knocking on your door about an hour after your encounter with Xiaojun.
You had just finished putting in a load of laundry and were about to have some dinner when you heard the frantic knocking on the door, and instead of a busybody neighbour fussing about the upcoming residents’ meeting or an elderly lady asking you to help her cat get off a shelf (both had happened before), it was the boy with the big doe eyes who turned up on the other side of your door.
“Hey! Do you have a minute?” Mark asked, panting as if he had run up the stairs. You furrowed your eyebrows in question, but he seemed rather indignant, so it was either about something unexpected or Xiaojun had confessed everything to him and he wanted to come clean.
Either way, you weren’t one to be suspicious of his intentions. Not anymore.
“Sure,” you bobbed your head and invited him inside.
You had not done so since the day he had drunkenly sung to himself in front of his own flat after forgetting the password to his doorlock, but you deemed this matter quite urgent and personal if he came up to your door without asking about it via text beforehand.
“Thanks,” Mark let out a long sigh before he walked inside.
You closed the door behind him and turned to him, totally expecting him to already make himself comfortable on the couch or maybe by the kitchen table, but instead, he just stood there, frozen, as if his mind had drawn a blank.
“Are you okay?” You quirked an eyebrow, slightly concerned. The boy, as if woken from a stupor, started talking so fast that you could barely follow.
“Look, I know that Xiaojun has told you about Hendery and Ahyun’s wedding. I know he has spilled the beans that I wanted to ask you to be my plus one. Hendery is one of my colleagues, by the way, he is a songwriter and producer on the team, and Ahyun, you probably know her by the name ‘Little Miss’. The solo singer, you know. Hendery has contributed to a lot of her songs as did I, as you know because you helped me with some of her lyrics…”
“Mark, breathe!” You reminded him with a slightly amused smile, and though the boy let his lips curl upwards for a few seconds, his features returned to solemn afterwards.
“So anyways, he’s also told me that he’s told you that I like you, and that’s why I wanted you to come with me to the wedding. But I was hesitant, and I am still hesitant whether you like me back, and you know that I would never, ever force you to do something that you don’t want to. Let that be accompanying me to the wedding or liking me back. And I also know how much you hate men and even though I like you that doesn’t mean that you have to like me, too. But since he’s already-”
“Mark, I like you, too,” you broke his monologue, but he was so lost in his own monologue that the words just seemed to fly over his head.
“Told me about what happened, I was like, might as well let her know that it’s cool if she doesn’t like me-” This was the point Mark’s whole demeanour changed, and the first flicker of hope glinted in his chocolate-brown eyes. “Wait, did you just say you like me?” His eyes grew to twice their size, completely appalled.
It was funny how much you had agonised over you finally coming clean with your feelings towards him, and yet, all it took was a simple sentence to actually make it real.
“Yes, I did. I like you too, Mark Lee.”
Mark was frozen for a moment, then he started giggling, and then, he finished off his performance with a long sigh. He shared with you that he had been running all the way from the first floor where he had talked to Xiaojun in-person after his friend had frantically texted him regarding your encounter with him.
“I could guess that much,” you blurted out with a smile, and that was enough to ease the tension in the air. The boy let out a chuckle before his lips finally pulled into a boyish grin.
“So are we good then?”
“We’re good,” you hummed. “And if the date is okay with me, I’ll be happy to be your plus one for the wedding,” you added on a second note, and he seemed like he had just won the lottery.
“Oh gosh, I can’t believe it! I’m so happy. I thought Xiaojun had blown up everything for me,” he admitted candidly, and you couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up in your throat.
“I mean, if he hadn’t told me that you like me, I might not have been sure enough to bring it up myself, so I think we should thank him one day,” you pointed out and even though you knew that Mark felt the same way, he went on a whole monologue about how long he had known that he liked you (since you had comforted him in the GS25 after his lyrics had been rejected without constructive feedback), and how he had even changed his doorlock’s password to the day that you two had met, but completely forgot about it when drunk, but was too ashamed to say anything about it afterwards, so he was glad that you didn’t ask about it.
“That’s so corny… but it’s also very much something that you would do,” you admitted before you asked the boy if he wanted to have some dinner with you.
Needless to say, he was more than happy to join you, and he even said that it was the best day of his life.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine. Let me know what you think. I'm always happy to hear your feedback. 😊
Header taken from this Mark vlog.
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➳ NCT masterlist
I started writing this story before Mark's announcement to leave NCT, so I will put the story into the NCT masterlist for the time being. However, I might move it to the 'Other' masterlist that contains soloists' stories and Kdrama fics in the future, so just a heads-up!
it’s a late night out with the boys, and all haechan wants is to take take you home…
✦ genre/tw est.relationship! disgusting levels of fluff!! haechan being the sweetest bf in the world! kisses, petnames, and talks of marriage!! reader has hair long enough to run your fingers through! unedited!!
✦ w/c 1301
✦ a/n i haven’t written for haechannie in maybe a year, but i missed him sm and im sooo excited for the comeback so here this is!! i hope you love it and it brings you the kind of quiet comfort that haechan brings in this fic <3 please remember to reblog and tell me how you feel!! xoxo
masterlist | requests now open!!
“I think he really loves you,” Mark says, his voice terribly honest, yours viciously hopeful in your response:
“You think?”
“Yeah, I mean… I’ve never seen him so quiet before.” Mark knows this could be seen as a bad thing, that Donghyuck’s usually vivacious personality being tuned to zero could be perceived as negative—like he wasn’t acting like himself—but he means that he seems more himself than ever before. The way your boyfriend looks at you, gentle and adoring, the way his energy hums with content rather than the erratic confidence it usually has… He’s fully inhabiting himself, instead of that familiar persona their job coats him in. “It’s like, he couldn’t get to sleep and now he’s finally resting.”
When you were little you thought love was shown in loud moments, when there’s nothing left to try but true loves kiss. You thought it would be like a fast paced pop song or a race car going off the tracks, but it’s not really…
“He makes me feel like that too,” you say shyly, looking across the room at where Donghyuck is laughing with Johnny. Sometimes, you feel so anxious you can’t eat or sleep, and can barely get the words out to ask for help… Yet, one look from your love and the world quiets.
You used to think love wakes things up, but really it lulls everything else to sleep. It’s just you and him, all alone in bed, serene and peaceful like a lullaby.
Your love is not found in those golden hour moments of heat and want, it’s in the blue, when the world is quiet and all you can hear is your breath.
Mark looks at you and smiles, a large goofy one that he usually only gives to Chenle or Jisung. His hand comes up to ruffle your hair and he tells you, earnest even in its humor, “I better be the best man at your wedding.”
It brings a swarm of evil insects to your tummy to think about marrying Hyuck, it would be too amazing—everything you’ve ever wanted. The nerves crawl up your spine and implant themselves in your chest cavity, the thought too brilliant to let yourself think of it calmly. Hyuck would look so beautiful, standing before you and your family and promising to love you forever… you could envision the way he would look, as pretty as a sunrise.
You turn to look at him again, watching as he moves closer to you, eyes sweeping over your figure. Every step closer to you is another deep breath, in and out… in and out…
“Whose wedding?” Hyuck asks, emerging beside you as easy as a breeze.
He’s so handsome today, bronze skin shining under the lamps, his heart shaped lips folding themselves into a large smile. Having him next to you eases the butterflies, that familiar quiet finding a home deep in your chest. If Mark notices the change in you, he doesn’t show it, he just quietly watches you both—a secret smile playing on his mouth.
“Yours obviously,” he says.
“Aish, Mark Lee, don’t get too excited.” Haechan’s eyes glint with mischief, his mouth curving into a sinister crescent moon. “You’re gonna have to wait a while, I won’t be a child bride.”
Your heart surges, it kills you to hear that surefire confidence—the way he’s talking about your future like something that isn’t in question, like it's going to happen no matter what.
Their conversation goes on for a while, going back and forth between jokes and the most disgusting displays of love two boys could show. You find yourself zoning out, falling into a deep calm of thoughts—all about him. Hyuck’s just so wonderful, so pretty in the lowlight of the bar. You can feel his hands softly flow through your hair, nipping the skin behind your ear with his fingers.
He loves you like this, soft and pliant in his hands, a flower he can put between the pages of a book and preserve forever. He wants to take you home, wrap you up in his blankets and clothes, and consume all of the soft kisses and sighs he can conjure out of you. It’s been eating at him all day, from the second you got out of your jammies and into your tight moonlit dress. He wishes he didn’t have to share you with anyone, wishes he could open his chest and move you in between his ribs.
It’s not that he doesn’t want anyone to see you together, he doesn’t want to keep you a secret—rather he wants to keep you safe; a fire is dangerous when there's too much oxygen.
“You okay, honey?” he whispers to you, drawing you in closer against his side.
You realize you’re alone, Mark back with all the boys—you can see him, giggling with Jaemin over something Renjun said. Hyuck is still smiling, but its softer now, the smile he only gives you.
“I’m okay, baby, just tired.”
“We can go home whenever you want,” He tells you, his eyes soft with affection. His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs swiping the slopes of your cheek bones. If you were paying enough attention you’d notice the soft touches were in time with the song playing through the bar speakers… if you were paying more attention you’d see the boys looking over at you with barely concealed fondness, but as it is, you’re only looking at him.
“Okay, baby,” you say, voice soft and flushed with romance. “Take me home.”
Your words make him flush and smile wider than a full moon, how he loves knowing that home is together—he wishes he could snap his fingers and get you there faster, do without having to call a car and walk up the steps to your door. He would do anything to have you alone and warm under the covers, make any choice if it brings that moment closer.
He adores you any and every way that you come, yet the version of you now, makeup smudged and warm from one too many moscow mules, is a close favorite. You’re so special to him, a starfall that crash landed into his life, a parade of colors behind his eyes.
“I love you, honey bee.” He says, voice so quiet you can barely hear him, “You’ll let me tuck you in won’t you?” His smile is coming closer, hiding kisses in your hair and drawing secret hearts on the skin above your belt.
“I’ll let you tuck me in, Hyuckie,” You tell him, grinning as his kisses move closer to your lips—awkwardly swiping against your nose and cheeks before landing a toothful kiss onto your grin. “Just remember my goodnight kiss…”
He smiles infinitely bigger, if that's even possible, kissing you through his quiet giggles and replies,
“And your lullaby too, huh?”
You love him you love him you love him…
Quietly and loudly and everything in between, you love everything about him—in dreams and memories, in the daylight and once the stars come out… you love him so much.
You can’t wait to be in bed next to him, sharing smiles and breath, mirror images intertwined into and around each other.
“Don’t forget my bedtime story, baby.” You say, giggling as he nips your nose.
“I would never baby, I'm already writing it now,”
You can vaguely hear the boys heckling you, making kissy sounds and gagging, but the only thing that seems important is the way he’s looking at you. He loves you, you know he does, but you’ve never been so sure of it until now.
“I love you,” you tell him, and you know by the look in his eyes and the way his lips lift as they meet yours that he feels the same.
pairing: brother’s friend! haechan x friend’s sister! reader
word count: 12k+
warnings: nothing really, just making out. lots of kisses. an are you gay? joke. some curse words. alcohol. clubbing.
an: i haven’t stopped listening to drop dead since it came out and i fr just had to lock in and write something about it. this may or may not be based on real life events, real conversations, real crushes, real hotel rooms. who knows? (i know)
🏹
a brother’s friend is off limits. a friend’s sister? definitely off limits. it’s one of those unspoken rules everyone just knows.
and your younger brother — sweet, oblivious, far too trusting with the men around him — made the wrong move.
it’s not his fault.
the two of you were only three years apart and life’s circumstances forced you to become best friends. and as the best of friends, you ended up here — in a fully paid hotel room his rich friend invited him to. all expenses covered.
a little suspicious? maybe.
but you’re not one to pass up on free things. especially a free night stay at a four star hotel.
and, really — you’re practically just one of the guys.
…except for the tiny, inconvenient detail that you might have a tiny crush on his so-called rich friend — lee haechan.
“so,” giselle’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, “that haechan guy is kinda cute. definitely your type.”
you already know that.
“hm…he’s alright,” you shrug, forcing a careless tone as you drag your eyeliner across your lid. too long. you wipe it with concealer. too short. you redraw it. a repetitive cycle until you finally accept that your eyeliner are sisters, not twins.
“ugh!” she flops dramatically onto her bed — the room comes with two double beds, courtesy of haechan, which she refuses to stop bringing up. “you always say that. when are you finally getting a boyfriend?”
you laugh. because she’s not the only one in your friend group waiting for that miracle to happen.
“please, i’m so tired of boys,” you say, lining your lips now, “i swear — there’s no real men nowadays. they all act like princesses.”
“girl, he might be different!” she insists, sitting up now, eyes wide. “just make the first move. i swear, with how pretty you are? he’ll be wrapped around your finger in seconds,” she continues, adorably pouting up at you.
you don’t know why your friends are so obsessed with your nonexistent love life. you barely think about it at all. at least, not as much as they seem to.
“no fucking way,” you reply, smacking your lips together as you finish with your gloss, “you know i’m old fashioned.”
“fine! whatever,” she groans.
her phone rings on the nightstand she’s occupied, finally taking her attention off of you.
instantly, her entire demeanor softens.
“hi my love,” she coos at her phone and you almost snort.
you can’t even imagine yourself talking like that. to a boy. ever.
“yeah, baby, i’m just gonna go to the club for a bit with y/n and her brother and a couple of their friends, i promise i’ll be back at the hotel before 2 a.m.”
ew. updates like that? like she’s reporting to a parent? the thought makes you scrunch your nose. could never be you.
“oki, yes, i’ll call you later taro, i love you.”
she hangs up, all dreamy-eyed and glowing, catching your gaze in the mirror. you gag dramatically, sticking your tongue out, and she laughs, throwing a pillow straight at your head.
“but seriously,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows.
“seriously what?”
“why are we even invited to this?” she gestures around the room, “we’re the only two girls here. and i’m only here because of you — he has to be at least a little interested in you to book us a room.”
you shrug, refusing to agree, even though a small part of you knows that lee haechan may also have a tiny crush on you, too.
because there was that moment.
that stupid, lingering four seconds when your eyes met for the first time. you didn’t even say hi then. there were no introductions. no words. but you felt it. crazy, as that sounds.
even crazier when you take in the fact that you only really formally met him earlier today — at the hotel lobby. when he waved at you, awkwardly, passed you your hotel room card and personally walked you and giselle up your room, which was, coincidentally, right next to his.
“jisung probably just forced him to include us,” you say, still pretending the boy had no effect on you, “and everyone knows no one can say no to my brother.”
giselle laughs, “yeah i guess…your brother is just too adorable to say no to.”
you scrunch your nose up again…because…ew. if only they knew how annoying that little shit actually is.
“we still have three hours until we need to get to the club,” you say, glancing at your watch, “wanna check out the hotel?”
giselle nods immediately, already halfway off the bed before you even finish your sentence.
the two of you wander through the hotel. pool first, then the gym, then the café where you linger a little too long pretending to consider overpriced pastries you both know you’re not buying. eventually, you make your way up to the rooftop, the view stretching out in gold and glass and city noise.
it would’ve been perfect. if it wasn’t so hot. like, offensively hot. the kind that clings to your skin and melts your makeup no matter how hard you try to salvage it.
“okay, no,” giselle groans, fanning herself with her hand. “i’m gonna pass out.”
“same,” you laugh, already turning back toward the elevator, “let’s go back.”
by the time you reach your floor, you’re both a little flushed, a little sticky, and very ready for air conditioning.
but as you walk down the hallway, something catches your attention — the door to haechan’s room is wide open.
and before you can even pretend not to notice — chenle, your personal favorite friend of your brothers’, pops out.
“hey! come in—we’re just pregaming,” he says, his kitty-like smile beaming at you, whiskers and everything. and how could you say no to that actual cutie?
the room smells faintly of alcohol and cologne, the table cluttered with half-empty bottles of vodka and mixers, some sadboi/fuckboi playlist humming through the speakers. and the boys are all sprawled out in different parts of the room.
your brother was by the window, one hand in his pocket while jaemin angles a camera at him like he’s shooting a magazine spread. jeno’s on the bed, head down, thumbs moving across his phone — probably texting that situationship jisung told you all about. renjun’s seated neatly in the corner chair, sipping from his bottle like he doesn’t belong in the chaos at all. then there’s someone new, someone you didn’t meet in the hotel lobby earlier.
and of course, lee haechan — with his back against the wall, a bottle in hand, standing coolly, chatting softly with renjun.
you’re not sure if that’s his natural habitat or if he’s putting up a front for you but you come to a conclusion quickly — you don’t really like it. he seems different from the first time you ever saw him. like he’s trying to be someone he’s not. but then again, you don’t even know who he is.
“hey, i’m mark,” the new guy says, bringing your attention back to him.
mark’s cute. his leather jacket fits him perfectly and he seems like the friendly/outgoing type which are the type of people you enjoy the most since you’re not too friendly yourself.
“i’m y/n,” you say, returning his smile, “this is my friend, giselle.”
she waves at everyone before sitting at the unoccupied bed and starting a conversation with mark. she asks him what his major is. he asks her about her job. leaving you standing there.
your brother, who has now finally realized you were in the room turns towards your voice, and you look at him.
“i can’t believe you guys started pregaming without us.”
“oops,” he shrugs, giving you a gummy smile. you notice jaemin’s camera is pointed at you now. you throw it a small peace sign with the signature duck lips — something you’ve embarrassingly conditioned yourself to do every time a camera is on you.
“here,” a voice captures your attention and your eyes are on the bottle haechan is handing you.
to be fair — he is the closest one to you, geographically speaking, so it’s only right he was handing you a bottle.
you inspect it. it’s quite literally — green.
“uhm…that look’s disgusting,” you say, a playful, totally not flirtatious, lilt in your voice.
he chuckles softly, holding the bottle out closer, “just try it, it’s not that bad.”
“how do i know if i can trust you?” you continue the playful nature, an eyebrow going up, the tiny smile on your face purposefully evident so he knows you’re kidding.
and he plays along with you. his mouth curving slowly, amused.
“guess you’ll just have to take that risk,” he smirks, still holding the bottle out to you.
you huff out a quiet laugh, finally taking the bottle from his hand and bringing it up to your lips, ignoring the fact that this was, technically — an indirect kiss.
but whatever.
you’re too old to be giggling about indirect kisses.
you’re delightfully surprised when the alcohol hits your tongue, eyes flicking back up to him immediately, and he’s already watching you. like he never looked away in the first place. waiting.
“what did you put in this?” you ask, narrowing your eyes slightly.
“can’t tell you, it’s a secret ingredient,” he teases.
“okay, mr. krabs,” you scoff, taking another sip, trying to decipher what the flavor is…until it finally clicks, “it’s lime tang, isn’t?”
he gives you a small chuckle. it’s cute.
“ahh,” he hums, clicking his tongue, “and here i thought you’d spend your whole life trying to pry the secret from me.”
you roll your eyes, and you hate the way you can feel your smile getting wider.
over a boy.
yuck.
“someone’s a little too obsessed with spongebob,” you mutter, “but i do have to give it to you haechan, this is pretty good.”
you hand the bottle back to him. but he doesn’t take it.
“keep it,” he says, gently pushing it back towards you, his hands soft, “it’s yours now.”
you hesitate for half a second, “…thanks.”
your fingers tighten around the bottle and for a moment, the two of you just — look at each other. and there it is again. that same pull from the four second eye contact when you first saw him at your brother’s university.
eventually, you have to force yourself to look away because his gaze is too much. and you don’t like it. too aware of all the people around you. too aware of the fact that your brother was just right there.
so you turn, slipping away before it lingers enough for the others to notice, dropping down beside giselle on the bed. she’s mid conversation with mark, chenle and renjun who joined at some point, you didn’t even notice.
and you fall into it easily. laughing. talking. blending in like you always do.
🏹
when everyone was dressed up and ready, you all met at the lobby once again. you kept it simple, not wanting to make it look like you were trying to impress someone — just a black fitted mid top with low rise jeans, black kitten heels and your cherry red mini handbag.
“who’s riding with who?” you ask, already pulling your phone out, thumb hovering over the grab app.
you glance around casually. but not really. because a small, traitorous part of you is waiting. for him. just one sentence. one “i’ll go with you.” that’s all it would take.
but the moment stretches…then passes.
most of them still feel like strangers. after all, besides chenle, you met the rest of them today. and there’s still that awkward hesitation in the air, like no one wants to assume, no one wants to overstep.
renjun just nods, quiet but certain, like it was never even a question. and just like that, it’s decided.
you, giselle, mark, chenle, and renjun pile into one car.
jisung, jeno, jaemin, and haechan in another.
the ride is loud, easy, comfortable in a way that surprises you. mark keeps the conversation going effortlessly, chenle’s half-laughing at everything, and renjun, quiet at first, eventually warms up, adding little comments that make you laugh more than you expect.
it’s nice. more than nice. and for a moment, you forget about the other car entirely.
🏹
the club is already alive when you get there. lights flashing, bass heavy enough to feel in your chest, the air thick with heat and perfume and something electric that makes your pulse pick up.
you spot your friends almost immediately — karina waving you over, ningning already mid-story about something ridiculous, jungwoo grinning as he pulls you into a quick side hug.
introductions blur into laughter, and somehow, seamlessly, everyone just…fits.
the music is good. really good. the kind that makes it impossible to stand still. one song bleeds into the next, and before you know it, you’re dancing, singing, losing yourself in the rhythm as drinks keep appearing in your hand like magic. shot after shot. picture after picture. arms slung over shoulders, phones flashing, memories being made faster than you can process them.
at some point, you notice the boys drifting. one by one, here and there — disappearing into the crowd, probably pulled away by girls who couldn’t help but notice them. you don’t blame them. your group easily has the most attractive men in the entire place tonight. it would be weirder if they weren’t getting attention.
mark and renjun chooses to stay though. and somewhere between your fourth — or fifth? —shot, you realize they’ve quietly become your favorites.
especially when you belong with me starts playing.
“oh my god,” you gasp, grabbing renjun’s arm. his eyes light up instantly. and then the two of you are screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs, perfectly on-key, you think?, completely unbothered, jumping in place like it’s a private concert instead of a packed club.
mark’s laughing beside you, shaking his head but joining in anyway, and it’s just — fun. pure, uncomplicated fun.
but just as promised, giselle left the bar around 1:40am, whispering in your ear, “i’m gonna go…have fun babe,” she says, kissing your cheek.
you hold her hand, not letting her get away so easily.
“i’ll go with you,” you say immediately, steady, no hesitation, “i’m not letting you go alone.”
she pauses, then turns back to you with that same bright, tipsy grin, eyes soft, a little glassy.
“y/n,” she laughs quietly, “you’re having so much fun.”
you don’t loosen your grip, “giselle—”
“stay,” she insists gently, squeezing your hand now instead. “see what the night holds.”
you narrow your eyes at her, “i’m not letting you commute by yourself,” you say, firmer this time, “especially like this.”
“i’m fineeee,” she drags out, giggling under her breath. then she leans in again, dropping her voice like she’s about to share a secret, “taro’s already outside…he brought his motorcycle.”
she wiggles her eyebrows, “we’re gonna put that hotel bed to use.”
you snort, the concern breaking just enough for amusement to slip through, “oh my god.”
“what?” she beams, completely unashamed.
you shake your head, still smiling despite yourself, “fine,” you sigh, tightening your hold on her hand as you start guiding her toward the exit anyway, “i’m at least walking you out.”
“god,” she mutters, leaning her head briefly against your shoulder as you both weave through the crowd, “you’d be such a good girlfriend…”
you side eye her.
“…so caring,” she adds softly.
you can’t help but laugh as the two of you make your way down the stairs, out of the heavy bass and flashing lights, and into the thick, warm night air. it hits you immediately — humid, a little quieter, the distant echo of music still thumping behind you.
shotaro’s already there, waiting by his bike, helmet in hand, posture relaxed but eyes instantly lighting up the moment he sees her.
you feel giselle’s grip tighten just slightly in yours before she lets go, drifting toward him like it’s second nature.
“be careful, shotaro,” you say, passing her over with a pointed look.
“of course,” he nods easily, smiling as he gently steadies her, carefully putting on her customized helmet. he is really good to her. and you can’t be happier for your friend.
she watches him the whole time — soft, fond, completely gone. and you notice. of course you do. you’re the one who always notices.
and yeah, maybe, sometimes, very, very rarely, usually only when the clock hits 2am — you wonder what that would feel like. to let someone look at you like that. take care of you like that. instead of always being the one who does it for everyone else.
“and please,” you smile teasingly, “don’t do it on the left bed, that one’s mine.”
giselle bursts into laughter, “no promises,” and then they were riding off, her arms wrapped tightly around his middle, their laughter’s ringing in the air.
gross.
but there’s no real bite to it. just a small smile lingering as you turn back toward the club.
it’s past 2:00am now, which only means — the party’s just getting started.
you thank the heavens that karina, ningning and jungwoo showed up tonight. because without them? you’d probably be standing awkwardly in a corner somewhere, pretending to enjoy your drink while wondering how the hell you ended up in a club full of your brother’s friends.
instead, you’re grounded. comfortable. exactly where you’re supposed to be.
renjun’s basically been absorbed into your circle somewhere between screaming song lyrics with you and laughing at absolutely nothing. mark stuck around too, easygoing as ever, but you can tell that he had developed a tiny crush on ningning.
the party continues, more shots, more laughter more of everything. you catch glimpses of your brother once and immediately wish you hadn’t. because he’s very clearly lip-locked with some random girl in the middle of a chanting crowd.
“oh my god,” you mutter, turning away instantly, “i don’t have a brother.”
karina cackles beside you, “too late for that.”
“no, i’m disowning him,” you insist, already grabbing another shot to erase the image from your brain.
the music keeps going — song after song, each one louder than the last, lights flashing in colors that start to blur together the longer you stay. time slips. fast.
and then suddenly — it’s 3:00am.
“fuck,” renjun groans, checking his phone, his whole expression dropping. “i need to go. i’m way past my curfew.”
you blink at him, the words taking a second to fully land. right. they’re still in university. some of them still live at home.
“can you get home okay?” you ask, leaning a little closer so he can hear you over the music.
“i’ll get him a grab,” mark cuts in easily, already pulling out his phone. you nod, trusting him without a second thought. maybe you’d be more concerned if you were sober.
but right now? your head is light, your body warm, the world just a little softer around the edges.
they disappear into the crowd and you don’t even try to keep track of how long mark’s gone for. because the second baby by justin bieber comes on, everything else fades.
“OH MY GOD—” ningning screams.
you don’t even think, already grabbing karina and jungwoo, the four of you forming a mini circle as you all shout the lyrics at the top of your lungs like it’s 2010 and this is the only song that exists. jumping. laughing. completely losing it.
by the time the clock hits 4:00am, the energy shifts.
it’s still loud, still bright, but softer now. heavier. like the night is finally starting to catch up with everyone. most of the boys have made their way back, sitting on the couch like gravity is pulling them in.
jeno’s the first one you noticed. he’s hunched forward, looking like he’s in distress, thumbs rapidly pressing buttons on his phone. you make eye contact with him, flashing him a thumbs up, a small way of asking if he was okay. he just nods solemnly. definitely not okay.
jaemin, slouched beside him, catches the exchange and grins lazily, mouthing, “girl problems.”
you let out a quiet “ahh,” nodding like that explains everything. good enough for you.
and right next to him — lee haechan. with his flushed cheeks and lightly damp hair. he looks like sin. pulling you in without trying.
so pretty. so tempting. everything your brother’s friend shouldn’t be.
and like he can feel you looking, his eyes meet yours. a slow smile tugs at his lips. it’s soft. but it does something to your chest that you don’t like. you’re about to return it when—
“y/n, we’re leavinggg,” ningning’s voice cuts in, hands already on your shoulders as she turns you towards her, “we’ve still got work in a couple of hours,” she groans.
“thank’s for coming,” you laugh softly, pulling her into a hug, “and not letting me dance alone,” you murmur in her ear. she hugs you just as tightly.
“message us when you’re back at the hotel, okay?”
you nod, already moving on to karina and pulling her in a hug as well.
then jungwoo, “you gonna be okay? you’re the only girl left,” he says with concerned eyes.
“i’ll be okay,” you assure him, “jisung’s around here somewhere.”
“please,” he scoffs immediately, “that big baby can barely protect you.”
you laugh, softly hitting him on the chest in a small act of protecting your brother. even though jungwoo was absolutely correct.
“she’ll be okay,” a voice behind you says. low. easy. and your heart speeds up without your permission, “we’ll take care of her.”
you turn, already knowing who it is.
“yup, look — four strong men all right here to protect me,” you say gesturing toward the four men not equipped at all to protect a woman at the moment.
jeno is still too busy typing on his phone, sighing every two seconds. jaemin is fully slumped now, head tipped back, mouth half open, completely passed out. haechan just looks like pure trouble. and mark was sitting at the end of the couch, rubbing his temples.
you take note of the open space right between mark and haechan. like it was reserved with your name on it. like he wanted you to sit there.
jungwoo sighs in disappointment as you laugh, turning to face him again, “i’ll be okay. you know me.”
he nods because he does know you. knows the fact that you never get drunk enough to lose your sophistication. and with that, they leave you to it. alone. with that empty space on the couch. you finally give in. settling right between the two boys.
mark’s shoulder brushes yours immediately, his head lolling lazily from one side to the other, eyes half-lidded, clearly losing his battle with alcohol. every few seconds he lets out a quiet sigh, like he’s drifting in and out of consciousness.
you glance at him first, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“you still doing okay?” haechan’s voice is low.
you turn and your breath catches for half a second. he’s right there. closer than you expect. closer than he has any reason to be. close enough that when you turn, your nose brushes lightly against his cheek. it’s quick. barely there. but it’s enough.
you pull back just as fast, leaning into the couch like it didn’t happen, like you didn’t feel that tiny spark shoot straight down your spine.
“yeah,” you say, clearing your throat just slightly. “this is nothing. we barely drank.”
he lifts an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, “okay…miss party girl.”
you laugh, nudging his knee with yours, “i don’t party that much.”
he huffs out a quiet chuckle, leaning back into the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest behind you — not touching, but close enough that you’re aware of it.
“where’s your brother?” he asks.
you tilt your head, giving him a look, “you’re asking me? you were the one with him the whole night.”
“fair,” he admits, smiling a little.
you shrug, glancing out at the crowd, “last time i saw him, he was making out with someone.”
his brows lift, “and you didn’t step in?”
you let out a soft snort, “why would i step in?”
“you’re his older sister,” he says, like it should mean something.
and for a second — you can’t tell if he’s reminding you…or himself.
you roll your eyes, a small laugh slipping out, “please. he’s twenty-two,” you say, shaking your head, “he doesn’t need me stepping in.”
you glance back at him, a teasing smile pulling at your lips, “what about you?” you ask. “you disappeared a lot tonight…busy?”
he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, like he already knows where you’re going with this.
“busy playing your brother’s matchmaker,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “that’s for sure.”
you hum, unconvinced, “i’m sure it was very mutual,” you tease.
“nah,” he shrugs, almost too casually. “didn’t really see anyone i liked.”
you blink at him, then laugh lightly, nudging his knee again, “really? a whole club full of hot women and not a single one caught your attention?”
“guess not.”
there’s something off about how easily he says it. you tilt your head, studying him a little closer now.
“your standards that high?”
he doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you. steady. unrushed. like he’s not even trying to hide it.
“we can’t always have what we want,” he says quietly but you’re so focused on him, you hear it loud and clear, even when the first beat of just like heaven fills up the room.
you feel it again. that pull. that quiet, dangerous tension that keeps threading itself between every interaction you have with him, tightening each time like it’s building toward something you’re not ready to name.
and for a second, you don’t know what to say. don’t know if you should say anything.
but before the moment can stretch any further, a sudden weight drops against your shoulder. you jolt, blinking as you look down.
mark.
completely out. head resting heavily against you, breathing slow and even like he passed out mid-thought. you let out a small laugh, glancing back at haechan.
“your friend fell asleep on my shoulder,” you point out, amused.
haechan leans forward slightly, looking past you at mark, then huffs out a quiet laugh, “yeah…he’s gone.”
you shift a little, adjusting so mark doesn’t slide off, instinctively steadying him even as you try not to laugh too loud.
“great,” you mumble. “now i’m stuck.”
“mhm,” haechan hums, leaning back again, eyes still on you, “looks like it.”
and somehow, even with mark half-asleep on you, it still feels like you’re the only two people on that couch.
🏹
you try to stay upright. you really do. but your body’s slowly giving up on you, shoulders heavy, head dipping every few seconds no matter how many times you blink or straighten yourself out.
your head tilts forward slightly. you catch it. straighten. then it happens again, slower this time, your balance slipping just enough that it’s obvious you’re losing the fight.
haechan notices. of course he does. he’s been watching you longer than he should admit. the way your movements get softer, slower. the way your eyes take a second longer to focus. the way your head keeps dipping like you’re trying to convince your body to stay awake when it’s already decided otherwise.
so when it happens again, when your head tips just a little too far to the side — he moves. one hand comes up, gentle but sure, stopping you before you can awkwardly jolt yourself back upright. his fingers brush lightly against your temple as he guides you, not forcing, not rushing, just enough. until your head comes to rest against his shoulder. steady. comfortable. like it was meant to be there. he adjusts slightly after, shifting his posture so you don’t have to hold yourself up anymore, his shoulder dipping just enough to support you properly. and you’re too tired to protest.
from an outside perspective you can almost imagine how ridiculous this group looks. a full row of half-dead bodies on a couch. mark passed out on one side, jaemin completely knocked out on the other, jeno still stress-texting like his life depends on it, and you — resting on haechan like the final piece of a sleeping train.
“tired?” he murmurs softly.
“no,” you whisper. it such an obvious lie, it almost makes you smile.
he chuckles under his breath, “wanna go back to the hotel?”
you nod your head no against his shoulder, the movement slow and lazy, “don’t wanna ruin jisung’s fun.”
honestly, you have no idea where your brother even is anymore. somewhere out there. still partying like the night isn’t already over.
“okay,” haechan says.
just like that. no pushing. no teasing. just…okay. his voice is quieter now, like he’s matching your pace without making a big deal out of it.
a few seconds pass. then, “you’re gonna fall asleep on me,” he adds, softer this time, almost amused.
you hum faintly, eyes slipping open for a second, “i’m not asleep,” you mumble.
he lets out another quiet laugh, “sure.”
after a while, he was getting pretty over it too. it was nearing 5:00am and jisung and chenle were still nowhere to be found.
haechan takes one last glance at you, your breathing has evened out now and he’s pretty sure you’ve fallen into a light slumber. he moves carefully, afraid to wake you.
“jeno,” he calls out to his friend, whispering, which is pretty ironic since the rest of the club is still loud.
your ears pick up on it immediately even if your eyes refuses to open.
“can you find jisung and chenle?” haechan says, softer than you’ve ever heard him all night, “we should head back soon.”
“yeah,” jeno mutters, pushing himself up from the couch, still sounding half-annoyed, half-exhausted. “i’ll look for them.”
you feel the couch move under his weight. and for a second — it’s just the two of you again. you’re still resting against him, eyes slightly open now, too tired to pretend you’re not listening anymore. too tired to move away.
“go back to sleep,” haechan murmurs, quieter this time, “i’ll wake you up when they’re here.”
you let out a small breath, barely audible, “mmm.”
his hand shifts again, briefly brushing against your arm like he’s checking if you’re okay. if you’re comfortable. and you are. too comfortable. dangerously so.
a few minutes pass before you hear familiar voices again — jisung’s loud, unmistakable laugh cutting through everything as he stumbles back over with chenle not far behind.
“yo…why do you all look dead?” jisung says, breathless, still riding whatever high he’s on.
the sound of your brother’s voice finally snaps you back to reality and you slowly remove yourself from haechan’s shoulder.
“we’re heading back,” haechan tells them simply. no explanation. no teasing. and for some reason, they listen.
you reach for your bag and pause. it’s not there. your eyes shift to the side. haechan already has it slung over his shoulder like it’s been there all night. you don’t say anything. you just…notice.
🏹
by the time you step out of the club, it’s exactly 5:15am the sky is pale blue now, the sun slowly rising like it’s stretching awake with the rest of you.
the air feels different. cooler. cleaner. quieter in a way the city never really is.
and somehow, that short slumber on the couch did wonders. your head’s clearer now, your steps steadier, your body no longer fighting to stay upright.
you’re already pulling your phone out, opening grab, thumb hovering over the screen when—
“i’m hungry,” your brother says, of course.
you look up at him, unimpressed, “you’re always hungry.”
“there’s a burger place like seven minutes away,” chenle adds, walking backward with way too much energy for someone who’s been up all night. “we can just walk.”
you hesitate. just for a second. you were about to book a ride. go back. end the night.
but then — you feel it. that look.
you turn slightly. haechan’s already looking at you. quiet. waiting. like the answer somehow sits with you.
you exhale softly, shoulders lifting in a casual shrug, “i could eat.”
and just like that — plans change.
the walk is slow, the streets are calmer than usual, nearly empty, filled with other late party-goers looking for food or getting ready to go home.
you end up beside haechan without thinking. step for step. you don’t mention the bag still hanging off his shoulder. don’t mention the way he subtly switches sides so you’re on the inner part of the sidewalk, closer to the buildings, away from the road. like it’s instinct.
jaemin and mark are a few steps ahead, quiet for once, walking a little too straight, a little too focused. like if they concentrate hard enough, no one will notice how drunk they still are.
far ahead, jisung, jeno, and chenle are louder. their voices echoing through the quiet street as they argue like it’s broad daylight.
“i’m telling you…just block her,” chenle says.
“i can’t just block her,” jeno groans.
“why not? peace of mind,” jisung adds like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“because i like her,” jeno shoots back, frustration clear even from a distance.
“i don’t know man—you can like someone that doesn’t make you feel like shit,” jisung says, way too confidently you almost roll your eyes.
for someone who’s never been in a serious relationship he sure does speak like he knows it all.
“yeah, exactly!,” chenle adds. those two always hyping each other up.
you laugh softly under your breath, shaking your head.
“they’re giving terrible advice,” you mumble.
“yeah,” haechan hums beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, “but it’s fine — jeno’s not gonna listen anyway.”
you glance at him “you think so?”
he nods once, eyes forward, voice calm in a way that feels a little too certain.
“people forget all logic when love comes to play.”
you let out a small laugh, nudging his arm lightly, “okay, shakespeare found in a ditch.”
his lips twitch, shaking his head a little like he’s trying to hide how easy it is for you to make him smile.
🏹
by the time you reach the burger joint — your brother is already seated. burger halfway unwrapped, bite already taken, like it never even crossed his mind to wait for you. you don’t comment on it.
you just shake your head lightly, stepping inside and glancing around and realize it’s just you, mark, and haechan left standing.
mark stretches beside you, running a hand through his hair like he’s still trying to wake himself up, eyes scanning the menu lazily.
and haechan — he’s still next to you. close. like he’s been the entire walk. and maybe he notices the way your shoulders drop just slightly, the quiet acceptance of your brother being…well, your brother. because when you look at him, he’s already smiling at you.
“what do you want?” he asks, glancing down at you.
you blink, a little caught off guard, “uh — no, it’s okay,” you say quickly, shaking your head, offering him a small smile, “i’ll just order after you.”
something about it — the idea of someone just casually buying you something — makes you feel a little…awkward. flustered.
he notices that too. of course he does. and it makes his smile widen just a little.
“c’mon,” he nudges your arm lightly with his elbow, “my treat.”
you narrow your eyes at him, half amused.
“how rich are you?”
he scoffs, a brow lifting, “it’s a burger.”
you huff out a small laugh, crossing your arms loosely.
“you already paid for the hotel rooms,” you remind him, like he might’ve conveniently forgotten, “if anything, i should be treating you.”
he laughs at that, easy and unbothered.
“those were from my parents’ saved-up credit card points,” he says casually, “don’t worry about it.”
then he tilts his head slightly, looking at you again.
“so you either tell me what you want,” he adds, voice light but firm, “or i’m ordering the entire menu.”
you blink. once. twice…you’re not entirely sure he’s joking. and honestly? you don’t feel like finding out.
you sigh, giving in just a little, “…just fries,” you mumble.
his grin widens instantly, “just fries?”
you hesitate for half a second, “…and maybe a sundae,” you add, a little quieter this time.
there’s something about the way he looks at you then — like he’s enjoying this way too much.
“with chocolate syrup?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.
you glance up at him, lips pressing together to hide your smile.
“…with chocolate syrup.”
🏹
you find a table for the three of you after that, sliding into your seat with a quiet exhale, finally giving your legs a break.
jisung’s already on his second burger. of course he is. you don’t even bother commenting anymore, just shake your head faintly as you settle in.
a few minutes later, haechan comes back with the tray.
he sets everything down in front of you first — fries, sundae, and a bottle of water you didn’t ask for. but immediately appreciate. you glance up at him, just for a second.
“…thanks,” you murmur.
he just hums, like it’s nothing. like it didn’t matter. like he didn’t think twice about it.
he drops into the seat right in front of you. and you’re glad. because it gives you a perfect view of him.
his hair a little messy from the night, curling at the edge, cheeks slightly flushed, lips a little swollen from too many drinks and he’s so just so — pretty. annoyingly pretty.
and suddenly you’re aware of yourself. of how you probably look right now after hours of dancing, sweating, laughing, barely fixing your makeup. not…put together. not the version of you you’re used to presenting. you resist the urge to check your reflection on your phone. force yourself not to care.
instead, you just reach for your fries, acting like nothing’s changed. like you didn’t just become hyperaware of everything.
you grabbed the ketchup packet, biting the corner off and out of pure habit — you drag a perfect line of red across a single fry. precise. neat.
haechan watches you do it. and then he looks at you like you’ve just disobeyed all the laws of the universe.
“who the fuck eats their fries like that?”
“hey!,” you say defensively, “don’t knock it before you try it.”
he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head.
“you psycho,” he says, leaning back slightly, “it’s literally easier to just put the ketchup on the napkin and dip your fry like a normal person.”
“it doesn’t taste as good!” you argue, already preparing another one.
he raises a brow, unconvinced.
“i swear,” you insist, glancing up at him. “it doesn’t.”
and before you even realize what you’re doing — you’re holding it out to him. right in front of his lips. a perfectly ketchup-lined fry.
there’s a split second where you register it. where you could pull back. laugh it off. but you don’t.
and he doesn’t hesitate. he leans in just enough, his pretty lips wrapping around the fry as he takes it from your fingers — eyes still on you the entire time.
it’s not as innocent as it should be. your breath catches, just slightly.
and then mark drops into the seat beside him.
you retract your hand immediately, reminded of company.
“see?” you say quickly, grabbing another fry to distract yourself. “tastes better, doesn’t it?”
“it tastes like a fry,” he says, completely unimpressed, but his eyes are sparkling with mischief. like he’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on.
you can’t help the grin that slips through.
“whatever.”
🏹
it’s calm now. quiet. no pounding bass. no flashing lights. just early morning chatter, wrappers crinkling, the soft hum of the city waking up. conversation comes easy. you laugh over small moments, replaying bits of the night like it didn’t just happen. and then, you look at mark. tilting your head slightly, a knowing smile creeping in.
“so, mark…” you start casually, grabbing a fry, “you and ningning were dancing all night.”
you let it sit there for a second. just enough for him to realize you noticed.
“oh…yeah,” mark shrugs, like it’s nothing, unwrapping his burger. “she’s cool.”
you narrow your eyes at him slightly. she’s cool? that’s it? you glance at haechan for half a second, like you need a witness to how underwhelming that response was, before looking back at mark.
“just cool?” you press, a teasing edge in your voice, “you were glued to her the whole night.”
mark huffs out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “okay, okay…she’s more than cool,” he admits, a little sheepish now, “she’s…fun. it’d be nice to see her again.”
you hum, satisfied. and if you’re being honest? you’re pretty sure ningning liked him too. and that doesn’t happen easily. it’s hard for any man to keep her attention.
you lean forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand, “are you single, mark?”
it comes out casual. but not really. mark blinks at you mid-bite, clearly caught off guard.
“uh, yeah,” he nods. “yeah, i am.”
you nod slowly, like you’re filing that information away, “good to know.”
he squints at you, “…why?”
“nothinggg,” you say simply, popping a fry into your mouth.
haechan lets out a quiet laugh across from you, watching the whole thing unfold and you can’t help but match his smile.
“what’s your type?” you ask, shifting gears smoothly.
mark thinks for a second, chewing slowly, “i don’t know…someone easy to talk to,” he says. “not…too complicated.”
you nod, accepting it, for now. then your eyes flick to haechan.
“…what about you?”
it’s casual. too casual. like you didn’t just ask that on purpose. he pauses for half a second. then he leans in slightly, one arm resting on the table, gaze steady at you.
“someone who can be my best friend,” he says. simple. but it hits harder than it should. you don’t know why. so you look away first, reaching for your sundae like it suddenly needs your full attention.
“and you?” mark asks, turning it back on you.
you pause mid-scoop, spoon hovering for a second before you shrug lightly.
“i don’t know…someone who actually knows how to act like a man,” you say, half joking, “not someone i have to babysit.”
“easy enough,” haechan murmurs.
you glance up at him, one brow lifting, a quiet challenge in your eyes.
“yet impossible to find,” you add.
mark laughs at that. and then — there’s a brief moment. a quiet look shared between the two of them. quick. subtle. but you catch it. and immediately pretend you didn’t.
suddenly, you’re regretting bringing this topic up.
“what about your type…physically?” mark asks, amused now.
you hum, thinking about it for a second.
“don’t have one.”
“oh well now that’s just bullshit,” haechan says, not missing a beat.
you kick his foot lightly under the table, a laugh spilling out from your lips before you can stop it.
“swear,” you insist, shaking your head, “none of my exes even look alike.”
“there has to be something,” mark presses.
“well…” you trail off, tapping your spoon against the cup, “i guess they’re all conventionally attractive,” you shrug.
“how about you guys?” you ask, wanting to rid the attention off you.
mark opens his mouth but haechan beats him to it. you glance at him and immediately catching the smirk sitting on his lips. yeah. he’s about to be annoying.
“someone conventionally attractive,” he says, taking a slow sip of his cola like he didn’t just throw your cop out answer right back at you.
you roll your eyes instantly but before you could reply, your brother’s voice interrupts. you look over, and sure enough — him, chenle, jeno, and jaemin are already standing, throwing their trash away like they didn’t just eat half the menu.
“we’ll see you guys back at the hotel,” he adds casually.
that’s it. no are you coming? no you good? no second thought about leaving you behind with two men you’ve technically only known for a day. you’re over it at this point. waving him off without a word.
🏹
you reach for your bag and pull out your compact mirror, flipping it open with a small click. you had a feeling the three of you would be leaving soon anyway. might as well check. you glance at your reflection — and freeze.
“…oh my god,” your head snaps up.
haechan’s already looking at you, amused.
“what?”
you turn the mirror toward him like evidence.
“i have no more lipstick,” you say, scandalized. “and none of you told me?” you look between him and mark like they’ve committed a serious offense.
mark lets out a tired laugh.
haechan just smirks, “we’re supposed to tell you that?” he asks.
“yes. that’s what friends do,” you reply instantly, no hesitation.
you’re already digging through your bag, pulling out your lip liner and lipstick like it’s muscle memory. you lean slightly toward the mirror, fixing it. precise. practiced.
you notice the way he’s watching you. the way his gaze drops — lingers. follows the movement of your hand as the liner traces your lips, steady and smooth. but you don’t comment on it.
and haechan — he can’t help but stare at the way your lips part just slightly as you fill them in. careful. focused. it’s such a small thing. mundane. but for some reason, he’s captivated.
he shifts slightly in his seat, glancing at mark for a second like he’s checking if he’s the only one noticing this. mark doesn’t look nearly as entertained, just tired, almost bored, half-focused on his food, completely unbothered. not like him who’s eyes are now drifting back to your lips. his thoughts drifting somewhere he probably shouldn’t let them go. like how your lips probably taste as sweet as the vanilla sundae with a hint of salt from the fries. a combo he doesn’t mind trying.
you snap your compact shut with a soft click. and he’s reminded of who you are.
“there,” you say, tucking everything back into your bag, “much better.”
haechan leans back slightly, dragging his eyes away like it didn’t just take effort.
🏹
it doesn’t take long before the three of you are up too. you pull your phone out, opening the grab app.
“i’ll book it,” you say.
“okay,” mark nods sleepily while haechan just hums beside you.
the car pulls up not long after. you slide in first, then haechan in the middle then mark. his thigh brushes yours immediately. and it stays there.
there’s enough space to move away but neither of you does. instead, you stare out the window, pretending not to notice.
the ride feels longer than it should.
you don’t know if the driver took a wrong turn, or if it’s the traffic slowly building. but you don’t mind. not really. the city outside is alive now, soft light spilling over buildings.
and inside the car — it’s quiet. almost too comfortable. so you enjoy it. letting the ride take just a little longer.
but the longer actually gets ridiculous. almost concerning.
haechan leans over to whisper in your ear, “you’re not kidnapping us are you?” his breath causing goosebumps to rise on your neck.
“little ol’ me?” you say in mock offense.
he hums, glancing between you and the driver like he’s genuinely weighing his options, “i don’t know,” he says, lips twitching. “you did book the ride.”
you scoff softly, crossing your arms.
“i’m the one stuck in a car with three men i barely know,” you point out, tilting your head at him. “i think if anyone should be scared, it’s me.”
he lets out a quiet laugh. but it fades quicker than expected. because he’s been aware of it the whole night and for a second, something shifts in his expression, subtle, but there.
truth is, he doesn’t get it. doesn’t get how jisung could just leave you like that, not even thinking twice. he can’t even imagine doing that to his own sister. his jaw tightens just slightly before he looks back at you.
“are you scared?” he asks softly. no teasing. no smirk. just…genuine. his eyes search yours like he actually wants to know.
you meet his gaze, surprised by the change in tone but you don’t hesitate — you smile. small. real.
“no,” you say honestly. and maybe it sounds a little crazy. but you mean it. you feel safe around him.
he holds your gaze for a second longer, like he’s searching for the truth in your eyes.
“good,” he says, a faint smile returning.
🏹
a few minutes later, the car finally slows, pulling up to the hotel entrance just as the morning light fully settles over the city.
it’s close to 7:00am now. the sky’s no longer soft and dim. it’s bright enough to feel real, like the night has officially ended whether you’re ready for it or not.
you sit up properly, blinking once as you glance over. mark’s still out cold. completely gone.
“bro,” haechan nudges him lightly, then a little harder. “we’re here.”
nothing. not even a twitch. you sigh, already pushing your door open and stepping out, even though the entrance is technically on mark’s side.
haechan follows after you, a sheepish smile on his face like he already knows what’s coming. you both circle around the car.
and yeah — this is gonna be a problem.
“fuck,” you groan immediately when mark’s arm lands around your shoulder, your heels digging into the pavement as his full weight leans into you. “your friend is heavy.”
haechan lets out a breath on the other side, adjusting his grip.
“why’d you let him drink this much?” he shoots back.
you snap your head toward him, “me?” you groan. “you’re the one who left him with us.”
“yeah, well,” he huffs, trying to hoist mark up properly, “i didn’t expect you guys to be alcohol immune.”
you let out a laugh despite yourself, “don’t make me laugh,” you warn, struggling to keep mark upright. “or your friend is going down.”
haechan laughs too — quiet at first, then slipping out a little more.
“i’m serious—” you choke out between laughs, tightening your grip.
“okay, okay—sorry,” he says, still smiling, though he’s barely helping by laughing himself.
the two of you wobble forward, barely coordinated, mark completely dead weight between you.
it’s ridiculous. but fun.
finally, the hotel’s doorman sees your struggle. thank god. and immediately got a wheelchair ready.
“here ma’am, sir, let me assist—”
“please,” you breathe out, immediately letting some of mark’s weight shift off you as he’s carefully guided into the chair.
you straighten up instantly, flexing your hands, rolling your shoulders, “took him long enough,” you mumble under your breath.
haechan lets out a quiet laugh beside you.
“you good?” he asks, glancing at you.
“i think that’s the most workout i’ve done this year,” you mutter. he snorts softly.
🏹
the elevator hums softly as it starts to rise. haechan’s behind the wheelchair, one hand resting on the handle, the other loosely by his side. you’re standing next to mark, who is still completely out, head tilted to the side like he’s given up on consciousness altogether.
you glance at him. then at haechan. then back at mark. and you can’t help it — a laugh slips out.
“this is so embarrassing,” you mumble, already reaching into your back pocket.
“what are you doing?” haechan asks, though there’s already a hint of amusement in his voice.
you pull your phone out, turning the camera on.
“this is too good not to remember,” you say, stepping in slightly.
you angle the phone just right with mark slumped in the middle, you leaning in beside him, barely holding in your laughter.
and haechan doesn’t hesitate. he leans in too. closer than necessary. just enough that his shoulder brushes yours.
the picture snaps. you glance at it and immediately grin.
“send that to me,” he says, looking down at your screen.
you glance up at him, trying to act nonchalant, “sure.”
but internally — you hate it. because now you’re the one who has to follow first.
you unlock your phone anyway, opening instagram like you don’t already know exactly what you’re about to search.
“what’s your instagram?” you ask casually.
like you’ve never stalked him on the internet before.
he tells you. you type it in. and yeah— it’s exactly how it looks the last time you were on his profile.
you send the picture quickly then hit follow before you can overthink it.
he’s already pulling his phone out, thumbs moving fast.
“followed back,” he says a second later.
your lips press together, trying to hide the small smile threatening to show.
“good.”
🏹
the elevator dings. doors sliding open. you step aside, letting him go first, one hand holding the door as he carefully wheels your shared patient of the night out.
you follow them down the hall, quieter now, the hotel almost completely still.
and you step into their room with him, not even thinking twice about it — just making sure everything’s okay.
“okay…one more time,” haechan mutters, already moving to lift his friend. you step in without being asked, slipping under mark’s arm again.
“god, how did he get even heavier,” you mumble.
you both manage to get mark onto the bed with a soft thud, his body sinking into the mattress like he belongs there.
you straighten up, brushing your hands off, exhaling.
“there,” you say, “mission accomplished.”
“thanks partner,” haechan teases, a small smile on his face.
you shrug it off like it’s nothing, “yeah, no problem.”
then you turn slightly, already about to head for the door—
“hey.”
you look back. he’s still standing there, watching you.
“you still tired?”
you pause. pretend to think about it for a second even though you already know your answer as soon as he asked. then shake your head lightly.
“not really.”
his lips curve, “wanna have a beer?”
“…where exactly are you planning on getting a beer at 7 am?”
he doesn’t answer. just walks past you and straight to the mini fridge. you watch as he crouches down, opens it, and pulls out two bottles, opening them and holding one out to you.
you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. but you take it from his hand anyway, fingers brushing his briefly.
then, instead of taking the obvious seat — you walk over to his side of the room. slipping down to the floor, back resting lightly against the side of his bed, right in front of the window.
it’s partially hidden, tucked behind the frame of the bed. private. quiet.
in truth — you hate the taste of beer. you just didn’t want the night to end.
he watches you for a second — then lets out a soft laugh.
“you know you can sit on my bed, right?”
you glance up at him, immediately scrunching your nose, “ew. what do you think i am? a monster?”
he pauses, “…huh?”
“i’m not sitting on your bed with these dirty clothes on,” you say, gesturing to yourself. “that’s disgusting.”
he laughs, shaking his head as he walks over, lowering himself down beside you anyway, back against the bed, shoulder just barely brushing yours.
“you’re weird,” he mutters.
“and yet you’re sitting next to me.”
“unfortunately.”
you grin into the rim of your drink.
and for a while — it’s quiet. no music. no chaos. just the two of you, side by side on the floor, bottles in hand. watching the city wake up through the window. cars moving. people beginning their day. the sky fully bright now. and neither of you rushes to say anything.
you just…sit there. together.
🏹
“so,” he finally breaks it, voice low, easy, “your brother…”
“hm?” you hum, not looking at him, eyes still on the window.
“you two close?”
you turn your head slightly, brow lifting.
“why?” you ask, a hint of amusement already creeping in. “you got a crush on him or what?”
he chokes. actually chokes.
“wh—what??”
you turn fully now, fighting your smile.
“do you have a crush on my brother?”
“n-no,” he stumbles, suddenly very awake. “are you asking me if i’m gay??”
you shrug, taking another sip just to hide how entertained you are.
“hey, nothing wrong with it, i’ll even support you.”
“why would you even—”
you cut him off with a small tilt of your head.
“maybe because we can’t get through a conversation without you bringing him up.”
he opens his mouth. closes it. pauses.
“…that’s not—”
you just stare at him. waiting.
he exhales, running a hand through his hair, clearly flustered now.
“that’s not why,” he mutters.
“then why?” you press lightly.
and this time, he doesn’t answer right away. the teasing fades. his gaze shifts back to you — and lingers. longer than it has all night. and you feel it again. that pull that’s been there all night, in every look, every joke, every quiet moment.
but this one feels different. heavier. closer.
“because,” he starts, voice quieter now, like the words aren’t meant for anyone else but you, “you’re his sister.”
you exhale softly through your nose, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.
“yes,” you say, dry. “we’ve established that plenty of times tonight.”
he doesn’t take the bait. doesn’t laugh. just huffs out a breath, gaze dropping for a second before coming back up to you. like he’s thinking. weighing it. like there’s a line he knows he shouldn’t cross. and he’s standing right at the edge of it.
but then he looks at you again. really looks. and whatever restraint he had — it slips. just enough.
“and i’ve been trying really hard not to do something stupid.”
your fingers tighten slightly around your bottle. your heartbeat picks up before you can stop it.
“…like what?” you ask, softer now. not teasing anymore. not really.
there’s a pause. a small one. but it stretches. his eyes flick briefly to your lips. back to your eyes. like he’s already imagining it.
and then he says it.
“like kiss you.”
it lands between you. heavy. quiet. real. no joke to soften it. no smirk to take it back. just the truth — sitting right there, in the space between your shoulders, your knees almost touching, your breaths just slightly out of sync.
you don’t move. you don’t even think you breathe. because suddenly — everything feels louder. your heartbeat. the silence. the way he’s still looking at you like he hasn’t decided if he’s done holding himself back yet.
“how long have you and my brother been friends again?” you ask.
he blinks at you, thrown off, confused. like that’s the last thing he expected right now.
“…like a year?” he finally says.
you nod slowly. like you’re actually thinking about it. weighing it. but you weren’t. not really.
your fingers loosen around your bottle, setting it down gently on the floor. then you turn toward him slowly, deliberately, letting the moment stretch.
he watches you intently, his gaze darting from your eyes to your lips and back again. he's trying to read you, to predict your next move, but the air between you thickens, heavy with unspoken want.
you tilt your head just a fraction, holding his stare without flinching. the words slip out soft but pointed—
“so you’re not gonna kiss me over a year long friendship?”
it’s quiet. but it hits. hard. his breath catches. for a second, just one, he looks like he’s still holding on to that last thread of restraint.
you lean in closer, inch by torturous inch, until the heat radiating from his body seeps into yours. the world narrows to the space between you, the faint hitch in his breathing, the way his scent settles into your lungs, steady and consuming, until it’s the only thing you can focus on.
and fuck. you’re so close he can’t even hear himself think anymore. everything else fades. logic. rules. bro-code. mark’s snores in the background. all gone.
all that’s left is this pull— magnetic, inevitable — like you’ve both been circling this moment all night and finally stopped pretending otherwise.
and when your noses brush, you whisper, softly—
“or will you risk it and kiss me?”
and he feels like he might drop dead.
your question hang in the air between you, soft and sure, unraveling the last thread of his restraint.
haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and stormy. he doesn't hesitate anymore. can't. his fingers thread gently into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he tilts your face toward his — and then his lips crash into yours in a soft, slow kiss. enough to steal your breath.
you pull apart for a second, breathless, and you can’t help but bite your lip.
“jisung’s just gonna have to deal with it,” he mutters.
you raise a brow, “yeah, bringing up my brother right after kissing me is—”
you don’t get to finish your sentence because his lips are on yours again. soft, but urgent, like he's been starving for this taste. and you don’t even remember what you were going to say. your mouth responds to him immediately.
his lips part just enough to let his tongue trace the seam of your mouth, seeking entry. you open to him — and god, you taste even sweeter than he imagined, now with the hint of his favorite beer.
it turns hungrier, tongues sliding together in a slick, intimate dance that sends sparks racing down your spine. haechan groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips, raw and unguarded.
his hand travels down, fingers settling on your belt loops, thumb tracing circles on your slightly exposed skin. your hands come up, tangling in his hair, eliciting a whine from him.
that whine ignites something fierce in you, a bold urge that overrides the caution flickering at the edges of your mind. you tug harder on his hair, guiding him with you as you lean back until your back meets the soft carpet floor, the bottle of beers completely forgotten.
your legs part instinctively, making room for him to settle between them, his body pressing down with a weight that's both grounding and electric.
the kiss is hotter now, lips and tongues clashing with desperate need.
the carpet scratches lightly at your back, but you barely notice — everything is him, the heat of his body pinning you, the way his breath comes in hot pants against your mouth, his hand roaming down your side.
his lips break from yours, trailing a wet path down your jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there just enough to make you arch into him. he moves lower, mouth finding the curve of your neck, his hand comes up to move your hair out of the way and his touch is enough to make you feel dizzy. then he sucks hard, tongue flicking over the sensitive spot before his teeth sink in lightly, marking you with a blooming bruise. the sensation earns him a sweet moan, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room, reaching his ear like music.
haechan lifts his head just enough to murmur against your skin, his voice a low, teasing rumble.
“shhh, pretty girl, you don’t wanna wake mark up now, do you?” he smiles into your neck, lips brushing the fresh mark as his hand squeezes your hip.
“please,” you say breathlessly, “he wouldn’t even know if the world ended right now,” you joke, mark’s soft snores from across the room confirming your statement.
haechan chuckles softly, the vibration humming against your skin as he nips at your earlobe.
“good point,” he whispers, voice thick with desire, his mouth returning to your neck to soothe the mark with a slow lick while his free hand wanders up to squeeze your tit.
you bite your lip, stifling your moan as you slide your hand down his back, fingers dipping into his back pocket to squeeze his ass. the muscle tenses under your grip, and haechan looks up at you, eyes wide with a little shock, his lips parting in surprise.
“what? two can play that game,” you tease, your voice light but laced with mischief, holding his gaze as you give another squeeze.
he smirks, recovering quickly, his hand still cupping your breast as he leans in closer, “didn’t know you were an ass man,” he says, his tone playful, eyes darkening with amusement and hunger.
“oh yeah,” you reply, teasing, squeezing harder, feeling the firm curve fill your palm, “i just love cute little butts so much,” your tone laced with sarcasm.
haechan laughs at that, the sound warm and genuine, breaking the intensity for a split second and god, he’s just so, so pretty — you’re almost paranoid that you made him up. that this was all just a figment of your imagination. and you’d wake up with your phone in your hand opened to his instagram profile.
before you could completely spiral, you crane your neck up to kiss him again, almost begging. it’s kinda pathetic and so not who you are. but you can’t help it, you’re a sucker for pretty boys.
“hmm,” he hums, the hand on your tit wandering up to brush your bottom lip. you place a soft kiss on the tip of this thumb, “so pretty,” he murmurs.
and lucky for you — he’s a sucker for you.
his lips crash on yours again, “never wanna stop kissing you,” he sighs in between breaths, the moment heating up once more as he melts into you, tongues tangling urgently.
your finger pulls at his belt loop and he understands your signal, grinding on your clothed core once, hips rolling forward with deliberate pressure, and even through the layers of both of your jeans, it’s enough to make you shiver, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight to your clit. you’re so wet, so fucking wet, your panties soaked and sticking to your folds, aching for more friction, more of him.
but before you can ask him to do something about it — before you can beg him to unzip your jeans and slide his fingers inside — your phone buzzes in the back of your pocket.
you try to ignore it, focusing on him, but then it buzzes again. and again. and again. insistent and relentless.
finally, you break the kiss, turning your head to the side. haechan’s mouth trails after you, lips brushing your cheek in a reluctant chase, both of you out of breath and flustered, chests heaving in the dim hotel light.
“one moment,” you say, smiling sheepishly, as you reach back to pull out your phone from your back pocket.
haechan groans softly in protest, but he hovers above you anyway, propped on his elbows, his dark hair tousled from your earlier fingers raking through it, strands falling messily over his forehead. his lips are swollen and glistening from your kisses, parted slightly as he breathes heavily, eyes locked on yours with that hungry, lingering heat. pretty. so fucking distracting. you have to force yourself to look away, tearing your gaze away from the way his chest rises and falls, the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone.
your screen lights up with a string of texts:
giselle 🖤: where r u????
giselle 🖤: it’s almost 9
giselle 🖤: i heard the boys come in earlier
giselle 🖤: if you’re not here cause of taro, he already left for work
giselle 🖤: i’m getting really worried please
giselle 🖤: if you don’t answer right now, im calling the police
you almost feel bad, a twinge of guilt twisting in your gut. but hey, she was the one telling you to “see what the night holds.” and if she knew you were under lee haechan right now — she’d be proud.
“shit,” you mutter under your breath, thumb scrolling through the messages.
haechan's expression shifts instantly, worry creasing his brow as he pushes up slightly, his warm hand sliding to your waist.
“everything okay?” he asks, voice low and concerned, laced with that protective edge that makes your heart skip a tiny beat.
he helps you sit up with gentle pressure, the two of you shifting to sit side by side on the carpet again, his thigh pressing firmly against yours. the heat from his body radiates through your clothes, a reminder of how close you were to stripping them off.
“it’s giselle — she’s looking for me,” you explain, tilting the phone so he can see the frantic string of texts.
he leans in close, his shoulder bumping yours, breath warm against your ear as he reads over your shoulder, his scent filling your senses. and you’re not too sure how you’re going to walk out of this room.
his free hand rests on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles that send sparks up your leg, even now.
your phone buzzes again.
giselle 🖤: 3 seconds and i’m waking everyone in this damn hotel
your eyes widen as you type quickly, thumbs flying:
y/n: i’m here!
y/n: sorry!
y/n: im okay!
y/n: omw back
you don’t wait for her response, shutting off the screen and placing your phone to the side.
turning towards haechan, you send him an apologetic smile before cupping his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss — this one soft, innocent, almost sweet, a gentle press of lips that contrasts the raw urgency from before. his mouth yields to yours, warm, tongue flicking out just once to taste you before you pull back.
“i should probably go,” you say sheepishly, your voice hushed, fingers lingering on his cheek as reluctance tugs at you.
before you can fully pull away, haechan’s hand cups the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair with a gentle but insistent tug. he draws you back in, capturing your lips in another soft press.
“i’ll walk you back,” he mutters against your lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you, as he nips at your bottom lip.
you smirk, the playful curve of your mouth brushing his as you lean in again, stealing another kiss — quick but firm, “i’m literally right next door,” you murmur.
the two of you just can’t seem to stop. every separation lasting only seconds before one of you closes the gap. his lips find yours again, softer this time.
he pulls back just enough to flash you a mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling with that devilish glint, dark lashes framing the heat in his gaze.
“i know you are,” he says, punctuating the words with another kiss, deeper now, “i put you there.”
you pretend to be shocked, pulling back with wide eyes and a dramatic gasp, though your fingers curl into his shirt, holding him close.
“ahhh, i knew it wasn’t a coincidence,” you say, your voice laced with feigned accusation, even though his confession makes your head spin.
“did you?” he counters, his grin widening as he chases your lips for another kiss, this one playful and light.
“mhm,” you hum affirmatively, your response muffled as you kiss him back.
he chuckles, the sound low and vibrating against your lips, warm air fanning your face as he hovers close.
“what can i say? i always had a vision of you begging for my kiss,” he teases, his free hand drifting to your hip, thumb circling the strip of exposed skin above your waistband, dipping just under the edge of your jeans to trace the curve of your bone.
you pull back immediately in mock offense, swatting his chest lightly while trying to suppress your laugh.
“begging? me?? you’re crazy,” you retort even though you did just that. the memory of how desperately you'd wanted him earlier flashing in your mind.
“okay, fine,” he laughs, the sound rich and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he concedes, pulling you flush against him, “it was me begging.”
“that’s much better,” you smile, your thumb brushing his jawline, feeling the slight stubble rasp against your skin.
he matches your smile, slow and seductive, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up, dark and intent.
“give me another kiss, baby, please,” he says, the endearment rolling off his tongue like velvet, husky and intimate, making your pulse stutter.
and you do. because he called you baby. because he said please. because he’s just oh, oh, so pretty.
the kiss lingers, sweet and unhurried, his free arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, bodies aligning in a perfect, warm fit against the carpet.
when he pulls away for the umpteenth time, he stares at your lips a little too long and you think he might lean in again, but all he does is say something that pulls a soft laugh out of you—
“your lipstick is gone,” he says, a playful smirk on his face.
🏹
haechan stands first, offering his hand to help you up, his fingers lacing with yours as you rise, the simple touch sending sparks up your arm.
“come on,” he murmurs softly, “before your friend gets all of us kicked out of this hotel.”
you giggle, squeezing his hand, letting him lead you toward the door, the cool air of the hallway a stark contrast to the warmth you left behind in the room.
the walk is short — literally just five steps down the dimly lit corridor, the carpet muffling your footsteps, the faint hum of the hotel’s ac the only sound breaking the charged silence.
his thumb strokes the back of your hand, a subtle reassurance, his presence solid and comforting beside you.
at your door, you fish the key card from your bag, holding it out, but before you can swipe it, he takes it from your fingers, his touch lingering on your skin.
he pulls you in for one last kiss, slow and deep, lips molding to yours with a final, aching sweetness. his free hand cups the back of your neck, holding you there as his tongue teases yours one more time, a soft suck on your bottom lip that draws a quiet moan from you.
then, with a reluctant exhale, he breaks away, swiping the card through the reader. the lock beeps green, the door unlocking with a click. he hands the card back but doesn’t step away, leaning in close, his lips brushing your ear.
“good night,” he whispers, the words silent and intimate, meant only for you.
“good night,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible, slipping through the door as it swings open.
your fingers stay tangled with his until the distance forces them apart, a final brush of skin that leaves you both reaching for a second longer.
the last thing he hears before the door shuts is your friend’s voice, sharp and exasperated from inside the room.
“oh my god, you better have a good reason why you’re back so late.”
the door clicks closed, muffling your response, and haechan stands there in the empty hotel hallway, a slow, unstoppable smile spreading across his face.
he looks like a lovesick fool, heart pounding and he thinks you two might go really nice together.
🏹
an: i locked the fuck in for this one. and it was so easy because i’m lowkey just spilling some of my own tea in extreme detail. what do yall know about ✨limerence✨ ?????…..anyways, i can’t stop listening to drop dead so i had to get this out of my system or it’ll keep bothering me…hope u like :3
seasonal depression is a real thing. at least, according to you it is. personally, jeonghan had never experienced it. its entire premise just didn't really make sense, is all. watching the leaves change colors and fall was beautiful, and when winter rolled around the corner, so did the holidays and days off. if anything, wasn't that a reason to be happier?
a sneeze interrupts his train of thought, and jeonghan feels a pang in his chest at the sight.
it's officially been three days with you being flu-struck, and you both hoped it would've gotten better by now, but if anything it only seemed to have gotten worse. the time reads a quarter past two, and jeonghan can't help but sigh.
you've been stuck on the couch since noon, curled up in your warmest blanket trying to watch the latest sitcom episode. your drowsiness is palpable, and every time you reach for a tissue to blow your nose, jeonghan flinches.
if seasonal depression corresponded with your well-being, then maybe jeonghan relates to it more than he thinks. and though jeonghan is chock-full of sympathy, his urgency to comfort you proves stronger.
and so jeonghan begins to rack his brain for different methods to make you feel better. and somehow his memories digress to the day you both took the love language test, even before you started dating. much to his embarrassment, jeonghan doesn't actually remember what your love language is, and he's way too prideful to ask. luckily, the nostalgia ends with the spark of a lightbulb, and jeonghan smiles. he knows exactly what to do.
—
the quest to rediscover your love language begins with the first type: words of affirmation.
slowly, jeonghan saunters over to you, trailing his fingertips over the leather of the couch, then over the fabric of the blanket, gently and gradually, until they find their way to your shoulder, and jeonghan leans down so you're promptly face to face. the quiet chatter from the TV fills up empty space, but it's not enough to force jeonghan to speak loudly. so he doesn't. instead, he inches ever so closer, until he can make out every beauty mark on your face, and he breathes, hardly above a whisper, "you're so beautiful."
in an attempt to play the compliment off, you merely roll your eyes. you blame your illness, though, when you can't contain the slightest inklings of a smile forming, nor the red flush that threatens to overtake your cheeks. you pair a gentle slap against jeonghan's arm with the statement, "i look like shit," and the accusation, "you're just saying that to make me feel better."
if it was even possible, jeonghan moves in closer, propping one hand on the couch arm for support so he could lift his other hand to rest perfectly under your chin. jeonghan swipes his thumb over your skin, hot to the touch, but he can't tell if it's from a blush or from the fever. "you might be right," jeonghan concedes, humming as he takes in every detail of your current state—rosy nose, puffy eyes, dry skin, messy hair—and yet jeonghan can't seem to find any flaws. inspection complete, jeonghan searches for the one thing he knows he can find. ever so faintly, glimmers dance in your eyes, and when jeonghan catches them with his own, like he's done before a million times, he repeats himself. "you might be right. i could just be saying that to make you feel better." jeonghan tucks one of many stray hairs behind your ear before reaching down to cup your hands together, "but that doesn't make it any less true."
and jeonghan can see it, can physically see it, how all of your insecurities instantly crumble, like a house of cards collapsing upon itself, melting away to make room for new walls, sturdier this time, built from affirmations and confidence and care.
a verbal response isn't required. all you do is smile, subtly, so that your lips barely curve up, and you close your eyes. but even this speaks volumes, because it's your cue of absorbing all the good things around you, no matter how small. it's also jeonghan's cue to add one final speck of positivity to your realm with a sweet kiss to your forehead, before he takes his leave to give you your much-needed space.
—
mindless chatter continues to emit from the TV, and when jeonghan peers into the living room, he spots you tucked away in your same spot on the couch, only this time your head rested lower and your mouth hung open, blissfully asleep and temporarily free from the virus that ailed you.
jeonghan is quick to shimmy on his coat. braving the bite of winter air, it was time to do some shopping for part two, giving gifts, in his mission to determine your love language.
months of taking extra shifts, saving up, determined observations, and heavy research all culminated into this one moment. he was battling not one, but two, life-or-death decisions. the first was to pick which gaming console to buy, and the second was to pick which game to correctly pair with said console. his dedication to this plan, despite being executed weeks before the planned date, does not fail him, and fifteen minutes later jeonghan is walking back into your home as if nothing even happened.
luckily, you are still asleep, which gives jeonghan enough time to wrap up (literally) this phase of the journey and get a head start on the next: acts of services.
—
about a million things fly through jeonghan's head when he watches you ease out of your slumber, the most prominent thought being how adorable you look, but the most important thought being how sick you still must feel, and how it's engraved in jeonghan's soul to fend off your demons.
unable to contain his excitement, jeonghan approaches you with his arms tucked behind his back, very conspicuously hiding something. you don't even get the chance to sit up before jepnghan kneels beside you, looking up with the largest pair of star-filled eyes.
jeonghan brings both hands forward, so the two presents display themselves proudly between you. "i was going to wait until christmas," he shuffles the gifts into your arms, "but i can't stand seeing you like this." jeonghan balls his fists into his lap to prevent himself from tearing away at the wrappings himself. "i hope you like it."
piece by piece, bits of red and green foil fall to the floor. no amount of congestion or itchiness in your throat could suppress the yelp that burst from your voice. "jeonghan," you begin, but the growing lump of emotion in your chest was making it damn near impossible to finish your sentence. "you really didn't have to."
jeonghan beams. "yes i did. i know how much you miss your old switch."
"you mean the one i threw out the window because i couldn't pass that one stupid level of super mario?"
it's clear that you are very unfond of the memory, but jeonghan simply finds it all the more endearing. "that's the one."
the grin on jeonghan's face has yet to falter, and suddenly the swells of appreciation that lap at your heart transform into guilt. you imagine all the sacrifices jeonghan must have made in order to afford this, all the late shifts he had to seek out, just to buy you a replacement for something you broke in the first place. you swallow a lump of equal parts of exasperation and admiration down your throat, ready to air out further protest because you really don't deserve this, and you sure as hell don't deserve jeonghan.
and jeonghan can imagine all of your internal turmoil, of course he can, which gives him all the more reason to assure you that you do, in fact, deserve the entire world. it's also happily up to jeonghan to deliver it to you. one warm hand placed on your cold ones and a couple of soothing circles rubbed atop of them later, and jeonghan has effectively drawn you out of your own bubble.
"whatever you're worrying about," jeonghan exhales, "don't." when jeonghan senses the tension releasing from your body, he drives his point across with a home run. "plus," he nods at the game he bought to accompany the console, mario kart 8, "we can play together this time, too."
there's no reason to argue, you conclude, especially not against jeonghan. a deep breath resets your mentality, and you try your best to return to your usual self, biting back a smile. "you know I won't go easy on you, right?"
"oh please," jeonghan ruffles your already messy hair, "in your condition, you'll be begging me to go easy on you."
frowning, you take a moment to envision this unlikely scenario. unwilling to even entertain the possibility of losing to jeonghan, you dodge the challenge altogether. "how about we play another time," you mutter.
and at that, jeonghan jumps to his feet, grabbing the switch and the game in one fell swoop. "i knew you were gonna say that," he giggles, "which is why I prepared something else."
after quickly shooting a prayer to whatever gods were out there, you tentatively say, "please don't tell me you got another ridiculously expensive gift. this is more than enough." you're more than enough, you want to add, but don't.
jeonghan all but skips to the kitchen. "i wouldn't exactly call this a gift." a painfully slow thirty seconds pass until he returns to the couch in the living room, to you, carefully balancing a plate of various desserts in one hand, and cradling what appeared to be a lighter in the other.
you squint, double checking if you were actually seeing what you thought you were seeing. "what exactly would you call it, then?"
figuring that calling it an act of service would be much too blatant, jeonghan settles on "lunch."
"lunch?" you eye the plate, definitively making out two chocolate bars, a sleeve of graham crackers, and a bundle of marshmallows.
once his rendition of a charcuterie board is secure on the coffee table, jeonghan maneuvers his way onto the couch and under the blanket, shoulder to shoulder with you one and only. "you haven't eaten all day. and i know you probably don't want to eat a proper meal," jeonghan gestures at their awaiting food, "but I also know you crave sweets when you're sick."
it should be second nature by now, really, with how many times jeonghan so casually demonstrates just how well he knows you, maybe even more than you knows yourself. but jeonghan leaves you in awe every time, regardless.
s'mores are your designated comfort food. the entire process is just so enjoyable, from prepping the ingredients and assembling the structure, to trying to eat the whole thing in one bite lest the remnants ooze out the sides. and so you both do just that.
lacking anything close to a fireplace or a firepit, you roast marshmallows skewered with chopsticks above the dim flame from the lighter. as per the laws of physics (or something like that), the first marshmallow never goes well, and you both end up with a big black burnt chunk of goo. you effectively hurl yours in the trash, but jeonghan dares to take a nibble off his own. he learns that curiosity does, in fact, kill the cat, and jeonghan scrambles to wash out that terrible ashy aftertaste on his tongue. then he hears the faint sound of you snorting, and he concludes that it was worth it.
you tackle the issue of melting the chocolate next, but it's jeonghan who requests to handle this part because he doesn't want to risk you getting burnt.
and so you watch as jeonghan carefully heats the chocolate piece by piece over the fire. and you note all of jeonghan's habits you've picked up on over the years. how jeonghan's tongue peaks out from the corner of his mouth when he's super concentrated, how he furrows his brows when he tries to see better, how he forgets to blink when there's one specific thing on his mind. and you feel yourself likewise melting like the chocolate, because even to this day, you still can't fathom how you were so lucky to have jeonghan to call yours.
"i hope you're hungry," jeonghan announces, grinning ear to ear.
you reciprocate the expression. it's assembly time.
you make a mess. it was inevitable, honestly. there was only so much precaution to be taken from your comfy position on the couch, legs and feet all tangled up in each other. and you wouldn't have it any other way.
laughter outshines any noise from the long-forgotten sitcom playing on the TV. each bounce of your shoulder from an accompanying chuckle is followed by the blanket sliding down, just a bit. jeonghan tries to be slick when he drapes his arm around you, a front to make sure he can pull the blanket back up every time it threatens to slip. but this is you. you, who notice everything that jeonghan does for you. you, who's grateful for all of it. you, who don't think you can love jeonghan any more than you already do.
—
an impromptu nap is essential for their post-s'more recovery. the last two love languages, physical touch and quality time, are much harder to gauge. considering jeonghan's affection is usually on full display 24/7 and the fact that he counts his entire lifespan with you as quality time, he can only hope you treasure your moments together as much as he does. and honestly, at this point, jeonghan is much too tired to care about his quest to uncover your love language. the only mission on his mind is to get you as close as possible, and so he seeks to accomplish just that.
pulling you into his arms, you both slump onto your sides, feet dangling off the edge of the couch, hands wrapped around shoulders and backs, and eyes locked unwavering onto the other's. jeonghan slips his bicep under your neck, fashioning a faux pillow, and rests your head against his chest, just above his beating heart.
you squirm in a weak attempt to create some distance between you. (you're not successful.) "i'm gonna get you sick."
jeonghan only snuggles closer. "i don't care," emphasizing his point with a chaste kiss upon your forehead, and then, oh so gently, on your nose, both cheeks, and finally, still ever so softly, on your lips.
you've both long since outgrown the butterflies in your stomachs. what used to elicit sparks of electricity at every touch now resound in echoes of warmth. and lying here, in jeonghan's embrace, in jeonghan's comfort, in jeonghan's life, you feel so safe. you'd spend eternity with jeonghan if you could, but right now, when the passage of time has all but stopped as you continue to hold each other in your own beautiful world, what you have right now is all you want.
—
you both wake up as you were, still entangled in each other's body, each other's affection, each other's hearts.
you let yourself drown in the serenity that was jeonghan before you ask the question that's been tickling the back of your mind the whole day. "what was up with you today? you were oddly kind, even more so than you usually are."
an instant flush of red rises upon jeonghan's cheeks, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think jeonghan was the sick one, not you. "this is gonna sound stupid," jeonghan says.
and to that, your first instinct is to reach for jeonghan's hand and intertwine your fingers, still perfectly warm under the blanket. "nothing you say is ever stupid." it's true. on a scale of endearing to adorable, never once have you thought jeonghan resembled anything close to the word stupid.
jeonghan bites his lip, as he confesses, "i hated seeing how miserable you were, and i wanted to cheer you up, but i forgot what your love language is, so i thought i'd do one of each to see which one you like the most, but you were equally receptive to all of them, and i feel dumb for not knowing what means the most to you."
when you don't immediately respond, jeonghan sighs and chides himself. "i told you, it's stupid."
but you just laugh, sporting a grin so wide your eyes turn into mini crescent moons. "yoon jeonghan, you're ridiculous in the best way possible." you unlace your finger in favor of cupping your palm around jeonghan's cheek, still blazing from embarrassment. "did you know that?"
jeonghan flits his gaze downwards, uncharacteristically shy towards the one person he's bared his entire soul to. "could you still remind me what your love language is?" he sheepishly requests, adding on, "just for future reference."
you just smile, and you hope your words are enough to convey the intensity of the way your whole body swells with an undeniable warmth every time jeonghan does anything. "as long as it's with you," you use your thumb to tilt jeonghan's head back up, ensuring he can see just how sincere you are when you say, "i love it all just the same." and then you lean in, breaths already mingling, lips centimeters from meeting, hearts seconds from colliding, when you whisper, "i love you all just the same."
summary: after a fatal head injury, haechan wakes up from a coma with amnesia; and all he wants right now is you
genre: ANGST, slight fluff? mentions of head injury, hospital equipment etc.
w/c: 3.7k
the first thing he notices is the change in the air.
he wakes up and suddenly its all too quiet, too calm.
the next second he sees a nurse rushing into the room
"good morning," she says. "how are you feeling?"
he tries to answer, but his mouth hesitates like it's searching for the correct version of the world. his throat feels dry. his head feels heavy, as if someone wrapped his thoughts in cloth while he slept.
"where..." he starts, and the word turns into nothing. the nurse adjusts the blanket at his chest. "you're safe. you're in the hospital. you had a-" she checks her clipboard. "a head injury. you're awake now, so that's a good sign."
good sign.
haechan swallows. he blinks and looks around again, he doesn't remember much, but he knows that there's only one person that he wants to see right now.
"where's y/n?"
the lobby smells like disinfectant and tired coffee. you scan the signs at the end of the hall, your eyes moving faster than your brain wants to.
you find him because your body remembers where he should be.
in the time between you walking in and you seeing him, you realize something terrible, you’ve been assuming he’s waiting for you the way you used to wait for each other. you’ve been assuming he’s still in your routine, still in your life.
but when you reach his room, you find him at the bedside, too upright, too restless, like he’s trying to solve an emergency with panic alone.
he sees you and stands too quickly.
“y/n,” he says, like the word is oxygen.
you step closer carefully. “haechan. hey. i’m here.”
relief flashes across his face for half a second, then confusion slides in again like a tide. his brows pinch, his gaze flickers to your hands, your face, your clothes, searching for proof.
“you were here,” he says. not a question. like he’s arguing with his own mind. “i-i knew you. but i don’t know-”
“amnesia,” you hear behind you.
the nurse.
she’s standing in the doorway with her clipboard, not harsh, not dramatic. just tired. just competent. her voice is gentle in the way that means she’s said the same sentence a lot and still hates it.
“he woke up asking for you,” the nurse says. “right after the morning check. he keeps trying to remember, but his memories aren’t accessible right now.”
haechan’s head turns toward her. “amnesia?”
the word lands in his face like something cold.
“yes,” the nurse says. “and he’s at risk. further brain injury if he overexerts himself trying to force memory. headaches, confusion, complications. we want him calm. stable.”
haechan looks at you like you can translate the sentence into something that makes sense.
“what do i do,” he asks.
you already know what the nurse means. you can feel it in the way your throat tightens and your chest tries to close around the word ‘memory’ like it’s protecting you from it.
the nurse continues, “for now, it’s best if you play along with whatever he currently believes. don’t correct him harshly. don’t push him into trying to recall things that aren’t there. reassure him that it’s okay.”
you swallow.
there’s a moment where you want to argue. where you want to say he deserves the truth. where you want to demand clarity, because you’ve always hated the way your life turns into unanswered questions.
but then you see his face.
not just confused.
afraid.
you think of hospital lights, of scanners and protocols, of how quickly good intentions can become harm. you think of the note he’d asked for last year, the one you still keep folded in a drawer even though you told yourself you’d throw it away. you think of how he used to say he’d choose you even if his schedule got messy.
and then you think of how this is now.
you nod once, slowly, like agreeing to something heavier than comfort. “okay,” you say to the nurse. “i understand.”
the nurse meets your eyes like she appreciates you choosing patience. “thank you. he’s already very attached to you ”
attached.
like it’s a fact you can measure on a chart.
haechan doesn’t ask what the nurse told you. he just looks at you harder, trying to find you in the fog.
“are you mad at me,” he asks quietly.
your heart stutters.
“no,” you say, because you can’t break him with the truth too early. “i’m not mad.”
he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
“then… stay,” he says. “please.”
so you do.
you stay.
the first day is mostly practical.
you help him drink water, because his hands shake slightly when he remembers you’re supposed to be someone he loves. you help him sit up slowly. you help him answer questions from nurses with a calm voice he clings to like it’s a railing.
when he asks where he is, you tell him it’s a hospital and you are here. when he asks if you’ve been waiting, you tell him you came as soon as you could. when he asks what happened, you don’t tell him everything, because the nurse was clear, and because you can see how quickly he starts to spiral when he tries to push past what he’s currently able to hold.
but he doesn’t just stay in the present.
he keeps making small connections, even with the amnesia.
later that first night, he points at your phone when it buzzes. “is that… work?”
you glance at the screen without thinking. you shouldn’t have checked it, but habit is hard to kill. you turn it face down. “it’s okay. it can wait.”
“you always did that,” he says, then pauses like the sentence surprised him. “didn’t you?”
you freeze. “always?”
he rubs his face with the heel of his palm. “i don’t know. i just- something feels familiar.”
his eyes lift to yours again. “i think i was the one who was busy.”
you give him a small smile. “you were.”
it’s not a lie, but it’s not the full story either.
he nods, like your answer fits inside the empty spaces he can’t yet see.
and when you lie back against the chair beside his bed, you realize you’re doing it too: shaping the truth so it won’t hurt him.
for now, you’re not the you in the present
you’re the you of the past
the one he remembers.
week one passes in a slow, careful rhythm.
you come in every day after whatever you can salvage from your life outside the hospital. you bring him simple food he can tolerate. you talk to him when he gets restless. you watch his eyes when he hears your voice, because he looks at you differently when he’s calm. like he trusts you more.
he thanks you constantly.
“you’re so good to me,” he’ll say, like he’s stunned you’re not angry. like he can’t understand why you keep showing up.
“i’m just taking care of you,” you answer.
but there are moments where the mask cracks.
not in a dramatic way. not in the way movies do it. in tiny things.
one afternoon, he’s staring at the IV pole like it’s a prop on a stage. “why do i have so many appointments,” he asks.
“doctor visits,” you say.
he frowns. “no. i mean… earlier. before i ended up here.” he presses his fingers to his temple. “i had- i have…memories that don’t load.”
you sit up straighter, careful not to flinch. “what do you remember?”
he tries to say it like a puzzle. “you and i had a routine. it felt—like… like i was always behind.”
you hold your breath.
because that sounds like it could be heartbreak or it could be guilt.
and right now, either one could hurt him if it’s the wrong one.
“maybe you were stressed,” you say softly.
his eyes narrow, and he shakes his head like he hates the answer. “not stressed. i was prioritizing something.”
you keep your voice steady. “work?”
he looks at you as if the word should already mean something. “yes.”
then he exhales, long and shaky. “and you didn’t like it.”
your stomach twists.
you don’t want to lie, but you also don’t want to correct him too hard. you choose truth that won’t break him in one sentence.
“i didn’t like it when you stopped showing up the way you promised.”
he goes quiet after that. the quiet isn’t peaceful. it’s tense, like his brain is trying to file the information under something safe.
“then why are you here,” he asks, and it’s not accusing. it’s terrified.
“because i care,” you say.
his face softens like he needed that to be real.
“okay…” he whispers. “okay.”
but you notice his hands fidget. you notice how he keeps glancing at your face, waiting for the moment he realizes something doesn’t add up.
and you realize, too, that you can’t keep it covered forever.
amnesia doesn’t last like a curtain. it flickers. it thins. it returns in fragments.
week two starts with small signs.
he wakes up one morning, blinking at the ceiling with less confusion than before. his voice is still careful, but his thoughts move more smoothly.
“y/n,” he says, and then, like he’s surprised by his own certainty, he adds, “we’ve done this already.”
you sit up. “what do you mean?”
he pauses. “like… the last time i woke up. you were there. you were tired.”
you let the silence stretch just enough for him to feel safe in it.
“you always looked like that when you were trying to be strong for me,” he says quietly.
your mouth goes dry.
he isn’t supposed to be reaching for the past yet. not fully. not this clearly.
you reach for his hand. “haechan…”
he squeezes your fingers. “i’m sorry,” he says suddenly.
you almost laugh from the pain of it. “for what?”
he stares at the space between you like he’s reading his own thoughts on invisible paper. “for not remembering everything sooner,” he says, voice breaking at the edges. “for not… being there.”
you swallow hard. “you’re here now.”
he shakes his head. “no. i mean before.” his brow furrows. “i chose-” he stops. “i chose something that wasn’t you.”
your eyes burn. you refuse to let tears fall in front of him, because he still looks like the world could fall apart if he senses your grief.
“it wasn’t because you didn’t care,” you say.
he looks at you quickly, hopeful. “then what was it.”
you can’t answer fast enough to keep from hurting him.
so you answer honestly in the only way you’re allowed to right now: gently, without details that would detonate his confusion.
“you were scared,” you say. “about failing. about disappointing everyone. about losing control. and i understood, but i still needed you.”
his eyes flicker.
he might not remember the breakup yet, but his body remembers the feeling of wanting something and not getting it.
he sits back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “i told you it would get better,” he says.
you look away because your throat can’t handle the sound of it. “you did.”
“and i didn’t make it better,” he whispers.
this time, his voice doesn’t sound like a stranger reciting lines. it sounds like a person standing on the edge of accountability.
“haechan,” you say, barely audible.
he turns his head toward you slowly. “do you hate me.”
you can’t pretend anymore, not when he’s getting pieces back.
but you also can’t rip him open with the full history of you two in one go.
you take a breath that feels like swallowing glass. “i don’t hate you.”
he nods. “okay.”
then he frowns, like the word ‘okay’ doesn’t fit what he’s feeling. “i think you left me.”
your pulse spikes.
“i-” you begin.
he holds up a hand, not to stop you, but like he needs you to wait while his mind catches up.
“i remember the feeling,” he says. “it was… quiet. not angry. not dramatic. just… you being done.”
your eyes sting.
he looks at you with a kind of hurt that doesn’t have anywhere to go yet. “you didn’t want to keep waiting.”
“i didn’t want to keep hoping alone,” you say, and it comes out more honest than you intended.
his face crumples like the truth finally found a home inside him.
“i’m sorry,” he says again, and this time it’s not just comfort seeking. it’s real regret.
“i’m trying to remember,” he whispers. “i can feel it. like my head is full of locked doors and i just-” he closes his eyes hard. “i just want to know what happened so i can fix it.”
you flinch.
because the nurse’s advice echoes in your mind: don’t push him into remembering too fast.
and you also remember your own heavy heart from before, when you were the one walking away because you were tired of being the understanding one.
you want to protect him.
you also want to protect you.
“haechan,” you say carefully, “take it slow. it’s okay if it comes back gradually.”
he opens his eyes. they’re glassy. “is it coming back because you’re here,” he asks, “or because something broke in me.”
you don’t answer right away.
the silence feels like confession.
“i think it’s both,” you admit.
he nods, like he understands too well now.
then it starts.
not all at once. never all at once.
it comes as images, sensations, tiny humiliations and tender moments that your mind tries to tuck away when you’re protecting your pride.
he remembers how you used to check your phone after rehearsals, not because you were expecting messages, because you needed to reassure yourself he hadn’t forgotten you existed.
he remembers the last time you fought. not screaming, not throwing things, just the kind of fight where you keep talking calmly while your heart gets smaller.
he remembers him saying he’d make time.
and then he remembers not making time.
he remembers you standing in a doorway, your voice steady even though your eyes weren’t.
he remembers the exact moment you decided not to beg for attention anymore.
your heart stops when he says the next sentence.
“i chose work over you,” he says, like he’s shocked his own mouth could say something so cruel. “and you left.”
you reach for him, but he flinches away, startled by your touch like your closeness is too loaded now.
“haechan,” you whisper.
“no,” he says, breath shaky. “don’t.”
it’s not that he doesn’t want you. it’s that he does.
too much.
the amnesia was a mercy. it let him love you without weighing the cost. it let him believe you still belonged to him.
now the past returns, and the past is a wall.
he looks at you with eyes that are trying to be gentle but are failing.
“i don’t know how to fix it,” he says.
you swallow hard. “you can’t fix what’s already been decided.”
he looks away. “did you decide because i didn’t love you.”
your throat aches. “i don’t think you didn’t love me.”
he turns back, desperate. “then why.”
because the truth is complicated and ugly and human.
because you both loved each other, but love doesn’t prevent schedules from swallowing promises.
because he kept choosing what was urgent, and you kept learning how to live with being delayed.
because your patience has limits even when your feelings don’t.
you say it anyway, the way you always wanted him to understand the first time.
“because i felt like i was becoming your afterthought,” you say. “and i couldn’t keep living like that.”
his face goes pale.
“i didn’t mean-” he starts.
“i know,” you cut in softly. “i believe you didn’t mean it.”
he closes his eyes like he’s holding back something too loud to survive in a hospital room.
when he opens them, there’s anger there—but not at you. at himself. at the timeline. at the version of him that existed before he woke up.
“what did you do after you left,” he asks, voice cracking.
you laugh once, bitter and quiet. “i lived.”
he shakes his head like he can’t stand the simplicity of it. “did you- did you move on.”
you press your lips together.
the nurse told you to play along to protect his brain. she didn’t tell you how to protect your heart from the questions he now remembers how to ask.
you answer with the truth you can bear.
“i tried,” you say.
“did you love me less,” he asks.
you look at his hands. the way they still shake. the way they still look like they could hold you through anything. the way they also look like they’ve been empty of you for too long.
“no,” you whisper. “i just… had to stop loving a future that kept getting postponed.”
his eyes flood.
he doesn’t wipe them away fast enough. tears slip down his face in quiet lines, like even crying is careful around pain.
“i’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds smaller than earlier apologies.
you feel something sharp twist in your chest: not anger. not even resentment.
just grief for how late he remembered.
if you’d met him at the start of this, you could have fought for him again.
but you’ve already gone through the leaving.
you’ve already built your life around the absence.
and now he’s coming back to you with a timeline that doesn’t know how to unbreak what it already broke.
he reaches for you again.
this time, you let him take your hand.
but the weight of it is different. heavier. like holding a ghost with a pulse.
“if i’d remembered sooner,” he murmurs, “would you still be here.”
you stare at the space between you, at the reality you’ve been trying to survive.
you could lie.
you could make it easier for him.
but you can’t.
“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “i think i would’ve tried to. but i think i would’ve still eventually run out of hope.”
he swallows hard.
“so what now,” he asks.
you squeeze his fingers once, gentle. “now you rest. you recover. you learn to live with what you can’t undo.”
his eyes lift to yours.
and the angst is not in shouting or threats. it’s in the quiet understanding that you two broke up for a reason, and the reason didn’t disappear just because he woke up and remembered you.
“but i want you,” he says.
your throat tightens. “i know.”
and there it is. the cruelest part.
you still want him too.
you still love him in the way that doesn’t turn off like a switch.
but love isn’t enough to reverse time. love isn’t a cure for schedules and distance and the slow erosion of trust.
he leans forward slightly, as if he can chase the past back into place.
“tell me you didn’t stop loving me,” he whispers.
you press your forehead to his for a second, just long enough to share warmth without giving promises your heart can’t keep.
“i didn’t,” you say.
then you pull back before your emotions take control.
before the nurse’s instructions become irrelevant to the real damage you can already feel forming.
“but you can’t ask me to go back to being the one who waits,” you add, voice trembling. “not after you finally remember why you hurt me.”
his shoulders sag. “so i lose you.”
you stare at him, trying not to hate the word ‘lose’ because it makes it sound like you’re being taken from him.
you’re not being taken.
you already left.
“you don’t get to lose me,” you say quietly. “you have to accept that i already chose myself.”
he looks like he might collapse.
instead, he just holds your hand like he’s trying to memorize you all over again—this time without the protection of amnesia.
“okay,” he whispers, defeated and honest. “okay.”
the week after that isn’t dramatic either.
it’s just harder.
you keep showing up sometimes because you’re kind, and because the habit of caring is a muscle you didn’t train out of your body. you talk to him as he regains more pieces. you sit beside him while he stares at the ceiling and remembers the sound of his own promises.
but every time he remembers something that made you leave, you feel the distance widen inside the space between your words.
and one morning, late in recovery, he asks you one last question while the sunlight hits the window like it always does in hospitals—bright, indifferent, pretending the world is simple.
“if i apologize enough,” he says, “will you forgive me.”
you look at him. at the person you loved. at the person who, even now, is still learning how to be present.
you think about the scheduling conflicts, about the way time kept slipping and you kept paying for it with your patience.
you think about your heavy heart and how it already knows the ending.
“forgiveness isn’t the point,” you say.
his eyes search yours. “then what is.”
you breathe out slowly, like letting go hurts even when you’re doing it gently.
“the point,” you whisper, “is that i needed more than love. i needed effort that showed up consistently. and i didn’t get that.”
he nods, because he understands now. not in a way that fixes anything. just in a way that finally hurts enough to be real.
you stand to leave after that, because if you stay too long, you’ll start bargaining again.
at the doorway, haechan calls your name.
“y/n.”
you turn back.
he looks at you like he wants to keep you in his hands. like he wants to drag you into the version of the future where his amnesia never happened.
but all he has is the truth.
“i’m going to do better,” he says, voice breaking. “i swear.”
your chest aches at the familiar shape of that promise.
you almost say yes.
almost.
then you remember you already lived through almost.
you shake your head, slow and painful.
“i hope you do,” you say. “but i can’t be the proof this time.”
you leave the room with your heart in your throat, and behind you he sits alone, gripping the edge of the blanket like he can hold onto what he lost.
outside the hospital, the sky is bright.
and you walk anyway.
because even though he finally remembers you, the timing of your love has already changed.
requested. library. you can check them calling you babygirl.
jeno. “babygirl?” don’t blame him; not knowing makes him more of a sweetheart and impossible to not feel the rush of affection that overwhelms you. “aw, my baby!” he has no choice but to remain clueless, slowly beginning to figure things out. “huh?” you see, he’s actually a genius in disguise. he just has to endure looking foolish in order to get kisses, got it… kinda.
haechan. “me?” even though he is trying to joke back, his cheeks have turned red. “mmm,” you nod, “pretty, pretty.” stroking his chin. he pulls away from your touch, covering his mouth; he can hide behind that jokester façade all he wants, because while he does so, his eyes are unable to hold your gaze. he’s nervous, and you smile. of course, he likes it.
mark. he looks at you like you’ve been bitten by a bug. you check yourself to see if you’ve grown a second head. “wait, are you talking to me?” can’t you just call your boyfriend babygirl? you plead guilty. he bursts out laughing, and when he calms down, he nods in agreement. “ok, i guess i’ll be your babygirl.” he assumes kissing your forehead, although you think he’s just leaned in to make sure you haven’t really gone crazy.
renjun. “baby, i’m not.” the fact that you overlook his perplexed expression as you act like nothing is wrong and kiss his pout is far concerning to him, because apparently that makes him more adorable. “but you are to me.” you actually look sad that he dislikes it, but then… then it turns into a silly compliment that he looks forward to every time he does something, feeling his cheeks flush.
chenle. you can only watch as he crosses his arms and puts on an impenetrable look that starts to make you feel self-conscious. you think you’ve hurt his feelings, or that he likes you less, but then you see him open his mouth to give you the longest lecture you’ve ever heard in your life. “... because think about it, if i were your baby girl, then you would be the one buying me gifts.” … “chenle... that’s a sugar baby.”
jisung. he’s… lost for words. it’s as if you’ve spoken to him in another language. he’s so stunned that he doesn’t even hug you in return. “am i a girl?” he asks, and as if that weren’t enough, he points to himself. you nod, “my girl,” you insist. he kisses you on the cheek when you check that you haven’t broken or misconfigured anything inside him.. “okay, i guess.”
jaemin. in the dimly lit room, you can’t sleep a wink. he’s fallen asleep, or so you suspect. you’re completely wrong when he catches you silently watching him. a giggle escapes both of you, and even though you’d die to sleep with him, you can’t help but feel a surge of affection. that’s the effect he has, the calm he makes you feel. “my babygirl.” he doesn’t argue, he doesn’t contradict you. he just smiles, as if the nickname suits him. “mmm. yours.”
pairing: (ex)idol!mark lee x f!reader
rating: pg
wc: 1209
warnings: angst, feeling guilt, no beta we die like men
synopsis: it's the end of march into april, your boyfriend is about to drop something that will rock the industry. and here you are experiencing that first beat of quiet after the shock. pahinga in tagalog means to rest.
author's note: an idol leaving hasn't affected me this deeply since jonghyun. i haven't been a resident of ncity for long but mark was THE member that pulled me in. this fic inspired by this edit i made for him and by the ending scene in avengers endgame where pepper delivers THAT devastating line. i'll always be a fan of his and should he choose to come back to the spotlight, i will be there cheering him on. i always had plans to write for mark and i still might but not as much as i originally planned. anyways enjoy ♡
The day he came home from the final encore show, you wrapped him in sweater-covered arms under the midnight sky. Placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, you whispered an apology for not being able to make it that night. He scoffed as he squeezed you harder, signaling the your sentiment was silly.
The whole night, you listened, that's all you could do.
You let him cry out everything that he forced himself to bury during the concert.
He'd positioned his back in between your legs while you sat on the sofa and he slumped onto the floor. Plates of his favorite comfort meals laid out on the coffee table in front of him. Rubbing his back when he would get choked up on words, you reached for the food and nudged it toward him. Encouraging him to eat and take a moment, reminding him that you were in no rush, that you were planted here for him as long as he wanted. As long as he needed.
He gets choked up when he spoke about the searing pang of guilt he felt when he saw Jisung break on stage. You rub small circles at the base of his neck to try and ease some of the anxiety you know is building up under his skin. Very few people knew that the announcement was coming on Friday. The members had known for a while that he was leaving. But you were the first person Mark even told that he was considering this option. You know the upcoming announcement is the biggest cause of his anxiety. You tried to assure him that the only opinion that matters is his and that everyone in NCT understood his choice. You of course understood why he was so anxious. Fans have not always been the kindest and this is an incredibly huge change. You weren't around for his "graduation" from Dream, but you had seen the headlines. Seen the outcry, the petitions, the reaction. The reaction he had was warranted.
"Could you feel the love?" You ask, trying to lead him away from the nerves and guilt.
"Hmm?"
"When you looked out into the crowd, what did you see? What could you feel?"
A smile hid in the corner of his lips as he recollected the way the fans looked at him with adoration. The unmistakable twinkle in his eyes returned when he spoke of how happy he was performing with the guys. When he finished, you tipped his head back to look up at you.
"That," you say as you soothe circles into his chest, "Keep that with you always."
The smile hiding in the corner breaks out and splays across his lips. Leaning down, you place the softest kiss on nose. As you pull away, you feel his hands cup your cheeks and pull him back towards you. Your lips meet and it's your turn to smile. When he lets you go, you jerk your head towards your bedroom. The mere mention of sleep has him scrambling up. He's halfway down the hall when he realizes you aren't following behind. He turns around with a shocked face. Giggling softly, you gesture him to keep going, letting him know you were just gonna clean up the food first. An argument dies at the tip of his tongue when you sternly deny his ask to help you.
Mark had no schedules for the rest of the week but you were unfortunately were still a working citizen. You came home early on Friday and found him looking at a frame in your living room. The frame was one that you gifted him a while back. It was a picture of his groups after their first ever completed tours. Quietly you approach him and slowly wrap your arms around his waist. He jumps at the sudden contact, but immediately relaxes when he realizes it's you.
"They're gonna be okay, y'know?" You say into his shoulder.
You don't know how much assurance your words give him but you continue to talk. Telling him that although it will be different without him, they'll be able to move forward and they will take care of each other. Reminding him that this decision will never, could never erase the years he's spent with his brothers. That choosing himself will never be something he regrets.
He points to the coffee table where a stack of papers lay. Your eyes follow his hand and you can see his handwriting all over the papers.
"I spent all of today writing and I think I finally have everything down."
You squeeze his hand to affirm that you know exactly what he's asking. You sink into the sofa while he paces around. Papers in hand, you begin to read his goodbye letter. Deep down you knew that whatever Mark wrote would be perfectly fine, but you hold it so close to your heart that you've always been the first person he shared things to.
Your heart aches while reading. You can feel that just like everything, Mark poured his all into writing this. When you reach the end, tears well up in your eyes. Looking up at him, you see him biting his lip.
"It's perfect. As usual," you squeak out.
He nods hesitantly while you continue to instill the belief that his fans will learn to understand. That those who are happy for him to get a break are the ones filled with so much love.
You've moved to your bedroom and you can visibly see the tension in his shoulders release when he finally hits the post button on Instagram. There was a breath in your chest, that you didn't realize you had been holding.
"It's done. I put it out there," he says in a hushed tone. You take his phone from him and delete all the social media apps off them. He watches you without protest, knowing that staying away was the best choice for his peace of mind. Before you return his phone, you send a quick text to notify his members and managers that he'll be off socials for the time being.
"You did," you say with a gentle smile as you hand him his phone back. He pockets it and lays out on your shared bed with his eyes closed. Like moth to a flame, you curl up next to him, alternating between drawing shapes and tapping your fingers on his chest. There is a long beat of silence in your bedroom. You hear the birds chirping outside and the slight jingle of the wind chimes on your patio. Before you can revel in the peace, you feel Mark stiffen beside you. Turning your head to him, his eyes have shot open and there's a question on the tip of his tongue. Lightly tapping his chest, you draw his attention to you.
"What is it?"
"What do I do?"
Your brows are drawn up in confusion. Untangling yourself from him, you sit up and ask him to clarify this seemingly out of the blue question.
"I mean… What do I do now?" The look in his eyes screams sincerity and your heart aches for him.
"You rest. You can rest now," you say softly as you pull him under the covers with you.
SYNOPSIS: lee haechan ー beloved retired prosecutor ruins his own career with his big mouth. as his lawyer, you have to save his career, or what's left of it, and you rock his world while trying to do so.
PAIRING: tv personality!haechan x female lawyer!reader
GENRE: acquaintances to strangers to lovers, humour, smut.
WORD COUNT: 16.4k
CONTAINS: appearance of other idols. love triangle?? but not really. mentions of sensitive topics but none involve the main characters directly. haechan gets called both haechan and donghyuck. one bad and possibly offensive joke. banter, humour, smut, jealousy, lots of dialogue. sub!haechan, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, praise and degradation kink, nipple play, unprotected penetrative sex, riding, choking. author's note at the end.
inspired by michael jackson's song you rock my world.
“If it’s morning for you, good morning,” Haechan’s ears ring as he watches the flat TV screen in his living room, “If it’s night, then, goodnight! And remember…”
“If you don’t see me again, have a nice life!” Haechan repeats the words of the host. His words. Words that he, himself came up with. His punchline — which was stolen by the crusty rat who took his place, who managed to steal from him even the intonation as he spoke the words.
Haechan scoffs, turning the TV off, and throwing his slippers away, not caring where they land.
He made a colossal mistake, and he’d like to shirk his way out of it easily by saying it wasn’t him. The only problem? He said it on television, everyone has seen his stupid face plastered on their TV’s as he possibly fumbled his career forever.
But how was he supposed to know people don’t have a sense of humour? Right after it slipped past his lips, his bosses warned him about the repercussions of such a joke, and even if they thought the joke was great and howled with laughter while slapping him on his back repeatedly, the audience didn’t appreciate it.
He sits back on his disgustingly big couch, and rewinds what happened that one night.
He told his usual jokes, everyone laughed, the live band used the drums and trumpets for effect. And then, just because he felt very brave and his ego was skyrocketing after looking at the amused faces in the audience, he thought it would be a good idea to add one last joke — instead of his usual concluding line for the end of the night.
“And since this was a topic tonight… before I get to wish you a good night,” He announced, grin stretching from ear to ear, showing his pearly white teeth — a smile everyone loves or, better said, used to love, “I got one last joke about abortion that never gets old… just like the baby…”
Crickets. No one laughed, not even a sound coming from the live band — not even the disappointed sound of the trumpet at his flopping joke.
He cringes remembering how he ended the night, the phone calls from his producers and bosses, and them wishing him the whole thing wouldn’t escalate into something bigger.
Except, it did escalate.
His amazing rating dropped and, to put it simply, he got called in the office and put on unpaid leave until things settled and waters calmed down.
And even after being put on leave, people still came for his head. Women, activists, whole communities fuelled the online debates, criticism, and hate train over his words and actions. He saw his life being desiccated, under a magnifying glass for everyone to judge and study thoroughly, trying to find past mistakes that could be the final nail in his coffin, and which could erase him from being in the public eye.
Lee Donghyuck, who managed to work hard and make a name for himself. Lee Donghyuck, who moved on from his passion and dream job, leaving being a prosecutor for a better and, what he was hoping to be, a calmer future.
Lee Donghyuck, the almighty county prosecutor left his life behind after audiences loved his presence and made him famous, turned into his television persona — Lee Haechan — and the audiences stepped on him like a disgusting cockroach, ready to get discarded of him, who he once was, and what he once represented.
And worst of all, he got a call asking him to come into office tomorrow — and Haechan knows that’s not a good sign for him.
You know who Haechan is. Of course you do, whoever claims not to know who he is is either lying or has been living under a rock for the past couple of years.
He used to be a very diligent prosecutor, who took his job seriously and did his best trying to catch bad guys and getting them convicted for the longest times for their heinous crimes. He used to be one of the best in his field, of the highest competence, so much that lawyers already knew they were on thin ice trying to fight him in court, their clients most likely ending up in jail.
He had an innate talent at what he was doing, and an honest love for his profession — so much that people could just tell he lived and breathed to be a prosecutor. This passion opened a door for him — in television this time.
There used to be this one program, with people dropping by either in person or with a phone call, and they brought up their legal battles asking for advice — all televised. And Haechan was the one expert the producers called most of the times.
Phone calls turned into physical appearances at the studio, where he interacted with the audience. He walked in the studio like he owned the entire planet. Expensive suits, expensive leather shoes, Rolex and jewellery adorned his wrists. He had a glint in his eyes, one that could make anyone fall for his charms.
He was cocky, and for a good reason. He knew just how good he was at his job and, quite frankly, at everything in his life. And although his cockiness might have rubbed some people the wrong way — a handful of people out of an ocean of amazed and satisfied audiences — Haechan was very talented with his charms. He talked to people like he was close to them, like they were long lost friends. He gave them pieces of advice that one would have given to the people you only cared about the most, or to real clients. Not some random person on a TV show.
He connected with the people, and everyone loved him. He became a legend, well known, well liked — and viewer rates skyrocketed.
So much that they gave him his own night show. That’s when he became Lee Haechan — but you’ve known him for far longer than you’d like to admit.
You’ve known him from when he was Lee Donghyuck, a simple student. He studied law and was an insufferable presence in your classes. Your opinions clashed, but then you united against people who had opinions that not only were different than yours, but also wrong. It’s like you were allowed to fight each other, but the moment someone else tried to intervene or take either one of your places, you teamed up to fight back.
You can’t really say you were total strangers to each other. You acknowledged each other, and each other’s talent at what you were doing. Back then, you thought his presence was aggravating, with his usual talent at picking up fights with you and bickering during debates and classes, and you swear he had a sick glint of satisfaction in his eyes every time he saw you getting worked up over him contradicting you.
You got to work on some projects together, and he was close to some people from your small circle of friends. When you’re a law student, there’s not much time you can spend relaxing or going on dates, so the friends you make in your first year are basically the ones you’re stuck with. You heard stories, whispers, but not once did you consider Donghyuck more than what he was — a friend of a friend, who liked driving you insane with every chance he got.
Everyone liked him, got along with him well, yet you kept your distance — mainly because you couldn’t stand his cockiness when he was so satisfied with his driving you up the wall, or when he knew he was right and that he won an argument or debate.
And then your studies ended, and he climbed the success ladder with big and quick steps, while you liked taking your time.
You focused on your career, and you liked gloating that your success rate was almost impeccable. Sure, the amount of work load couldn’t compare to what Donghyuck had to work with as a prosecutor, but you never diminished your efforts and your talent.
For this exact reason, you picked up doing pro bono work every chance you got — being driven by the thought that you could do your part and help people out, with this small aspect at least, and it became an important part of your life, one that helped you stay grounded.
After reminiscing the past, and knowing what’s to come in the next weeks, it boosts your confidence and makes you completely satisfied with yourself, like nothing — and no one — can take you down.
Which is exactly why the drive to the studio feels extremely exciting, like your skin is tingling to get to work — this being the first time you work on this type of case.
Your heels clink on the shiny floors as you make your way towards the conference room, where your bosses and your client are waiting for you to make an appearance.
And with a few minutes left to spare before your meeting starts, you stall on the hallways of the headquarters, because you hate showing up earlier — or later, for that matter — for appointments. You like being very precise, organised in every little aspect of your life because, after all, these are the only moments you try to stay away from unpredictability.
“Oh, hi!” You’re snatched out of your thoughts as you look at your watch. Two more minutes left before going in. “Is there a reason you’re not going in?” Johnny Suh, one of your bosses, smiles while looking at you, all confused.
You shrug, taking a sip from your coffee, “Still two minutes left,”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t take you seriously, and the sly smile on his features makes you understand he really isn’t, “Don’t be silly,” He gestures for you to walk towards the door, huge hand barely touching your tricep respectfully in order to guide you in, “He’s already here,”
He opens the door for you, and you give him a small smile, complying with his request to go in. He’s your boss, after all.
“I told you that’s not it! I didn’t mean it that way, I was jus-” You recognise the voice, high in pitch with frustration, and he stops his rambling when he turns his head to look at who’s walking inside the conference room.
“Y/n?” He’s in disbelief, and a small crease forms in between his eyebrows.
“You two know each other?” Johnny asks, sitting down at the huge table, “Of course you do! I forgot you used to work in the same field,” He looks over a few papers as he takes his blazer off, “Then there’s no need for formal introductions, right?”
You take your seat right across from where Donghyuck is sitting, and you watch as he pouts with confusion while looking at you. You smile, a kind of devious and calm smile he’s never seen on your face before — and it almost creeps him out.
“What are you doin’ here?” He asks you, leaning in over the table as if your answer is meant to be a secret, for his ears only. As if the room isn’t filled with producers and executives.
“Y/n is your lawyer,” Another executive speaks up before Johnny can ease Donghyuck into it.
You’re impressed by the straightforwardness, realising that the sooner the bandaid gets ripped off, the better for everyone.
“My what?!” Donghyuck’s voice is high in pitch, proving to you that his usual exaggerating persona from the past hasn’t changed a bit. “I don’t need a lawyer,”
“Yet,” the CFO intervenes, and Donghyuck’s head snaps to the side to look at her.
His eyebrows furrow while taking his sweet moment trying to understand what is going on.
“I’m sorry but-” He snakes his head incredulously, his gaze moving between your figure and Johnny’s, “Am I being sued for something?”
“Not yet,” The CFO corrects him, and judging by the crease between Donghyuck’s eyebrows, you know he’s getting frustrated.
“But we can’t take chances on this, Haechan,” Johnny speaks up, “We know that your image is being taunted right now, and that people are very much against you,” He explains, like it should be obvious to Donghyuck that things aren’t going to calm down so easily and so soon. “Shall anything happen, Y/n’s here to assist you the best she can while also trying to work on your public image and clear your name,”
“Shall anything happen,” Donghyuck snaps, “I can represent myself very well, you all know this already,”
You look at him, now that you have the proper opportunity to see him in real time, and not on a screen. It’s been so long since you last saw him in person, you’re almost in owe at how his features remained the same, yet they became bolder, stronger, more contoured. He matured, and it brought a glow to him that you never imagined possible — not to his annoying face, anyway.
Eyes have become fiercer, like they’ve seen so many things. His jaw is visibly more defined, stronger, and when it sets with annoyance it shows you just how much he’s changed. You saw this exact jaw so many times in the past, and with every little sign of contradiction coming from someone else against him, he acted the same — jaw setting when upset, tongue in his cheek when he was taking it lightheartedly.
You look at his hands, that have also changed over time. Veins are more prominent under his tanned, honey-like skin, jewellery now adorning his wrist and fingers with beautiful golden rings and bracelets complimenting his skin tone.
It’s like he hasn’t changed when it comes to his behaviour, but physically he’s become something nearly out of this world — as much as you hate to admit it. Never in a thousand years were you thinking you’d ever be admitting to yourself how good-looking he’s gotten, and certainly you don’t plan to share your thought with anyone else. You guess you’ll have to take this secret to your grave, especially because you know that if your thoughts made it to his ears, you’d never know the end of it.
“Haechan,” Another executive calls his name, as a warning. “This is Y/n’s job, not yours. I think you’ve done enough, ”
Donghyuck turns around to look at you, straight in the eye. Everything the execs are telling him, all the instructions and pieces of advice they’re directing his way, you know he’s not listening. He’s looking at you like he’s ready to take a bite out of you, and if you didn’t already know him and his ways you’d be afraid right now.
Instead, you pucker your lips trying to mask your smile, trying to keep a professional façade in front of everyone.
What is he so worked up for, anyway? You ask yourself. No one said he’s not capable of representing himself, but you were literally hired for this kind of matters, and it’s ironic that he’s your very first client since becoming a corporate lawyer.
You’re fairly certain Donghyuck has paid no attention to anything going on during this meeting, so you already know you’ll have to pay extra attention to everything he does until everything calms down.
As the meeting comes to an end, and everyone gets up to leave, Donghyuck doesn’t move — doesn’t even bid anyone goodbye as they exit the conference room.
It’s just the two of you now, and you look at him as he watches every single movement of yours. The way you click on your retractable pen before putting it away in your tiny and fancy pencil case; the way you pile your files before putting them back inside your shoulder bag.
“Why are you here?” He rasps, still not relaxing in his seat. His elbows seem to be glued to the table as he keeps his fingers intertwined, not letting emotions betray him. Or so he hopes, because you know him pretty well to know he’s pissed by your presence.
“Have you not been paying attention?” You mock him, raising your eyebrows at him, “I’m the corporate lawyer,”
He huffs a mocking breath, rolling his eyes at you before clicking his tongue, “I don’t need a lawyer,”
You sigh, suddenly at your limit after hearing him going on like a broken record, “You don’t. Yet.” You snatch your bag away from the table, gracefully placing it on your shoulder — albeit its heaviness, “You’re a fool if you think I’m here for you, though.”
“What?” He barks, not able to refrain anymore. He has so much pent up rage from the past few weeks that he’s been dying to let out, and you’re doing your best to make him snap. Just like the old days. “What does that even mean?”
“I thought you were smarter than this,” You reply, but it comes out more as a question dripping with mockery, and it has him pushing his tongue in the inside of his cheek, “I’m a corporate lawyer, which means that I’m protecting their interests and their image, not yours. I’m sure you already know how that works… When you get in trouble, they also do,” You remind him, and you’re not even sure why you have to go through this with him right now — he’s supposed to know all this stuff already.
“I need to go now,” You announce, finally turning your back to him, “We’ll keep in touch,”
There’s a gram of satisfaction jubilating inside your body, and you can’t help the smirk that takes over your features as you leave him behind, knowing his ego and pride are now sore.
Haechan’s ears pick up a muffled sound, but he’s still too tired to care. He’s been home for a while, still on a leave, and he hasn’t seen you ever since you left the office with that arrogance that makes him want to climb walls.
The muffled sound becomes clearer, like someone properly banging on his door, and he waits a few more moments praying that whoever is at his door will soon go away. He’s not expecting anyone, he’s sure security downstairs didn’t let anyone get to his door, yet the knocking is incessant — and it gets on his nerves.
His barefoot steps thud as he makes his way, dizzy and sleepy, towards the front door. He looks through the peephole before letting out a groan, but unlocks the door nonetheless.
“Why are you here?” He locks the door after you, and you kick your heels off, out of politeness, walking down his entry hallway towards his living room.
He lives in one of those luxurious buildings — and you didn’t expect less coming from a former prosecutor who made a fortune out of his job, and a fortune more from his new job in television. His living room has you fighting the urge to let out a low whistle in appreciation, and you throw a quick glance around trying not to be too obvious with your curiosity. Everything is tidy; the decor is neat, showing his personal taste with every item of eclectic furniture and memorabilia, and the place smells like him.
You turn around on your heels, facing him once again, “You didn’t pick up my calls,” You explain, looking him up and down.
He snickers as he looks for his glasses around the living room. His hair is ruffled, his voice is raspy, and he’s still in his pyjama shorts — you definitely snatched him out of bed.
He sits on the couch, placing his glassed on the bridge of his nose before looking at you, “I don’t pick up calls from unknown callers,” He shrugs, getting more comfortable in his seat, but not offering you to take a sit.
Not that you would need him to offer you anything, not even an invitation. But because you’re in a hurry, you decide to just stand a few feet away from him.
“I told you we’d keep in touch,” You bark, furrowing your eyebrows at him, “So didn’t you think that maybe, just maybe, your lawyer is the one calling?”
He shrugs, muffling a yawn, “You could have sent me an email,”
“I did,” Your reply is dry, and you see him avoiding your gaze. “Go get ready, we’re going out,”
“Oh?” He squeals delighted, “Like a date?” He quips, grinning ear to ear, but stands up nonetheless.
You roll your eyes at him, “Just dress nicely,”
“Where are you taking me? I’m not a brunch person, I prefer candlelit dinners, you kn-” He’s interrupted by your steps, following him to his dressing room. “What are you doing?”
You let out the fakest, most mocking sound of endearment while looking at him and at how he keeps his hands over his clothed chest, as if you could see through his t-shirt.
“I didn’t realise you are a prude,” You mock him, looking at the enormous dressing room. “Go ahead, it’s not like I haven’t seen a man’s bare torso before,” You instruct him, and you can’t help but look at how an entire dresser is full of expensive suits and shirts made of Egyptian cotton. You suppress the need to let out a low whistle for the second time today, “I need you to look impeccable, I know the press is still after you. They can’t catch you lacking,”
He hums, and you’re sure he didn’t pay attention to what you just told him. That, or he just doesn’t care if he’s caught dressing like a homeless person. But it would be disastrous to his image, especially because most of his public appearances have been nothing short of perfect — and dressing badly right now could start discourse around press, and around everyone actively being against him.
You see him pulling his white t-shirt off his back, tossing it on the loveseat in the corner of the room.
Your eyes fall on his V line, out of instinct. It’s defined, it travels down to the waistband of his pyjama shorts, that are hanging dangerously low on his hips, and you feel like you can’t take your eyes off of him. Like there’s a magnetic force that doesn’t allow you to look away from him — and the same force has your eyes travelling across the waistband, gaze shifting to the happy trail on his lower abdomen.
You gulp, finally taking your eyes off his tanned skin, looking for something more appropriate to gawk at — like the vanity behind you. You turn around as if you didn’t just momentarily lose yourself in the sight of Donghyuck’s bare torso.
If he noticed your gawking, he doesn’t say anything — and you go about your inspecting his vanity while he gets dressed, moaning about you invading his privacy.
You look at the many bottles of perfumes scattered on the vanity, realising just how neat he is even with arranging his cologne and perfume bottles. You pick up a few, smelling them, and you’re instantly slapped by his usual scents — the ones he used back when you were students.
“Excuse me, miss… sorry…” He mumbles while sliding up next to you and into your personal space, snatching the bottle of Diptyque from your grasp and spraying it on his bare chest and, surprisingly, all around himself.
You cough, stepping away from him, and you see how his slim fingers button his shirt up with dexterity.
You shake your head, “Did you not apply deodorant?”
A cocky smirk appears in the corner of his mouth, “I don’t need that,” He licks his lips, “You’ll learn that about me,”
You throw him an incredulous look, “And how would I do that?”
That insufferable cocky smirk makes an appearance once again, and he shakes his head while styling his shirt, “There are a few ways. You’ll see… eventually,”
His cockiness irks you. You liked him better when he was sulking over the fact that you are his lawyer.
You managed to book an important interview for him, one that can straighten his career back to the way it used to be.
He’s going to talk about his old cases, he’s going to talk about all the times he helped people struggling with legal matters. He’s going to bring back all the good he’s done to society, and you’re sure that will stop the online hate train he’s still being the victim of.
You explain everything to him, you line the whole plan down for him to understand, to know what he should expect from the interview. Given that today is going to be just about getting a new suit for the interview, you think he needs to have enough time to mull over his thoughts and possible answers involving the topics about his past.
You also made sure they wouldn’t bring up the recent controversy — you made a clear script of topics to be addressed, you’ve made it clear to the producers. And you think this is the perfect opportunity for him to clear his name, save his career, and dodge any more criticism from the public. That, and the fact you know the editor working on said program, so it’s going to be easy to have everything under control.
“As always,” You start, touching the collar of his shirt, styling it on his nape as he looks at himself in the big mirror, and your fingers comb through the strands of hair that are getting longer, “Don’t talk to the press. Ignore them, I know you have a big prosecuting mouth, but try your best not to make this even worse,”
Your words irk Donghyuck, who follows after you as you stand by his door, putting your heels back on before heading outside.
You’re acting like he’s an idiot who runs his mouth. Like he doesn’t know what he has to do now that he’s walking on thin ice, and he wants to remind you that he’s been around the press more than you have.
“Stop bossing me around,” He rasps as he locks his front door, and you can tell that he’s getting worked up, by the way he’s pouting while talking. You walk ahead of him, going towards the lifts, “You show up to my place, dictating orders that I have to follow because you’re… my lawyer,” He barks, and it comes out more as a question, “You think you know best, but I’m not your puppy! I’m not following you around!”
You stop in your tracks, and he nearly slams into your back as he doesn’t catch your pausing. You turn around, pouting at him.
“I’m not asking you to follow me around, Donghyuck,” You mock him, posing and looking up at him, “You’re the one literally choosing to walk behind me, puppy boy,” You point your head at him, and you grab his cheeks with your free hand, squishing them together to make him pout, “You’re my puppy because you genuinely want to,”
You turn around, heels clinking on the marbled floors of the hallways as you make your way towards the lifts once again, “Ya comin’?” You ask him without halting your steps.
Donghyuck stays still for a moment, right as and where you left him. He looks at the way you sway your hips as you walk down the hallway, and he feels like the collar of his shirt is strangling him. He’s very confident about what he said about not needing deodorant, but he didn’t think you’d have him in the palm of your hand, talking down to him and making him sweat.
He clears his throat, choosing to stay silent as he follows you, and the thought that he is your puppy is starting to be very convincing inside his brain.
When interview day arrives, Donghyuck walks inside the studio like he owns the place — his usual confidence overflowing and becoming obvious even to the blind.
You pull him by the sleeve. “Tone your ego down,” You whisper through your teeth, for him to hear, “Be humble,”
“I am humble,” He looks down at you, the proximity of your bodies making his minty breath fan down on your face. “Imagine just how insufferable I am when I don’t have to walk on glass,”
“Oh,” You push at his chest, taking a step back, “I don’t have to imagine,” You turn around, your back now facing him, and you roll your eyes out of frustration.
He snorts, “I know you rolled your eyes at me,” He comments, voice low and raw with amusement. You turn around to look at him, and you see him grinning at you, pearly teeth on display as he tries to control his laughter, “You might not realise this yet, Y/n, but I know you,” He rasps, still amused, yet the glint in his eyes seems serious.
His words dawn on you, and your stomach flutters — but you don’t want to overthink about his words and the implication behind them. There can be endless, and you choose not to think about any right now.
Donghyuck gets dragged towards the changing room, and you follow after him and the stylist. You keep a close eye on him.
He’s leisurely making conversation with the stylist, making her ease into conversation and talk to him like they’re long lost friends. His innate gift of communicating is once again proven to you, and frankly to anyone else too. Even the ones mad at him seem to forget why they’re keeping away, once he opens his mouth.
Such charms are a gift, but also a curse — judging by where it got him these days.
You look at him, all styled, all ready to go in his beautiful navy suit you personally handpicked for him a few days ago. The blue brings out the tan of his skin just perfectly; he smells like Diptyque once again, and his longer strands are styled beautifully in order to frame his face.
You look up at him, while he plays with the buttons of his suit. The slope of his nose is perfect, and he pouts his full lips seemingly without realising, too busy paying attention to his sleeves.
You look at him in all his glory, and you let out a sigh.
You place the palm of your hand right in between his shoulder blades, your other hand grabbing him by the base of his neck. You push on his back and at the base of his neck simultaneously, making him adjust his posture.
“Uh,” He huffs, and his eyes widen as gets startled by your sudden actions. He clears his throat, trying to fight a smile.
“You need to learn to stand up straight,” You judge, still pushing on his spine and throat.
He finally breaks, smirk obvious even to you, and you look up at him just in time to see him licking his bottom lip.
“How’d you know I like this?” He provokes while smirking, looking down at you with the corner of his eye, but doesn’t change posture the moment you take your hands away from his body.
“Pervert,” You mumble, averting your gaze.
He chortles, turning around to look at you, posture still straight. He’s even taller than before, towering over you, and you hate that you have to look up at him.
“Oh c’mon!” He pulls you by the arm to get you to look at him, “You act like you weren't gawking at my naked body the other day,” He rasps lowly, keeping the banter between the two of you as you wait for him to be called for the interview, “I might be a pervert, but you’re not better than me!”
His hands extend towards you, trying to grab you by the arms to get your attention — or any other reaction out of you — but you’re quick with your movements as you slap his hands away. He manages to grab you by the wrist, and you stop squirming as you feel his warm and velvety skin touching yours.
You look up at him, only to notice his eyes trailing across your features, and right after looking you straight in the eye for a few seconds, his gaze falls on your lips. His gaze is sultry as he doesn’t look away, he doesn’t even let go of your wrist, yet you become relaxed to his touch.
You feel your stomach fluttering. It’s the look in his eyes, it’s the tongue still playing on his bottom lip, his cologne flooding your senses thanks to the proximity of your bodies. Your senses are alert, he managed to wake them up with a simple touch, and you suddenly feel like hotness it starting to pool in the pit of your stomach.
Your doe eyes, and the slight blush of your cheeks are enough to rile Donghyuck up, and enough to give him a reason to believe that maybe, just maybe, this doesn’t feel so wrong.
Just as you see him smirking once again, opening his mouth to let out something that you are sure is going to be pushing your buttons, he gets interrupted.
“Y/n?” A man’s voice snatches you out of the childish banter with Donghyuck, and you turn around to look for whoever just called your name.
A big smile stretches on your face, “Sungchan!”
The tall man takes a few steps, draping an arm around you, “You’re here, finally!” He smiles down at you, and then his gaze shifts towards Donghyuck, who's standing like a lost puppy behind you, “Lee Haechan! It’s so nice to finally get to meet you in person!”
Donghyuck nods, seriousness suddenly taking over his features, and he looks at the tall man who’s now on the receiving end of all your attention. He seems like a positive person; a helper, maybe. Someone you can rely on at all times — but he doesn’t want to imagine you, of all people, relying on the man who has you grinning from eat to ear right now. It should be him, the source of your grinning and decompressing, not this person you probably don’t even know as well as you know him.
He feels hotness starting to bother him, creeping up his neck — all the way to his jaw and ears. He feels uncomfortable, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. He starts feeling like a puppy once again, and he has the urge to take his tie off and possibly beat this man with it. Who cares if he adds one more controversy to the whole fiasco? Certainly not him, because he’s ready to do it if it means he has your attention back on himself.
Just as he’s ready to intervene in your conversation — even if he doesn’t know how, but he thinks he can find a way to ruin the shameless batting of eyelashes from your part — a voice calls for his name, announcing that he’s ready to go.
You turn around to look at him one last time, signalling him to be calm and level headed.
“I’ve always wanted to meet him!” Sungchan’s eyes sparkle while looking at the small screen as you follow the interview.
Donghyuck makes pleasant jokes to break the ice, witty sarcasm dripping off the tip of his tongue, enamouring the host, and you know he’s safe. He’s got this — like always.
Your attention shifts to Sungchan. You met him a long time ago, fresh out of university, during language classes you picked up as a hobby. You bonded over common interests and the fact that you attended the same course allowed you to study together from time to time, and spend more time together.
But then you started becoming busier with your career, and attending those classes became close to impossible. You kept in touch with Sungchan, and now he promised he’d help you out with Donghyuck’s interview.
You take your eyes off the small screen yet again, once you hear Sungchan humming.
“Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asks, voice raw, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
You blink at him, and you try to keep your usual seriousness, but it becomes difficult when you notice how much his eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. You move your weight on your other leg, averting your gaze as you try to mask your delight.
The interview will air in a couple of weeks, and by that time everything will calm down with Donghyuck’s issue. Plus, this gives you the perfect opportunity to discuss more about how you’d like the interview to come out.
“Pick me up at eight,” You tell him, smiling softly, right before your gaze returns to the small screen.
Time goes by, Sungchan eventually leaves the studio, and Donghyuck seems to have the host wrapped around his pinky finger.
He waltz towards you, confidence coming out of every single pore on his skin, and he winks your way as he goes back to changing in his casual clothes.
He’s relaxed, he’s his usual self as he bids everyone goodbye, and even stops to shake hands of a few executives, all while carrying his expensive suit over his shoulder. You watch him being in his natural habitat — surrounded by people, being loved and appreciated by them. He smiles, lips curving while his smile reaches his eyes as he tries to dodge certain topics and turn people down in the most polite way. And he has the tact for it, he has diplomacy, yet he has the easygoing humour that knows exactly when to attenuate conflictual topics.
You’re still wondering why he got himself in this position in the first place. Going from being a prosecutor — profession which, by the way, endowed him with all the skills he sports nowadays — to becoming a tv host who has easily fallen in disgrace, victim of sensitive judgement and especially of cancel culture.
“So,” He starts, approaching his Porsche in the parking lot, “Should we have dinner together, tomorrow? You know… to celebrate the fact that tonight was a success,”
You raise your eyebrows, and you see the unfaltering glint in his eyes only getting bigger with excitement. You think it’s because your plan was successful, he enjoyed the interview, and it will be enough to clear up all sorts of confusion when it comes to his controversies.
“I’d love to,” You start, and you think the glint in his eyes became even more sparkly, “But…” You suck air through your teeth, wrinkling your nose.
Donghyuck doesn’t like how you wrinkle your nose — or, to put it better, what it implies.
He nods insistingly, pushing you to continue, “I’m fairly sure you didn’t have anything planned,”
You shrug, “Sungchan kinda beat you to it,”
The sky falls on him. While he was following your orders, another man worked his charms on you?
“You’re ditching me for someone you barely know?” He’s getting worked up, but he’s trying to keep it light by pushing his tongue in the inside on his cheek as he smiles with disbelief.
“Sungchan and I are friends,” You retort, suddenly not liking how you have to explain your life to Donghyuck — who has been a total stranger to you, and with whom you only reconnected a month ago.
“Friends?” He sniggers, disbelief making his voice high in pitch, “If you’re friends with him, then what does that make us?”
“You’re my client, Donghyuck,” You spit out, arrogance matching his during his worst days. This is the first time Donghyuck hates the way you say his name. “I’ll call you soon. You better pick up my calls!” You warn him as your heels clink on the concrete, as you walk towards the exit.
And Donghyuck feels his insides churning as he thinks of what you’ve just told him.
Unbelievable.
It’s unbelievable how he is at home, bored out of his mind, and you’re out on a what? A date?
He likes to think it’s just a simple chit-chat with an old friend, but he’s a man and he knows how the ones of his kind can get when there’s a pretty girl around.
You called him his client, but he remembers how you called him a fool for believing you were his lawyer.
Your usual biting back every time he tries to get closer hasn’t changed. Maybe you misunderstood his intentions, and no, this isn’t about him asking you out — because he totally did that, and was hoping you’d finally warm up to him.
You literally rocked his world when you reappeared in his life, yet you’re now out with that Sung-something, and he feels like he is going to lose all progress made with you up until now. Is it a crime that he wants to crash your supposed date? That he doesn’t care if the press finds him wandering the streets as he looks for the restaurant that man took you out to?
Instead, he picks up his phone. He wants to send a text, just to make sure you’re having fun — but who is he kidding? He wants to send a text to bring your attention on him.
How long have you known this Sung person for, anyway? Donghyuck bets the history between him and you feels heavier, fuller than whatever friendship you have with that guy because, after all, as much as you might not have liked it, you two were always around each other all those years back.
He sighs, taking a sip from his glass of wine, and he lets his intrusive thoughts win. He dials your number, but just as expected, you don’t pick up. So he insists, because that’s what he’s best at — pushing your buttons.
“You better be dying and for some reason I’m the last number in your recents,” You spit through gritted teeth, as you pick up his call.
He smiles like a fool when he finally hears your voice, “I am dying,” He chuckles, playing with the rings on his fingers, “Dying to see you again,”
“Unbelievable,” You let out an outraged mumble. He can’t see you, but he knows you just rolled your eyes at his comeback.
If only you could see him now, you’d see his pupils are the shape of hearts as his eyes glint just imagining you reacting to him.
“Why did you call me? I’m kinda busy,” You burst his bubble, and he’s the one rolling his eyes now. Just the thought of your whereabouts and the company you keep right now is making his throat go dry.
“Oh, really?” He plays dumb, yet he knows he can’t fool you, “Was it tonight? I forgot about that,” He’s shameless, and he hears your scoffing.
“We literally talked about this last night, Hyuck,” His heart skips a bit at the way you call his name, because only people who are close to him can use his government name — and he certainly feels you being close to him, as much as neither of you have ever addressed this before.
“I must have forgotten,” His tone drips with fake innocence, a pout forming on his plump lips.
You hate that you can envision him right now — in his home attire, his fluffy hair unkept, only combed through by his fingers, glasses resting on the bridge of his pretty nose, bare feet taking steps between the living room and kitchen.
“So, what? Are you on a date right now?” He challenges, finally letting you know why he’s calling. You make a sound that he takes as a confirmation of his fears, “With Mr Lanky?”
“Donghyuck!” You warn, outraged and tired. “You’re lucky he’s gone to the restroom and couldn’t hear this useless conversation,”
“Oh, I don’t know, gorgeous,” He smirks to himself, “He’s been gone for a while. What if he’s got the runs after talking to a gorgeous girl like yourself?” His tone is low and, as much as you want to hang up the call, his voice makes your stomach flutter.
That, or the cheese soufflé is the one to blame.
“Come by later,” He rasps, and you almost think you didn’t hear him right, “If things are disastrous and he really shat himself… just come by,”
And he doesn’t wait to hear your reply. He doesn’t want to hear a smart comeback coming from you, but he hopes you’ll come to him.
And while you don’t show up to his place like he asked you, you certainly think about him for the rest of the night. Sungchan, who seemed like a knight in shiny armour when he picked you up, has suddenly shifted in your eyes — especially after the phone call from Donghyuck.
Your energy deflects, you’re sure the man across the table picks up on this as well. The more you look at him, the more you realise he just isn’t what you want and what you need.
His jokes aren’t obtuse, offensive, or genuinely funny either. The sparkle in his eyes is there only when he talks about work, and you hate that you reached a point in which you’re comparing him to the obnoxious person hunting your mind.
Truth be told, no one does it like him. You realise that even your past so-called rivalry between the two of you was something you missed while he was out there trying to conquer the world.
Suddenly, the night seems wasted. The cheese soufflé too insipid, the steak too dry, the company not what you were hoping for. And not because Sungchan is a bad guy with an abysmal personality, but because he’s not Donghyuck.
“Everything okay?” Sungchan asks you at some point, and you realise you haven’t been listening to him, and that he probably noticed.
You nod, giving him a small smile, just hoping that it’s enough to fool you both. Everything seemed to be going well until Donghyuck called you.
“Do you think you can send me a copy of the interview after you’re done with it?” You mumble absentmindedly, playing with the fork in your hand.
Sungchan smiles, teeth on display, “Y/n, I’m not here to talk about Haechan’s interview,” He announces, and a lump sets in your throat, “I wanted to have this opportunity to ask you out,”
Oh, you mouth as you find it difficult to keep your eyes on him.
He lets out a huff of laughter, albeit you know it’s not light and genuine, “But I guess it’s better if we keep our friendship this way, right?” He’s hurt, but he’s faking it not to make you uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, Sungchan, I didn-” You try to explain but he shakes his hand, smile still present on his lips.
“No worries! I dropped it on you out of the blue, I apologise for that!” He doesn’t have to apologise for his feelings, yet he does — literally thinking that he made you uncomfortable with his small and innocent confession.
Your chest suddenly hurts, and your eyes feel like they’re becoming fuller with unspoken feelings and emotions, and he pats your hand from across the table as he senses his mistake.
“I don’t want you to feel bad, ‘kay? We’re just at different places in our lives, even if your and someone else’s are perfectly aligned right now! I just had to shoot my shot, I hope you can understand,” He’s awfully comforting, and somehow if feels even heavier inside your chest.
You try to shake this strange feeling away, but your insides start churning at the unbearable thought that you rejected the man in front of you, and at the thought of your bubbling feelings that need to be addressed soon.
The door swings open, and you already think this is a bad idea. The smirk in the corner of his mouth confirms that maybe you were better off at home, in your pyjamas.
It’s been a few days since you last spoke to Donghyuck, and as much as you hate do admit it, your last interaction with Sungchan planted a thought in your brain. One that you can’t really ignore. Instead, you show up to his doorstep trying to get the answers you need.
“Wowza, gorgeous!” Donghyuck smirks, eyeing you from head to toe. He moves away from the doorway, allowing you to walk in, and you stop by the entrance. “I think you really like my place, that’s why you drop by all the time,” He rasps, eyes glinting, “That, or maybe you just like me,”
You roll your eyes, glance stopping on one picture by the entrance — that you didn’t notice last time you were here. Probably because his sleepy figure was standing in front of it, unknowingly blocking your view. You recognise the picture, it’s one of the last pictures you took with your friends as a whole group, back during your university years — before Jaemin relocated to another big city, before one of your girl friends got herself into rehab; back when everything seemed normal and felt whole. You spot yourself in a corner, hugging Jaemin and Yizhuo — your closest friends during university — and you spot Donghyuck in the other corner, smiling at the camera like he’s the sun itself.
It was one of the last outings you did as a group, right before graduation, and right before life got busy for all of you. Looking at all the faces in the picture, you realise that was one of the best trips you took, and you think of all the times Donghyuck made the outings better and less boring.
He sees how you’re getting lost in the nostalgia of the past, as your gaze travels along the faces in the picture. Truth be told, that picture is there for one reason only, and said reason is now looking at it with eyes full of emotion.
He looks at you once again. You look spectacular — black dress that kisses your curves and shapes the right way, your naked shoulders seem so soft and smooth and he has to fight the thought of what your skin might feel like under the burning skin of his hands.
You’re gorgeous, and a lump forms in his throat as he feels like you’ve never been more unattainable than right now.
Are you… perhaps…
“Going on a date?” He can’t help but ask. He sees as your gaze moves from the picture, to look at him, and you put the frame down, “How’s skid marks?” His tone is bored as he turns around to walk towards his kitchen island.
You take your heels off, and you follow him towards his kitchen with angry patters as your bare feet take steps on the hardwood floor.
“Don’t call him that!” You bark, his nickname for Sungchan suddenly upsetting you, “Be nice, he’s helping us,”
“Is he?” He asks, not interested in the slightest to hear your reply, “Is that why you’re going out on dates with him? Or is it because he’s your friend and I’m your client?” Suddenly he’s attentive like a vulture — he wants to hear your reply to this one question.
“Can you be serious for one moment?” You question, not wanting to bicker with him right now.
His cocky smirk makes an appearance, “I’m a prosecutor, Y/n. I can see you’re stalling,” He retorts, and he takes pleasure in seeing you biting your bottom lip, trying your best not to snap at him. “But alright, gorgeous. To what do I owe the immense pleasure of having you here tonight?”
You shift your weight from one leg to the other, and your hands go to your dress before you can control yourself.
“I was promised a dinner,” You purr, matter-of-factly.
Donghyuck wants to grin, but fights it. How did you manage to stay out of his life for so long? It’s beyond his understanding. You make him want to start howling at the moon like a depraved dog, which reminds him of how you called him a puppy before.
And remembering the way you looked up at him as you did so, touching him, talking down to him — it literally gives Donghyuck goosebumps. But he’s not ready to admit this to anyone other than himself so, instead, he does what he knows best — he acts like he’s unfazed.
He gets ready, as you look around his place. Despite him being home ever since he was put on unpaid leave, the whole place is spotless. You think it’s because he’s been living off take out all this time, and that he’s used one or maybe two cups to drink from, but you’re impressed either way.
He shows up wearing a tux, and he steps out of his dressing room manoeuvring a bow tie.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” You fake a gasp, “I didn’t know we were attending the fucking Oscars!”
He’s in front of the mirror, styling his bow tie while looking at you through the mirror. His eyes are piercing, he doesn’t dare look away — eyes locked onto yours — and he smirks.
“You did it first,” He points at your dress, “You thought we’d be staying in with you looking like that?!” He exaggerates, wrinkling his nose, “No way, baby,”
“Don’t call me that,” You mumble, moving towards the door, but you grab him by the sleeve to get his attention on you, “But do you think this is a good idea? Going out right now… with you and your problems?”
“Y/n,” He sighs, quickly checking his pockets for everything he needs before heading out, “You have to know me better than this by now… to know that it’s been so long that I don’t give a fuck anymore,” He opens the door for you, and this time you wait for him by the door, instead of walking in front of him towards the lifts, “And I can get us a table literally anywhere. Name the nicest place you wanna go to, and we can get in,”
“I think that’d be the case if you weren’t a prosecutor who turned into a disgraced tv personality,” You ridicule him as you walk on the long hallway, but he doesn’t seem too offended by it. You might be right, anyway.
“It’s worth trying, at least,” He shrugs, and then he turns around to look at you with that cocky smirk that’s so typical him.
“What?” You sigh, looking at the led arrows signalling where the lift is coming from.
“So basically you admitted to showing up looking like trouble, thinking we’d be staying home?” He rasps, stupid grin of victory on his face, and then he tsks, “You just wanted to seduce me,”
You punch him in the stomach, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, you step inside the lift before he can register what you’re doing, “Let’s see how seduced you get by me making you take the stairs,” And you press the button, urging the doors to close before he can stop them with his foot or hand.
“That wasn’t very nice,” He retorts when you’re finally out on the street.
You discovered he has four luxury cars parked in the underground parking lot of his building, and given your dress code tonight, he went straight to the Porsche.
“But you did it nonetheless,” You point out, looking at the pedestrians crossing the street, “Just like a puppy,”
He doesn’t even fight it, because he knows you’re right. Instead, he chooses to ignore it for his own good.
He looks at you, as the red lights from the cars ahead contour your pretty features. And to think that out of endless possibilities you got back into his life by being his lawyer makes him feel like becoming a disgraced tv personality really helped him in his destiny. If it weren’t for his big, problematic mouth, he would have been alone and miserable right now — in his luxurious apartment, with his four cars parked underground, with lavish dinners and a reckless dating style. Instead, you showed up.
He can’t and won’t take it for granted.
“Where are you taking me?” Your voice is small, almost as if your mind is somewhere else.
“I have a few options, if they take us in,” He jokes, using your words, “Is there something you’re craving, gorgeous?”
You actually think about it. As you take your sweet time trying to think of something, your glance wanders around his car — and it finally lands on Donghyuck.
He’s relaxed, even as he speeds. His tux brings a certain air to him, like he’s the most expensive and most untouchable man on this entire planet. Confidence oozes from all his pores, even as he does nothing but keep a hand on the steering wheel — and you feel your insides churning, but you desperately hope for it to be because of hunger.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” You speak up before you can control yourself. His curiosity makes him throw you quick glances before his eyes go back to the road, seemingly taken by surprise by your change of tone. This isn’t going to be about food, and he knows it, “You were too good at what you were doing for you to be remembered by the public as nothing but a fragment of a proper scandal. It actually upsets me,”
Donghyuck doesn’t know what to answer, mainly because he doesn’t see it as you. He’s sorry you’re upset about this matter, and he wishes he could take it all away from you. He also wishes he could speak up and have a proper conversation about this topic and why he thinks you’re wrong, but it’s like his lips are sealed when it comes to speaking up about the matter.
He didn’t know you cared about him, or anything involving him — including his career — this much.
His silence feels heavy as your ears start ringing waiting for his answer, and it never comes. You’re left waiting as you listen to the purring of his Porsche’s engine, and at the way he breathes evenly — not rushed, not panicked, not even upset. He just breathes as he refuses to make any kind of comment to what you just told him. Did you really think that opening up about this to the guy with the biggest ego in the world was a good idea?
Too lost into your own worries and overthinking, you fail to notice how the car slows down, and then you finally notice him carefully looking for somewhere to park. You look outside the window, not recognising this side of the city.
“Do you remember the greasy, meat sandwiches we had on our last trip together?” He asks, and he actually sees how your gaze starts sparkling at the memory he just brought up, “It’s one of the things I’ve been craving the most lately, thinking about that day. And luckily for us, this guy right here seems to have the exact recipe,”
Never in a million years did you think you’d be having sandwiches with Donghyuck at the outskirts of the city, bought right from a street food truck, while the grease trailed down your forearms as you tried to keep it away from your outfit. Because obviously, looking straight out of a fashion magazine, like you’re ready to go to a charity gala and eat the most expensive food ever served to you could ever compare to seeing melted cheese and grease smudged on Donghyuck’s cheeks as he chewed his bite.
The first bite taken from your sandwich almost got a moan out of you, while Donghyuck’s got a proper grunt out of him.
It feels almost painful to admit that he’s right thinking this was something you’d end up enjoying. It helps you go back to the past, when his smile was more carefree, when his jokes were even more obtuse than nowadays, when the sparkle brought to his eyes during classes or fights with you was more prominent.
You know he’s hiding something, and you wish he’d open up to you — at least a little bit. But you don’t want him to shelter himself behind a shell you never knew he had. He’s always been loud, proud, morally upright — and something took that away from him.
“Tell me this sandwich isn’t so much better than sex,” He moans, mouth absolutely full to the point it’s difficult for him to chew.
You nearly knock the tall glass of non-alcoholic beer you’ve been sharing with him, and you give him a quizzical look.
“What kind of odd experiences have you been having?” Your tone is high in pitch, full of disbelief.
“Oh, c’mon,” He swallows his bite, “Like you’ve never had a bad experience? With a man? Hard to believe,”
“Were your bad experiences also with men?” You pout at him sympathetically, almost on the verge of pinching his cheek and ridiculing him.
He lets out a howl of laughter, almost choking, “Touché,” He comments, licking his lips, all content with the progression of your conversation.
The interaction quiets down, and you see him eyeing you curiously before going back to his sandwich. But you know him just too well, and as expected, he throws the ball in your court after taking a big sip from your shared beer.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” He smiles softly, setting down his sandwich on the aluminium foil on the high table. When he sees you nodding, he waits a few more seconds, “Why did you not become a prosecutor?” He asks, cleaning his hands with a wet wipe — definitely needed in order to get rid of all the grease.
When he sees your questioning gaze, seemingly not understanding the question — or where it’s coming from, he clears his throat. “I mean, you had the skills. You and I were unbeatable at what we were doing, so when I didn’t see you in the field as one of my colleagues, I got worried. I was thinking you wasted so much potential being God knows where, doing God knows what. I had no idea of your whereabouts because, God is my witness, I really looked for you as a last resort to try and reach out and make you change your mind,” He rasps, but his tone is gentle, and it brings you comfort, “So where the hell have you been?”
You guess this is a good start for the candid conversation you were planning on starting with him, but didn’t know how to approach him first. Almost because you opened a small door earlier, during the car ride, and he seemed like he closed it shut in the blink of an eye.
You set your sandwich down on the foil, right next to his, and you grab one of the wet wipes he extends towards you.
“Becoming a prosecutor was never my goal,” You admit, cleaning the corners of your mouth, “I always wanted to study law to help the underprivileged. Yes, prosecuting bad guys always seems like the best choice when you think of a career in law and the whole concept of justice. But what about the people who can’t afford to be represented in court by someone who’s actually capable and confident with their skills? What about the NPO’s and charities that need someone to represent them? What about the people?”
He looks at you, at the small crease between your brows as you get so passionate about your love for your job, and he has the next question he wants to ask you, on the tip of his tongue. Yet you beat him to it.
“Why did you throw out a successful and rewarding career? Just to become a tv host?” You ask him. This question has been bothering you ever since you stumbled upon his show on television, right after he gave up his career.
“It’s more complicated than that,” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, and you understand that it really doesn’t come easy to him to open up about this change. So it really wasn’t about him loving being in the centre of attention on television, and the shift to a career in this field that could mean fulfilling this crazy need for attention faster. You judged him too harshly, even if it’s just Donghyuck.
“Then open up to me!” You plead, because it’s something you need to understand about him, “I’m the one that can understand you on this, better than anyone else,”
You’re right. Donghyuck knows this, and as much as he would have loved to tease you a bit for your choice of words and wanting to get closer to him, he refrains, understanding this is not the right time for this, for neither one of you.
“Everything was going well, I was on a roll,” He starts, finally giving in. If he wants to get somewhere with you, anywhere near where he wants you two to be, he needs to open up and finally face his past. “My success rate was unbeatable and, as you might have seen, they even talked me into helping people on national television,” He looks straight ahead, thinking of the past few years and what he’s gone through, “They made me their product and I enjoyed the money and the attention, this is one of the truths,” He clears his throat, reaching for the cold beer.
So what? Is that all he has to say about this drastic change in his life? You wonder to yourself. Were you right from the beginning? Did he really do it for the attention?
“But another truth is that… I did something I can never forgive myself for, not even today,” His voice breaks, and he’s still avoiding your gaze, “One of the last cases I worked on was just… atrocious. We’re talking about abuse of the worst kind, and it all ended with murder. This motherfucker murdered his entire family… and he got away with it,”
Realising the gravity of the story he’s telling you, you keep your mouth shut.
He takes a big breath, “Someone tampered with key pieces of evidence in the case, so he walked out of court almost trotting. That piece of shit was beaming with satisfaction, and for the first time ever I could do nothing about it,”
Your weight shifts from one leg, to the other, “Any internal investigation that could find the culprit?”
He nods, finally looking at you, and you get to see just how affected he still is by the whole matter, even if it’s been a while since it happened. Something this big always stays with you.
He licks his lips, “Of course! I started an internal investigation to find answers, but then after a while I got a call from my higher ups telling me to drop it,” He pauses for a few seconds, and then lets out a ridiculing scoff, “Of course I didn’t! What kind of prosecutor with a moral compass does that?!”
You think you have a faint idea of where this story is headed. He’s getting upset, eyebrows furrowed as he recalls his past.
“It took a call from a politician to threaten me, for me to stop the investigation. That’s also when I decided to quit,” His voice is small, yet upset.
He’s playing with a peace of foil on the table, wrinkling and then smoothing it, and your eyes fall on his crooked pinky.
“But!” He snaps, suddenly back to having a good mood, and the enthusiasm takes you by surprise. “My turn!” He picks up your sandwich, taking a bite of it. “Why did you quit your career to become a corporate lawyer?” His mouth is full, but you understand him nonetheless.
He keeps his eyes on you as you pick up his sandwich, and you shrug, “I needed a change,” You avert your gaze, looking at where his teeth sank into the soft bread, “I needed to see if there were more exciting things out there,”
“And how did that work out for you?” He giggles, thinking of the irony of your choice. You wanted to help the underprivileged, yet you ended up working for a corporation straight out of hell.
He looks at you, and he can’t believe just how beautiful you are. You features are so soft in the food truck’s lighting, your skin literally shines in the cold hues.
He sees you taking a bite from the sandwich you’re holding — his sandwich, and a smirk plays in the corner of his mouth.
“You know we’re basically kissing right now, right?” He rasps, squinting his eyes at you while he sports a shit-eating grin.
You roll your eyes at him, “Your kiss is greasy,” You retort almost instantly, dropping the last bits of sandwich back on the foil, and you clean the corners of your mouth.
“Yours is worse,” He mumbles, side eyeing you.
“What are you even talking about?” You’re confused by his nonsense, eyes scanning him from head to toe as he takes another bite from your sandwich.
You find yourself gawking once again. He seems so relaxed, so comfortable around you, so confident even to be in public making a mess on his face when literally anybody can see him — not just you anymore.
And it hits you. Since when did you think you and him were close enough to imagine yourself as the sole person allowed to see him in all sorts of circumstances? Your long history of knowing each other has never properly allowed you to go there with your thoughts, and yet you did — and it makes you feel completely out of place.
Yet for some reason, you’ve always felt comfortable around him. Thinking of it now that he shuts up and lets you be alone with your thoughts for a little bit, you think of the past. Never, not even once — not even when you wanted to kill him for starting a contradicting argument for his sole entertainment — did you feel like he repulsed you.
“See for yourself,” He bursts your bubble, and your eyes get back in focus as you look at his tan forearms, while he extends your sandwich towards you. “I know you didn’t believe me. Take a bite,”
You throw him a skeptical look, and you see his eyes studying your face closely, searching for something. But you give in, nonetheless. And you touch his hand as he directs the sandwich to your lips.
And then, he snatches his hand away, his lips smacking yours instead. It happens in a split second, and you don’t even have the time to register it happening, but it doesn't feel bad, or wrong. He retracts for a bit, the hand holding the greasy piece of bread far away from your figure, and he grabs your chin with his fingers.
His thumb travels, caressing his way up from your chin to your bottom lip, and he keeps studying your face for any sign that this might not be what you want right now. And the moment he feels your eyes on his lips, and sees you kicking your lips out of habit, he bends down once again.
His kiss is fervent, almost desperate, like he feeds off of it. His lips are just as plump and soft as you thought they would be, and you don’t even think twice before parting your lips, granting him access. It feels hot, something you’ve never experienced before — not from a single kiss, anyway.
His free hand travels towards the side of your face, fingers combing through your hair to pull you even closer. His abilities are to be praised right now, as he gets to control you to get you to do anything he puts his mind to with one hand only, the other still kept away from your bodies.
The kiss gets deeper and heated fast, while neither one of you feels like pulling away. This might be a monumental mistake, but it surely doesn’t feel like that right now. Right now, you think you’re exactly where you want to be — while Donghyuck is absolutely certain he is where he’s always wanted to be.
Your hands go up his neck, which has gotten incredibly hot, and you keep him close to yourself as your fingers play with the longer strands of hair from behind his ears. He grunts into the kiss, and you suddenly become breathless.
He retracts slightly, eyes still closed as he keeps giving you small pecks, allowing the both of you to get your breathing back to normal, as gracefully as possible.
“Was my kiss greasy?” He rasps, tone low sending shivers down your spine.
You gulp, keeping your eyes closed, “No,” You shake your head almost imperceptibly, but he feels you moving your face in his grip, “But your greasy hand is in my hair,” You open your eyes just a bit, looking at him through your lashes, and you see him smirking.
“Shhhh, don’t ruin our moment,” He nudges your nose with his, then going back to pecking your lips.
And you give in once again, feeling his fingers pulling you towards him.
Your leg bounces as you sit on one of the leather armchairs in the waiting room, right outside of your boss’s office.
Anxiety is pooling in the pit of your stomach like never before, not even when you had stressful cases on your hands did you ever feel like this. It makes you sweat, it makes you want to throw up, especially because you know you’re in big trouble.
You woke up with a terrible headache, like your body was preparing you for impact first thing in the morning, like it was giving you a sign that a shit storm was coming your way and that the headache was just the tip of the iceberg.
And then you checked your phone. Texts, missed calls from Johnny, articles about you and Donghyuck. Apparently all the times you warned him about the press being on his trails should have been a reminder for you as well, because you appear together in all the pictures published.
Pictures of you and him strolling around the street, pictures of you and him spotted shopping together. Pictures of you two at the studio, when the two of you were bickering, except no one knows that. From the looks of it, it seems like you two are being very close, to the point of Donghyuck grabbing you — which is totally true, but the circumstances were absolutely different than what they’re being made to seem like in these pictures. And then, the worst of all, pictures from two nights ago, when you and Donghyuck made out in the middle of the night right in front of the food truck, and then in his car — and there’s no excuse or any other explanation for these last pictures, there’s no way you can deny it. It’s all out there for everyone to see, like a reminder that lines have been crossed and you acted recklessly.
You didn’t even try to call him, to try and talk to him about this, to try to find a version of a story plausible as to why the two of you — a lawyer and her client — were eating each other’s faces the other night.
Instead, you called Johnny and came to the headquarters as soon as you managed to calm down the erratic beating of your heart.
You’re sure everyone around has heard the news or seen the pictures, and you fear of what they might be thinking of you right now. You’ve never been a fan of judgement, and being in the limelight now makes you incredibly anxious.
Your temples are still throbbing, your throat is dry, and it feels like you’re living a nightmare. And right as you think about this, the lift dings, announcing someone is about to come out, and then you see him — your real nightmare.
The man that turned your world upside down with just a smack of lips and a foul mouth full of smart comebacks and obnoxious jokes. He spots you right as he steps out of the lift.
“Good morning, gorgeous!” He takes a seat right next to you, on the other armchair, “What brings you here so early?”
You look at him, genuinely wondering what is wrong with him. He looks at you like an innocent puppy, eyebrows raised and lips pouting, all while he swings his leg from left to right as he sits leisurely.
“Are you being for real right now? Did you not see the news?” You bark at him, ready to start punching him. You’re at your limit, and he’s on very thin ice right now.
He shakes his head, shrugging with innocence, “Johnny called me in as soon as I woke up, so I didn’t really have the time to be on my phone,” He explains, and you believe him — knowing that he’s not the type to be on his phone, given all the times he hasn’t picked up your calls or replied to your work emails as proof of this. “Why? What happened?”
“You and I happened,” You point your index finger, moving it between you two.
“Right,” He smirks, and you genuinely think he’s doing it to provoke you into hurting him, “It certainly is a good morning!”
“Hyuck!” You slap his leg, turning towards him. The crease on your forehead is terribly cute to him, and he feels an urge to kiss your worries away — even if it might put his life in danger. “This is serious. There are pictures everywhere! We’re in so much trouble, and Johnny has been on the phone all morning,” You explain, and then you sigh, “What do you think they’re gonna do to us?”
He looks at you like he doesn’t understand what it is you want from him, “I don’t know, gorgeous,” He shrugs, feigning innocence, “They might have to hang us right outside this building,”
“See?! This is exactly the kind of shit you end up saying that gets you in trouble!” You cry, getting upset with him not taking anything seriously.
He can see you’re getting worked up over this issue, and even if he feels bad for upsetting you with his jokes, he finds it incredibly endearing for some reason.
“You’re right, but let me ask you a question,” He turns his body to face yours, almost sitting on the edge of the cushion, “Now that we’re addressing this properly,” He moves his hand between your bodies, “My joke from that night wasn’t that bad, right?”
You roll your eyes, looking the other way as you try not to snap at him, “No, it was pretty good actually,” You confess, remembering that after the initial shock of seeing him making such joke on national television subsided, you let out a howl of laughter, “Too bad some people have boundaries they don’t joke about,”
“Thank you!” He lets out a sigh of relief, relaxing into his seat, almost as if your last line didn’t make it to his ears, “I agree that I should have made that joke in a different environment, but the backlash was too strong for just a simple joke,” He concludes, mumbling as if he wants you to know he’s not that bad as a person.
The office door opens, and a very stressed Johnny appears in the doorway, “Y/n, get in,” He calls your name, but his gaze shifts to Donghyuck, “Great, you’re here too,” He doesn’t seem too ecstatic, and Donghyuck certainly does not appreciate the coldness of his boss’s tone, “Get in,”
You enter the office, taking a seat on the velvety couch in the corner of Johnny’s office. He sits across from you, and gives you a smile.
“I’d say we have a problem,” He relaxes into his seat, crossing his legs.
“And I’d agree,” You reply, noticing with the corner of your eye how Donghyuck’s head snaps to the side to look at you.
Johnny nods in understanding, seemingly content that you’re on the same page regarding this issue, “But we’d both be so wrong!”
“What?” You squeak, getting on the edge of your seat. You’re so confused right now, you squirm your eyes while looking at your boss.
“See, dearest… the dating scandal brought you into the limelight, and people seem to be talking about you more than Haechan’s controversial joke,” Johnny explains, and you still don’t understand what the good part is to all this, “People are going to be curious about your life, and truth be told Y/n, your record is impeccable. They’ll talk about you, they’ll say you’re the perfect match for Haechan, and everything will calm down.” He claps his hands, satisfied with his explanation, “See? Everything will work out perfectly! I talked to our PR team and, between us, this is the perfect move! How did you end up thinking of this? This was a genius move!”
You look at him, still confused, and then your gaze shifts to look at Donghyuck, who looks back at you just as confused.
“Erm…” You clear your throat, tilting your head, “We didn’t do it as a PR move,” You explain, still very much confused. So much that your words come out as a question.
Johnny opens his mouth, surprised, and then points at you, “Oh well, in this case… Congrats!” He looks at Donghyuck, “And good luck to you!” He eyes you this time, still smiling.
After being dismissed from Johnny’s office, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The headache is now gone, you feel like you can finally go back to relaxing after an entire morning spent thinking you’re three heartbeats away from having a stroke.
You’re pretty much at peace with the fact that they’re going to focus on desiccating your past for a while, thus giving Donghyuck a bit of space after a long time. You’re not as problematic, you don’t make bad jokes, you’ve always been in your lane — and have always done your best to be respectful and good at doing your job, as best as you could. You’re sure that your life isn’t nearly as fascinating as Donghyuck’s, but you really don’t mind.
Even as you walk inside his luxurious building and towards his apartment, Donghyuck follows your steps. He smiles at the thought that, even after weeks, he’s still following you wherever you’re going — and it doesn’t matter that you don’t have a key to his place. He looks at how determined your strut is, like the place is yours and not the other way around.
“What?” You ask him, not accustomed to having him silenced for so long.
“Nothing,” He opens the door for you to walk in, still in front of him, “I might have to give you a key to my place,” He says nonchalantly, like it’s not a big deal.
You choke on air, and you turn around to give him a horrified look, “A key?! Already?” You’re in disbelief, and quite frankly terrified of this man’s pace, “We haven’t talked about this stuff yet,”
“What is there to talk about?” He asks, and he seems genuinely confused. He seems relaxed, very comfortable with your presence even if you haven’t even been able to define your relationship yet.
“This,” You point your finger at him, and then towards yourself, “We haven’t even defined what we are. We have stuff to talk about, and steps to take,”
He snaps his head to look at you, shaking it all confused and with his eyes squinting, “Again… what is there to talk about? Just move in, gorgeous, we can talk at home,” He’s serious as he approaches you, grabbing you by the chin before he guides your face to get closer to his.
His lips capture yours in a sweet yet passionate kiss. They're soft on top of yours, and for a moment he gets lost in the taste of your lip balm, “Is this enough to label us?” He rasps, letting you go before he starts heading towards his dressing room.
When you fail to answer, he comes back, bare feet loud on the hardwood floor, “You’re stalling. Again,” He warns, getting closer to you once again, “I don’t like that. I want things to be quick, precise, orderly. And I want you, Y/n,”
His confession sets a lump in your throat that’s hard to gulp down, words suddenly too difficult to get out of you.
“Years passed and regrets amassed, and not acting upon my desires at the right time made me miserable. I don’t want that for myself, and I thought my intentions were clear enough for you to understand that I don’t need a label to define us, because I quite literally want to put the world at your feet, Y/n,” He speaks, and you try to fight a smile from creeping up on your features, “You came back into my life and you rocked my world and knocked some sense into me, one that was long forgotten and which I ended up despising. I will not sit back and watch you slip through my fingers again,”
He looks silly, but it makes your chest fill with warmth as you see his pout while he concludes his statement. He’s standing in front of you, wearing his pyjama shorts which he managed to change into right before he felt the need to come back and chew your ears off, and he’s still wearing his light blue shirt, cardigan discarded of as soon as he stepped back inside.
“This reminds me just how good you are with argumentation,” You grin, but he knows you heard him loud and clear, and you’re not out the door — so that must mean you’re not turning him down, “Is this gonna be our thing? We get off complimenting each other on our argumentation skills?” The thought seems horrifying, but it gets a snort of laughter out of Donghyuck, nonetheless.
He shakes his head, unbuttoning his shirt. “I have a few other ways to get us off,”
“Is that so?” You purr, desire suddenly making your insides melt.
Your eyes fall on the tanned skin of his chest, trailing all the way down to your favourite spot — the V line. He gets closer to you with dangerously slow steps, like he has you exactly where he wants, where he’s planned to have you all along.
Just one quick glance up to his face, with your gaze locking into his, and the look he’s giving you makes you suddenly want to avert your gaze. He’s confident, proud, standing upright, walking towards you like he’s literally going to take a bite out of you — not that you would mind, anyway.
He stops in front of you, his breath hitting your face as you suddenly feel small, shy to look up at him. His gaze feels intimidating, and makes your skin burn with desire, your flimsy blouse suddenly too clingy and too uncomfortable on your skin.
“I need to know, gorgeous,” He mumbles, slender fingers playing with a strand of your hair, pushing it back behind your ear, “What about that spare key,”
You hum with delight, stretching your arms around his neck, glueing your clothed chest to his bare one, and his hands travel hungrily behind your back with a tight grip.
“I think I’ll have no choice but to agree. The prosecution side had a very compelling argument,” You sing, finally looking up at him, and he keeps his mouth awfully close to yours, but your lips don’t touch.
He hums, nose nudging yours, and you can feel his fingers traveling under your blouse, fingertips touching your ardent skin and giving you goosebumps.
It makes you literally burn up with desire. His fingers squeeze your sides and the pressure feels almost too good given the force with which he’s doing it, all because of how much he wants you right now. His arms are around you in a split second, and you don’t even realise he’s taken you off the ground, determined steps making their way towards where you suppose his bedroom is.
Normally, you’d look around yourself, but right now your mouth is too busy on his, tongues clashing as he moans into the kiss. Your fingers travel around his nape, up all the way into his hair, pulling gently at his strands — getting a proper grunt out of him.
He puts you down, bare feet planted on what feels like a rug right by the foot of the bed, and he plays with the waistband of your pants, pulling them down but leaving your panties on.
You push him back on the bed, and you get on top of him — you can feel he’s already rock hard, and your mouth is literally watering at the thought of tasting him. His hot mouth is on your neck, tongue playing around and leaving wet trails everywhere it can get, one of his free hands travels to your back to unhook your bra, helping you getting rid of your blouse and bra in a split second.
You feel like you’re on a cloud, high on desire and pleasure — he could literally manoeuvre you around and you wouldn’t realise. His hands keep you steady on his lap, on top of his hard-on, not allowing you to move because he’d quite literally lose his mind if you gave him even the slightest friction.
He keeps his mouth busy, lips kissing the plush of your breasts before his mouth latches onto your nipple, and he grunts with pleasure now that it finally dawns on him that he’s getting all of you to himself.
“So, so gorgeous, my baby,” He breathes on your swollen nip, right before his mouth latches onto the other, and hearing his airy praise from him has you moaning, head tilted to the side as you get lost in the pleasure, and you can’t help but move your hips on top of his lap.
He moans, fingers digging forcefully into your hips to stop you, yet the force with which he’s doing it makes you even more aroused.
His moan vibrates around your nipple, and you push at his shoulders slightly, clearly giving him instructions on what to do. All the bullshit he pulled a while back about being your puppy and not taking orders from you? Totally bluffing. The man would do anything you’d ask of him, no questions asked.
You look at him in all his glory, admiring every single inch of his skin. Your fingers travel to the waistband of his pyjama shorts, and your nails pull at it, trying to move them out of the way. With a tiny bit of help from him, you managed to discard of the clothing item right before your gaze falls back on him, and you nearly let a gasp escape you.
Perfectly girthy, one vein travels from the base of his cock all the way up to his leaking tip. Trimmed at the base, his happy trail travels up his lower stomach, and you can’t resist the urge to graze it with your nail — going from his belly all the way back to the base of his cock, where you gently grab him.
You bend down on top of him, and he doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. But you don’t allow him to enjoy your lips for too long, as they move down to travel on his jaw and across his chest, breath fanning over all the wet spots your lips leave behind. You finally stop your journey on his chest, where you playfully graze his nip with your teeth, while your eager hand gets back on his cock, squeezing his base lightly before travelling further down, making him grunt at the feeling.
“Stop,” He’s out of breath, and the sound of his voice — laced with desperation and lust — makes your walls throb around nothing, “Please,” He pleads, throwing his head back.
The image of him being totally at your mercy makes you feral, almost like you want to continue your ministrations just to get more out of him. But it’s too much even for you, at least for right now, so you take pity on both of you.
You bend down, kissing his tip quickly before you take him inside the warmth of your mouth.
“Fuck!” He bucks his hips up, “I don’t think you should do this,” He’s almost crying, and his hands go up to his head in order to grab strands of hair he can pull at.
But you ignore him. Flattening you tongue as you take all of him, you indulge in the pleasure of finally being able to suck him off. Salty and heavy on your tongue as you move your head up and down slowly, you moan around him, and for a moment you think Donghyuck is going to throw you off and away from himself.
You touch him one last time after you release his cock with a pop!, and he lands forcefully on his back once again.
“I think you’ll be the death of me,” He mumbles, breathlessly as he lays unmoving, waiting to catch his breath a bit. He’s painfully hard, tip still leaking with precum, but he raises his head when he feels you getting on top of him. “No,” He shakes his head, “Wanna taste you first,”
You feel like you could cry. You want to have him in all the ways possible, yet it’s becoming unbearable for you to be deprived of any proper friction.
“Maybe later,” You tell him, already sliding your panties down your legs, “I need to feel you inside of me,” You moan as you sit on him for a bit, and he swears he can feel your clit throbbing on top of his unmoving and hard shaft.
You align him at your entrance, throwing your soaked panties at his head — and he doesn’t even bother to catch them on time. They land on his face, and he only moves one hand to grab them and keep them close for just a tiny bit to be able to smell your scent.
His eyes become glossy the moment you sink down on him, painfully slowly, and he can’t help the moan that rumbles out of his chest.
“Fuck, fuck, baby,” He curses through gritted teeth, sucking his stomach in a few times, “I don’t think I can- I don’t think I’ll last,”
He overestimates your willpower right now, because he’s not aware that your insides are melting with lust and pleasure, feeling the need to feel him all the way deeply inside of you.
The moment you start undulating your hips, walls squeezing him deliciously, he looks down at where your bodies meet, and he can’t help himself from bringing his thumb so you can get off faster. You moan at the friction his thumb provides you every time your clit hits against it as you move your hips, and he swears the sounds you’re making are not helping his cause right now, already feeling like he’s on the verge of spilling inside of you.
Instead, his thumb does the right thing, and you reach your climax fast, surprising him. It comes in powerful, delightful waves that are prodding you to go on and continue your movements, and Donghyuck is too lost in the image of you climaxing on top of him to remember to take his thumb away from your sensitive clit.
Your thighs are burning, everything below the belt feels like it’s about to melt, but you stretch your hands up to his chest as your hips keep rocking on top of his. He’s speechless, he’s feeling too many things, especially because he’s been on the receiving end all the time, and this way he found it easier to get lost in all the pleasure he’s been feeling.
He raises his head a bit, in order to have a better look at you, and he opens his arms before his hands travel to your hips.
You bend down, teeth grazing his jaw before you remember something, and you smirk as you get right up. Your hand travels to his neck, hand wrapping around the sides of his throat and putting the right amount of pressure.
His eyes become the size of saucers as he looks up at you, trying his best not to let out all the moans catching in his throat.
You giggle, and the sound of it has Donghyuck throbbing, “What happened to my talkative puppy boy?” You pout, delighted at seeing him squirming.
The choice of words, your tone, your relentless riding, the pressure around his neck, and the way your walls are squeezing him too tightly, it all becomes too much for Donghyuck to bear, and you see him rolling his eyes back before he lets out the loudest moan from the pit of his ribcage — and that alone is enough to turn you on again.
But you give in, stopping your movements yet still keeping him inside of you, and you collapse on his chest. You’re too spent to keep yourself upright right now, and Donghyuck feels limp as he tries to gather his bearings.
You place your hand on his chest, drawing soothing circles as you wait for him to catch his breath, an you giggle when you hear him cursing. His sweaty skin sticks to yours, and he grabs your hand to bring it to his lips.
He keeps you close, he’s literally where he wants to be — with your weight on top of him, he feels like this is the safest and best place for him.
He raises his head, looking at your intertwined bodies, right before a stupid but spent smirk shows up on his face, “Given our last activity, I think I just proved to you that I don’t need deodorant,”
You smack his chest when you register his words, but giggle nonetheless because only Donghyuck could get to ruin a moment by bringing this nonsense up.
“Pervert,” You move on top of him just slightly, but it’s enough to make him suck air through his teeth.
He smirks, voice already raspy as he mumbles out loud, “Oh, you have no idea!”
AUTHOR'S NOTE: SPEAKING MY TRUTH: we need to see more of obsessed and pervert!hyuck around (◞‸◟,) thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for me to drop fics from this series! this series means a lot to me and im not planning to abandon it, in case you were wondering — it's just that i have to be in the right place with my creativity <3 i hope you enjoyed this one, and i'll see you babies for the next one! ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა
SYNOPSIS: ask the cute guy working at your local LP store what his favourite track is, and he'll always change his answer. but with every new answer you get a new story to back up his choice, allowing you to get to know him — allowing you to get a taste of sun.
FEATURING: lee haechan x female reader
UPDATES: every friday, starting september 12. subject to change depending on the word count of each piece.
TAGLIST: join HERE for your preferred title, or reply to this post but please mention the fic you want to be tagged in, otherwise i'll assume you want to be tagged in all.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: happy HOLO month! i used to pray for times like this and i can't believe we're almost there! this series is going to be my main priority for the month of september. these are all written fics with titles inspired from michael jackson's discography. the fics below might not be posted in this particular order. all fics are female reader insert. MORE UNDER THE CUT!
SYNOPSIS: captain of the football team, lee haechan claims he has it all. but he doesn't have you, who's always been so unattainable, yet somehow you still end up dating the student body president and his rival. but he's not one to give up easily because he knows he always gets what he wants, and your boyfriend should definitely feel threatened by him.
PAIRING: athlete!haechan x female reader
GENRE: college au, enemies to ? au, love triangle!au, angst, smut, cheating!au
WORD COUNT: 23.5K
READ HERE
SYNOPSIS: lee haechan never thought he would be one to ever settle down. but then there's you in his life, and numerous slip ups lead to his life changing completely. but now the question is, are you willing to settle down with him, or will he let you get away?
PAIRING: fwb!haechan x female reader
GENRE: pregnancy!au, fwb to ?, smut, angst, fluff
WORD COUNT: estimated +15k words
RELEASE DATE: postponed!
SYNOPSIS: there's not much you need to do to make lee haechan, your husband, swoon over you. you could threaten him, you could ignore him, and that's the worst part of all ー because no matter how many times you remind him that you're not in love with him, somehow you always manage to give him butterflies.
PAIRING: ceo!haechan x female corporate lawyer!reader
GENRE: (arranged) marriage!au, fluff, angst, smut
WORD COUNT: estimated +18k words
RELEASE DATE: coming soon!
SYNOPSIS: losing your previous job makes you apply for the first available role at a big company. a role that you can only hope to be temporary, because your boss is an insufferable idiot who makes your life a living hell. all because he thinks he's unbreakable ー until he isn't.
PAIRING: ceo!haechan x female personal assistant!reader
GENRE: enemies to ? au, angst, more to be announced!
WORD COUNT: estimated +20k words
RELEASE DATE: coming soon!
SYNOPSIS: it doesn't matter how many times you tried working things out with lee haechan, you just had to move on for your own good. but that's exactly when haechan wants you the most, when he can't have you ー and it doesn't matter how many times he's begging and pleading now, you're just invincible.
PAIRING: situationship!haechan x female reader
GENRE: angst, smut, situationship to ? au
WORD COUNT: estimated +10k words
RELEASE DATE: coming soon!
SYNOPSIS: lee haechan ー beloved retired prosecutor ruins his own career with his big mouth. as his lawyer, you have to save his career, or what's left of it, and you rock his world while trying to do so.
PAIRING: tv personality!haechan x female lawyer!reader
GENRE: acquaintances to strangers to lovers, humour, smut
WORD COUNT: 16.4k
READ HERE
SYNOPSIS: what does a pretty young thing such as yourself do on the streets of jeju? haechan is determined to find out ー and after you realise your moving away from the city feels lonelier than you had previously anticipated, will you allow him to get closer to you?
PAIRING: jeju boy!haechan x city girl!reader
GENRE: strangers to friends to ? au, fluff, more to be announced!
WORD COUNT: estimated 12k words
RELEASE DATE: coming soon!
SYNOPSIS: lee haechan ー rich, young and handsome, loves everything new and shiny. you ー someone who thrifts, doesn't overspend, hates overconsumption, and hates people like lee haechan and everything they represent. you're everything haechan has always avoided, but opposites attract and you drive him wild.
PAIRING: rich!haechan x unconventional!reader
GENRE: enemies to lovers!au, smut, comedy
WORD COUNT: estimated 15k words
RELEASE DATE: coming soon!
SYNOPSIS: travelling by yourself doesn't sound so bad when you befriend the cute stranger you meet on the plane. too many days, and definitely too many nights spent together up to the break of dawn with him. but will you also go back home with him?
PAIRING: stranger!haechan x female reader
GENRE: smut, strangers to ?, angst, hurt & comfort
WORD COUNT: estimated +15k words
RELEASE DATE: coming soon!
SYNOPSIS: trying to corrupt you, the good girl who has always lived life the way her parents dictated, lee haechan discovers there's a side of you no one has ever seen before. with you not being who he thought you were, it makes him realise you're just another part of him.
PAIRING: bad boy!haechan x good girl!reader
GENRE: opposites attract!au, angst, more to be announced!
WORD COUNT: estimated 10k words
RELEASE DATE: coming soon!
SYNOPSIS: lee haechan discovers just how much he cares about you only when his buttons are being pushed. the feelings are too strong, too hard to navigate, and too hard to understand while he feels like he's being haunted by something far heavier than anything he's ever experienced before ー the ghost of jealousy.
PAIRING: situationship!haechan x female reader
GENRE: situationship to ? au, angst, smut, more to be announced!
sypnosis: the one where your bestie proves you wrong.
pairing: haechan x fem!reader
genre: smut. fluff. crack. slice of life. besties to lovers? haechan's profession not specified. you can picture him as an idol or not. up to you :)
word count: 8.2k+
warnings: both horny af. haechan is my dream man in this im sorry. he's tryna stay cool but fails miserably. oc wants him but doesn't know it. they're both acting nonchalant but couldn't be more CHALANT. oral (fem!receiving). big phat dick!hae (what's new). smooching. pnv. they fuck on his sofa. unprotected sex (pooja what is this behaviour!). spit. light choking. creampie. cum eating. he literally feeds her his cum hahah im ok. dirty talk. slight degradation. use of the word 'slut' (i love him). oc smokes a cig bc she's had a rough night. mentions of fake orgasms. confusion. this is mostly FILTH.
cookie's note: hi there. not entirely sure what this is, but it's been sitting in my drafts since last year, so here you go! maybe i'll write for these two again in the future, i haven't decided yet. in the meantime, i do hope that this soothes even just a tiny bit of the sadness that's been flowing around ncity the past few days. for all my sad but always horny neo queens!
alabyuuu,
cookie ♡
masterlist | ko-fi
People say ‘don’t shit where you eat' for a reason.
You knew going to a work do where free alcohol was served with your ex-situationship lurking was not a smart idea. You knew it. But you also refused to back down and disrupt your plans because of a narcissist who is known for not being able to handle his alcohol.
It was all fun and games at the start of the night, but the more drinks he kept having, the more his petty comments kept coming your way.
“Remember when you used to be fun?”
“Why so uptight? Did someone hurt you?”
And so, you caved. You called the only person you knew could save you no matter what.
“Hey, what you up to?” You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear while rummaging through your bag for a lighter. The situation definitely demands a smoke. If you could find the stupid pink lighter you once stole off Haechan.
The cars are loud on the main road outside the venue your company had booked for the evening, but you can still hear the faint clicking of his keyboard through the speaker. He is definitely in the middle of a gaming session.
“Already gave up?” He says with a little amused laugh. You can almost picture the smug smirk on your friend’s face.
“It's either that or I get violent.” You snarl in the cold of the night, the lighter still nowhere to be found. "It's been what, an hour? And the man's already five drinks in."
“Yikes. You made him turn to alcohol. Poor fella.” He pretends pity, but you know he’s always hated the guy.
“Not my fault he can’t take the truth.”
“Eh, yeah, he’s a dick, but you also did tell him you faked all your orgasms.” He snorts. “Surprised he hasn't already killed himself.”
“Aha!” You shout a little too excitedly for having just found a lighter.
“You good?” He asks curiously, keyboard clicking coming to a halt.
“Yeah, sorry, just found my lighter.”
“You mean my lighter.” He deadpans. “I knew it was you.”
You stifle a giggle at his whining. “Who else could it have been?”
He scoffs. “I have other friends.”
“Mm,” You hum as you light the cigarette and take the first nerve-calming drag. You exhale in relief before continuing, “You only chat to them on Overwatch nowadays.”
“Be thankful I'm actually spending time with you on my days off,” He grumbles.
“You're so right. I am an ungrateful piece of shit. Will you ever forgive me.” You respond in the most indifferent tone you can muster.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever - when’s your bus?” He asks, totally unfazed by your sassy comeback.
“Like five minutes?” You glance at the schedule board. The bus to Haechan’s place shows 5’, while the one that takes you home shows 7’. “I could always go home. Don’t wanna keep you up.”
“It’s 8 p.m. on a Friday night.” He brushes off your hesitation, clearly having already decided for you. “I’ve got food covered, just bring some soju.”
You're glad he can't see the satisfied grin that takes over your face.
He somehow always manages to say endearing things with a tone that could make him come across as cold to someone who isn't familiar with his mannerisms. It's easy for you to notice the always present but underlying softness, though.
You absentmindedly keep flicking the cigarette even though there's no ash left at the tip. “Alright, say less.”
“And none of that peach-flavoured shit you like,” He adds. “It's too sweet.”
“You'll drink what I pay for.”
You end up getting two peach and two original-flavoured bottles anyway.
⟡
“The fuck is he so bitter for?” Haechan slumps down next to you on his spacious sofa after getting rid of the empty take out boxes, making you bounce a little. “I swear it wasn’t that serious?”
“It wasn’t!” You exclaim in annoyance, kicking your feet from where you’re lying across the sofa, head heavy against the armrest. Your eyes feel a little droopy from the lovely meal you've just had and the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed tonight — not enough to get you drunk, just enough to give your body a pleasant buzz.
“Maybe he really liked you.” Haechan points out and you can’t help but raise your head a little to throw him a ‘be serious’ look. He snorts. “What?”
The cotton of his sweatpants feels soft against your toes, and you subconsciously wiggle them between his thigh and the sofa as you relax against the soft cushions. “That man hated me. He just liked my pu—“
“Yah,” He cuts you off, still chuckling in disbelief at your non-existent filter. “How can you be so unhinged when you drink?”
Your eyes are shut but you giggle along, always enjoying making him a little uncomfortable. It’s a rare occurrence.
“Speaking of…” He trails, clearly in thought about something.
“Of what? My genitals?” Your attempt to mock him earns you a sharp pinch on the fleshy bit of your calf. "Ah! Okay okay okay, I'm sorry." You squeal in pain until he retrieves his fingers.
“Weirdo.” He mumbles disapprovingly, making you let out a not-so-charming snort that may or may not resemble a laugh. You can picture the offended expression on his face. The pout his heart-shaped lips always form when he's annoyed is too adorable to forget.
“You were saying...?” You prod with a gentle voice this time, wiggling your toes again, your hands folded on your tummy as you keep your eyes closed.
“Did you actually fake it every single time?” He shuffles a little further down the sofa, his sweats dragging against your toes as he gets more comfy and now you’re pretty sure your right foot is now stuck under his ass.
“Every. Single. Timeeeee.” You drag the word with a dramatic groan.
“Jeez. Poor guy.” Haechan exhales in wonderment. “Was his peepee like, really small or...?”
“Pfff.” You blow out a snicker. “It wasn’t that much of a size issue. It was more…I dunno, just lack of technique, I guess?”
“Hm.” Haechan hums in thought. “What about when he’d go down on you?”
You’re no stranger to having these types of conversations with Haechan. You’ve been friends long enough to feel comfortable discussing your sex lives to an extent. You’re both sexually active adults, it's no secret, but for some reason, in this specific moment, it feels a little too intimate. Maybe it’s the quiet of his apartment, with the tv being muted and all. Or maybe it’s the alcohol in your system.
“That’s never really worked for me, you know.” You admit quickly, without really elaborating.
There’s a small pause from his side, which makes you move your bent knees to the side a little so you can check your friend’s expression. He seems confused.
“Like ever?” His eyebrows furrow a little before smoothing down again. “With anyone?”
You shake your head with a little pout, containing your laugh. It’s kind of funny how concerned he looks, even though it has nothing to do with him.
“Well, if it means anything, on behalf of the entire male population, I do apologise.” He puts his hands together and closes his eyes, as though begging for your forgiveness.
You stifle a laugh and lightly kick his thigh. “Pretty sure there’s much more pressing matters the male population should feel sorry for.”
“Touché.” He smiles awkwardly at your observation.
“Also, I hate to break it to you, but…” You move your feet from underneath his leg and place them on his lap. His hand casually squeezes one ankle, the touch comforting over your trousers. “Surely, you know most of your partners have faked it at least once.”
He scoffs playfully. “Yeah, probably in uni, when I was constantly fucking around, but definitely not in the last couple years.”
“Delusion at its finest.”
His eyes roll sarcastically. “I’m very aware of my oral skills, don’t you worry about me.”
You breathe out an amused laugh at his frown. “Right right right, my bad.”
“I could always prove it.”
Your laughter is louder this time. “What? You gonna invite a girl over and make me watch?”
“I mean…sure, if you’re into that,” He smirks, hand around your ankle tightening slightly. “Not really what I meant though.”
Now, that sparks some interest in you.
“You offering me head or something?” You maintain the playfulness in your tone, but you’re very aware of the heat creeping up on your face at what he's insinuating.
He just shrugs, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “You get an orgasm; I get to prove you wrong.”
“You must really love proving me wrong.” You’re positive of your blush showing now, his amused grin enough proof as he inspects your face.
He shrugs again. He’s too calm for this situation. “Won’t be a chore, I’m sure.”
“Ey, quit pulling my leg.” You warn in disbelief. There's no way this isn't one of his tricks.
He scoffs with a lopsided grin, tongue poking against his cheek. “I'm not pulling anything.”
“You'd seriously go down on me just to prove a point?” Your eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of your head.
“Last chance. Take it or leave it.” He says monotonously, like it's some kind of auction.
This whole situation is absurd. But what's even more absurd is that you panic at the thought of missing the chance of your friend eating you out. You must be experiencing a simulation. That's the only credible explanation.
You purse your lips in thought. Why can't you bring yourself to say no? “What if you actually fail?”
“I won’t.”
“You might.” You press again.
He exhales an exasperated laugh. “Then, I dunno. You get something to use against me.”
You certainly like the sound of that. “I could always fake it. I’m good at that.”
“I’ll know if you do.” He raises an eyebrow in warning, expression more serious than you’re used to. “So, best not.”
You swallow a little too audibly, too aware of his touch on your leg now. It’s when your gaze drops to his lips that you really do come to a decision.
“Alright.” You agree, as nonchalantly as possible. “No weird shit, though.”
He snorts a laugh as he sits up a little and you scoot back to rest on your elbows. “What exactly classifies as weird shit?”
“I don’t know...” You look around as though you’ll find an answer in his living room. You know it's just a way to avoid his eyes. “Just don’t make it weird.”
“I won’t.” He raises his hands in defence.
“Good.”
He stares at you for a few moments, and it’s already fucking weird. “Wanna stay here or go to the bedroom?”
Oh god. This is actually happening.
“Here.” You decide quickly. “Bedroom’s a bit too serious.”
He nods in approval. “Fair.”
You nod back, but really knowing what else to do.
“Alright, let’s see your granny panties then.”
“See, that’s fucking weird! I knew you'd—“
“Okay okay,” He cackles loudly at your expense, catching the cushion you attempt to smack into his face. “I’m sorry, I’ll behave.”
You glare at him, not really believing a word that comes out of his stupidly pretty mouth. You know him too well.
“Would you kindly take your trousers off or shall I do it?” He asks carefully this time, sounding too genuine, eyelashes batting dramatically. You know it's all an act.
You don’t choose words this time. Instead, you lie back down and unbutton your trousers, but before you can start removing them, Haechan stops you with his hands on yours.
“Wait.” His slightly worried expression makes your heart drop. Did he just trick you into agreeing so he could take it back? What sick, twisted motherf— “You actually wanna do this, right?”
You barely register your smile. Him making sure to get your repeated consent shouldn’t feel so endearing. “I’ve already said yes, Hyuck.”
“No, you said ‘alright’.” He mimics your voice playfully, making your smile widen. “Not the same.”
“My bad.” You get comfortable again, your hands resuming their actions as you start pushing your pants down, hips raising a little, and when the piece of clothing hits the floor, you speak again, smile still intact. “Yes, I want to.”
His eyes don’t even flicker down to your bottom half. They stay on your face. Even when your legs spread to accommodate him as he shuffles closer, he doesn’t allow himself to look below your waist.
He doesn’t come across as embarrassed, or awkward. He’s just… calm. His breathing stable compared to yours, his hands steady on your knees, no tremble detected, his blinking slow, eyes moving unhurriedly over your squirming body. He’s too fucking normal about this.
And you’re already turned on. And embarrassed. And so not calm.
“Cute.” His endearing remark breaks the silence when he finally eyes your underwear, his thumb delicately tracing the baby blue bow in the centre of the waistline. You’re glad you chose black lace instead of anything else that could betray your wetness.
You can feel it leaking. It’s uncomfortable and very unsettling. A reminder of the absurdity you've found yourself in on this random Friday evening.
He's one of your favourite people. Your best guy friend. And he’s got your pussy dripping and your heart skipping more beats than it should.
And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.
His hands settle on your inner thighs, spreading your legs as far as they’ll go, and when he brings his face closer to where you need him, you have to close your eyes for a few moments. Just to anchor yourself a little.
“Are you uncomfortable?” He asks softly, his warm breath hitting your tummy.
You look down to find that his concerned eyes are already inspecting your face. “No. It’s just weird. It’s you.”
“Exactly.” He reaffirms with a cheeky grin. “It's just me.”
You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “I’m good. I promise.”
“Good.” He presses a tiny peck just above the bow of your panties, where your blouse has ridden up and left the skin uncovered. His nose tickles you slightly. “Just sit there and look pretty.”
You accidentally let out a giggle at his gentle demeanour, not really familiar with this side of him. He’s always playful with you, sure, just not this soft. As touchy as Haechan can be, it’s always clumsy and chaotic. He’ll hug you here and there or put an arm around your shoulders to offer needed comfort, he'll pat you on the back, ruffle your hair just to annoy you, but he's never lingered. Never crossed any lines. Never done or said anything to make you question your friendship.
Until now.
He rearranges his position a little, until he’s leaning comfortably on his elbows, face directly above your heat, arms loosely wrapped around your thighs, hands stroking up and down the skin. He's being gentle. Attentive.
It's annoying how you can't look away. How could you? When he looks so good between your legs. So, you just watch.
He starts with a kiss on your left inner thigh, then another one on your right one, where he keeps descending, each smooch wetter than the previous one until he’s reached the edge of your soaked underwear.
He makes brief eye contact when his tongue dips out to lick the crease that connects your thigh and mound, making your breath hitch. He does the same on the other side, and then resumes the kisses, covering your skin in dewy patches.
It’s his heavy breaths that affect you the most. Simply because they betray that he's not as unaffected as he seems.
You don’t rush him. Don’t beg him. Don’t let yourself make too many sounds other than some shaky breaths here and there when his teeth nip at your skin. You hold back as best as you can. Even when the pulse of your clit becomes almost unbearable. Even when the slick that drips out of you is too difficult to ignore. Even when you’re dying to grab onto his hair and shove his face into your pussy. You just force your hands to grab onto the cushions that support your head.
Your composure eventually breaks when he lands a lingering kiss just above your covered clit. A barely audible whimper fills the quiet of his apartment. You know he’s heard it when his hold on your thighs tightens, pretty hands flexing, fingers digging in the flesh, the cool sensation of his rings soothing you. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the acknowledging gesture. At the way he tries to ground you.
His lips part wider this time, tongue poking out, gently massaging your clit over the ruined lace, the moist warmth seeping through the fabric, teasing you like you’ve never been teased before.
“Hyuck.” The nickname comes out whiny, almost broken.
He hums in response, the vibration going straight through your sensitive bud, pulling an accidental moan out of you. His tongue slips down to your entrance and that’s when he makes a sound for the first time tonight. It’s very obvious he’s felt the arousal that’s probably spilling from the sides of your sticky panties.
“You taste good.” He whispers, more to himself it seems, his eyes glued to the mess between your legs as he bites down on his lower lip. “Can I take these off?”
You blink down at him, his pleading tone causing your pussy to flutter around nothing, and his wide, boba eyes - full of hope - cause your stomach to do a flip. You can’t do anything other than nod dumbly.
He moves swiftly; his fingers already slipping into the sides of your panties as he sits up to make more room, your hips lift in response and in no time the garment is somewhere on his floor. Haechan doesn’t give you much time to feel exposed. He gets to work quickly. Eager hands grab onto your hips and effortlessly drag you closer to his face, prying your legs wide open, nails digging into the backs of your thighs as his eyes drink in the filthy sight of your slicked up centre.
Your brain malfunctions when you hear a not-so-subtle inhale.
Did he just...smell you?
You hands move on their own, clinging onto his hair, pushing him down, while your hips lift just a tiny bit, and before he can protest, his nose bumps into your swollen bud.
He doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve practically shoved his face into your folds. His tongue makes contact immediately, licking from your entrance to your clit, lightly at first, the tip of it barely making contact, almost tickling you. Then he repeats the action, a little bolder each time, edging you.
A wide swipe of the pink muscle against the whole expanse of your throbbing pussy sends a shock through your system. And when his tongue swirls around your swollen bud, you let your head fall back and your eyes close in bliss. “Holy shit, you are good at this.”
You’re awfully aware of the sigh that slips out of you, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Decorum is the least of your worries when your best friend of three years has his face buried in your most private parts.
Awareness flies out of the window too when Haechan’s full lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before his tongue joins with languid strokes. You can’t tell how loud you’re being, all you can focus on is the pleasure and the wet slurping sounds he’s making.
“Told you.” He mumbles mid lap and before you can think of a smart comeback, his tongue briefly sneaks down to your entrance, collecting more of your arousal before travelling back up to flick gently. Your hips unintentionally buck into his face, searching for more friction.
He’s clearly teasing you. Toying with you. Trying to make a point. Greedy asshole.
“Fuck!” You exclaim in surprise when his thumbs spread your pussy lips, isolating your clit and lifting the hood so that his mouth can suck harder than before. Your back arches, the direct contact with the nerve endings making your legs shake involuntarily. Your fingers curl in his strands in despair and your eyes roll back when he doesn’t let up. His harsh flicks come in up and down motions, before turning into long, persistent swirls and then repeat. “Hah—wait—fuck, I’m—”
“Shut up and cum.” He rasps harshly, his voice alone making you clench around emptiness.
You feel his spit combined with your juices trickling down to your ass, possibly staining his sofa too. You’re so close you can taste it. Your pussy throbs from the sensitivity, thighs shake uncontrollably, the backs of your knees where your legs are bent drip in sweat, your lungs are struggling to keep up, the coil in your tummy so close to bursting.
It's nothing close to what you had in mind. He's making you look like a fool for ever doubting his skills. You find yourself feeling irrationally jealous of all the women that have experienced this when you'd been having to act and scream out fake moans.
He suddenly pulls back a little, and your head instantly shoots up at the loss. Your eyes meet his hooded ones, the lower half of his face covered in you, and as if the sight wasn’t already scandalous, the thick string of saliva that dribbles out of his mouth and directly onto your clit, completes the piece of art of whatever the fuck this is.
“Jesus.” You huff when you let your head loll back down, and then his tongue is on you again, flicking faster and harsher than before, hitting a spot on one side of your clit that makes stars appear behind your eyelids. “Fuck, right there.”
You hold his head exactly where you need him, and he obliges without a word. The assault of his mouth combined with his hand blindly reaching up to give your boob a light squeeze, make your whole body lock up for a moment before shakes of intense pleasure take over you. The broken whine that escapes your throat, barely registers as you cum hard on his tongue. You don’t even realise that your trembling hand engulfs the one he's got on your breast, interlocking your fingers with his while trying not to drown in the abyss of the high.
It’s impossible. Not when he keeps licking and sucking, completely unbothered, moaning like he’s experiencing this as intensely as you are, gripping onto your thigh and fingers like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t offer every bit of pleasure he can.
He lets you ride it out quite literally on his face. Doesn’t stop you from grinding on his nose and tongue. He happily stays there as you use him until you’ve had enough. And even when you can't take more, he still doesn’t stop. He slowly drags his tongue between your folds before he lets it dip into your leaking hole. As far as it can go. Tasting your release from the source. And when his arm curls around your thigh, fingers coming to touch you from above, rubbing harsh circles on your clit, you have to get away. Before you lose your fucking mind.
Simply asking him to stop does cross your mind for half a second, but for some reason you go with what should feel forbidden. You grab onto the collar of his top, your other hand already curling around the back of his neck, pulling him up until his face is directly above yours, and before he can question your actions, you’re claiming his mouth with yours.
No testing the waters, no permission asked. Just parted lips against parted lips, your tongue shoving past them, tasting your own arousal. You feel him go rigid for a few seconds, and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t stutter with worry at the thought of scaring him away. At the thought of crossing a boundary. But then you feel his body melt into yours and his soft lips start responding, matching your eagerness, jaw slackening to let your tongue tangle with his.
It’s kind of gross. Saliva mixed with your essence drips from the corner of your mouth. It’s messy. Lazy. But it feels nice. And oddly sweet. And warm. And you hate that fresh heat blooms in your belly just from a kiss.
His hand coming to cup your chin possessively does something to you. His fingers lightly squish your cheeks before they trail up, palm engulfing your jaw, tilting your head a little so he can deepen the kiss with a satisfied hum. Such a simple gesture, but it sends tingles down your spine, makes your breath hitch and your hips stutter with newfound want. His thumb tracing your cheek reminds you that he’s still in control of the situation.
That he really did prove you wrong.
But you're not annoyed. If anything, it turns you on even more. As twisted as it may sound. The thought of your best friend sticking the very same tongue he made you cum with down your throat, should make your skin crawl. Instead, it makes you want more.
“Fuck.” He exhales in your mouth, pulling back just enough to take a look at you with slightly widened eyes, pupils blown out. A thin string of saliva connects you for a second before you lick your lips, breaking the bond.
All you keep thinking is 'has he always been this pretty?'. Rosy cheeks, swollen pink lips, nose and chin still glistening with your slick, making more of it gush from your sensitive heat.
“I need to cum or I might go fucking nuts.” He complains with a frown, head dropping forward so he can peep between your bodies, and you can’t help but do the same.
You see it. The dark stain at the front of his grey sweats, the very prominent bulge of his erection brushing your stomach, barely touching you.
“Okay.” You mutter weakly, but then panic when he moves to get off you. You instinctively grab onto his t-shirt, pulling him back down, his erection now trapped between your lower halves. “Where are you going?”
His blinks quickly, surprise evident at your resistance. “Bathroom?”
“Why?”
He lets out a confused laugh. “I don’t know. I thought—
You shake your head at him, hips bucking slightly to meet his, a gentle grind, enough to help him get the message. “You don’t have to go.”
His lips part at the friction, eyebrows furrowing adorably, eyes fluttering closed as he allows his weight to sink back on you.
“Fuck.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder when you grind a little harder this time. “You wanna watch me or something?”
“Whatever you want.” You mumble in his ear, hand burying in his hair to comfort him with gentle strokes. You hope he catches on the hidden meaning behind your words.
“That’s a little misleading.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes again. “I could want things you might not.”
“I doubt that.” You say, a restrained smile tugging at your lips. “Unless you wanna put it in my ass.”
His light chuckle evokes relief in your tense muscles. “Ass is where you draw the line?”
“Sorry.” You smirk teasingly, letting your free hand slip under the hem of his top, fingertips caressing along his spine. You bite back a smile at the little shiver that visibly runs through him.
His amused smile and wondering eyes make you feel flustered. Your cheeks burn and you pulse quickens, but you try to remain calm.
“S’okay, not what I want right now anyway.” He lets his hips press flush against yours, completely unashamed of showing off how turned on he is.
“You’re good then.” You sneak a hand around his nape to pull him down for another kiss, but he resists this time.
He giggles at your confused expression. “Cute.”
You pout angrily in response, earning another playful laugh from him.
“So, like, just so we're crystal clear,” He leans closer, nose nuzzling yours as he cages your head with his arms. “What you're implying is that if I said I wanted to have sex with you...you'd want that too.”
You daringly stare into his eyes when you reach between your bodies and give him a teasing squeeze through his layers.
The stuttering gasp he lets out is hard to miss. “That's not an answer.”
“Then learn to take a hint.” You press harder, reveling in the cute whine that slips out of him.
He finally gives up and closes the small gap, kissing you again, with more urgency this time, his tongue sneaking in your mouth while you slowly stroke him through his sweats.
He’s bigger than you expected. Not too long, but thick enough for the stretch to sting at first. You can almost feel it in your walls as they pulse around nothing, desperately needing to be filled.
It feels like torture.
You’re about to complain when you feel him shift his weight a little, your arms quickly coming to wrap around his neck, preventing him from interrupting the kiss.
You realise his bottoms are out of the way when his heavy cock slaps against your stomach. In any other occasion you’d feel embarrassed at the way your hips wiggle, seeking for relief and the whimper your let out against his lips.
He doesn’t try to shame you or tease you, like the Haechan you know would. He simply responds with a shaky exhale and a slow roll of his hips before kissing you harder, deeper, messier. He keeps devouring your lips even when the velvety head of his cock prods at your entrance, separating your folds with a little squelch. His tongue slides against yours smoothly as he breaches past your tight opening, just the tip going in, testing the waters. He moans when you let your legs spread wider for him, silently inviting him in your soaked heat.
Your mouth hangs open, eyes squeezing shut when he’s suddenly pushed halfway in, the burn intense but still somehow laced with pleasure, making your body tremble a little and your fingers curl into his shoulder blades, nails catching onto the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Does it hurt?” He checks in a whisper, hips halting when he meets resistance, your pussy tightening when it all becomes too much. He's too big for you to just take in one go.
“Stings a little.” You nod, eyes still closed even when you feel him staring at you.
“I'll go slow,” He lands a wet smooch on your cheek, earning a giddy smile from you. “Just relax for me.”
“M’trying.” You whine pathetically. “Why’s your dick so fat? What the fuck?”
He breathes out a chuckle into your neck. “Why’s your pussy so tight? You a virgin or something?”
You can’t find it in you to play along anymore, especially when he pulls back out to the tip before sliding back in the same amount as before. He starts building a slow rhythm, thrusts shallow, only going halfway in. Until your walls start to gradually relax around him, allowing him to sink in a little deeper each time.
You both sigh in unison when his hips finally meet yours.
“Shit, that's too deep.” You gasp into his shoulder, arms hugging him closer as your trembling body seeks more of his warmth, trying to somehow subdue the mix of pain and pleasure.
He grinds upwards, rolling his hips in an angle that makes his cock graze a perfect spot along your snug walls. Your muscles still try to adjust to the thickness, but you welcome it nevertheless. He stays there for a little while, not moving while he scatters lazy kisses along your neck, clearly trying to help you loosen up. His fingers hook into the neckline of your blouse, dragging that side down the slope of your shoulder along with your bra strap, revealing more skin to cover in kisses.
“Can we take our clothes off?” He asks while he slowly drags his plush lips and eager tongue along your collarbone.
“Yes, please.” You nod a little too eagerly, jittery hands already sneaking under the sides of his t-shirt, helping him get rid of the annoying layer.
He sits up a little, length still sheathed in your leaking pussy as he quickly removes his top, revealing ravishing golden skin and lean muscle. His chest is a little more buff than you remember from your summer holidays, his biceps a tiny bit more prominent.
You could eat him up.
“Stop staring.” He gives you bashful smile, hands engulfing your hips, lifting your ass off the sofa just a little so he can spread his knees more and rest your thighs over his.
Your lips part in a quiet moan when you feel his cock move inside you, tickling that spot again. “Sorry, it’s all just a little...”
“Strange?” He completes your sentence for you.
You nod with a little airy laugh, earning another grin from him.
“Take this off for me?” He drags the hem of your top just below your ribs, and you quickly take action, fumbling with shaky hands to pull the thin office blouse over your head. “Bra too.”
Again, your hands move of their own accord, just following his instructions. You reach behind you, fingers pinching the clasp of the bra, unhooking it with a snap, allowing the lacy garment to loosen on your skin. You watch his expression as you peel the straps down your arms slowly, before flinging the lace somewhere across the floor.
You’re both completely naked now. The subtle throb of his stiff length inside you is a reminder of the situation you're in.
Your eyes remain on his face, while his drink in your nudity, roaming shamelessly, like you’re an intricate painting that needs studying. From your lips to your collarbones, to your tits - where they linger - over your stomach, then down to where you’re still connected.
“Pretty.” He mutters quietly, and it feels like the word isn’t even aimed at you, but at your pussy.
“Stop staring.” You throw his own words back at him, but his intense gaze sends a fresh flood of arousal out of your clenching heat anyway, drenching his cock in it too. You can't help but secretly love how he's ogling, eyes glazed with what could only be pure lust.
He blatantly ignores you. Just takes hold of your waist with one hand and plants the other one flat by your shoulder to support his weight. And then his hips start moving. Finally.
You grip onto the soft skin of his thighs as he drags his length out to the tip before slowly sinking back in. The wet sounds are humiliating and arousing at the same time, and you can’t help but involuntarily squeeze him in.
It seems that brings him out of the trance he's in, making him lose whatever was left of his patience. Without warning he pushes your legs up, squishing your knees against your tits. Giving you no time to react, he starts ramming into your dripping cunt, no care in the world. Completely opposite to his previously careful actions. No easing you in, no letting you adjust. Just vigorous, hard snaps of his hips, his balls slapping against your ass, creating obscene sounds combined with the slurps of your cunt around him.
You’re still somewhat in shock, trying to comprehend what he’s putting your body through, but when he slightly adjusts his angle and starts jamming directly into your g-spot, you let out a whiny shriek.
“Yeah? You like that?” He rasps, dark eyes finding yours, consuming your pleasure.
“Uhuh,” You moan out, your nails dig into his thigh muscles. “Please, keep going.”
“So needy.” He mocks, leaning over you and folding you in half, testing your flexibility as your legs hook over his shoulders. The penetration is too deep, too intense. Makes your legs shake so much you have to wrap your own arms around the backs of your thighs to minimise the tremble.
“Fuck you.” You scoff, the words laced arousal even though frustration boils in your chest.
He laughs. So mean but so sexy. “Always wondered what you'd sound like.”
“Shut up, you’re so gross.” You whine, your pussy squelching as it tightens again. He’s taunting you and getting a kick out of it. A sick sick man. A sick man who's got you dripping on his sofa. Because he's too fucking hot right now.
“And you’re kind of a slut.” He points out with a hard thrust, bulbous head hitting against your cervix, making your eyes roll back into their sockets,. “Begging me to fuck you like this.”
“Nggh f-fuck, Hyuck, don’t call me that.” You try your best to sound grossed out, but it only comes out as a weak plea.
“Awh, why? Like it a little too much?” More like loved it, but you know better that to ever admit that. “Yeah, you do. Look at you, fucking creaming.” He’s greedily staring between your legs, at how his cock is abusing your needy cunt. “Who knew you’d be so thirsty for dick, baby.” He blabbers aimlessly, sounding a little too far gone to care. “My cute little bestie is such a slut, hm?”
You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming. Your face and neck feel like they’re on fire, but your sensitive walls keep inviting him in regardless.
“Knew you’d be a fucking yapper.” You grit, hoping to piss him off.
“Mm.” He offers you a lazy smile instead. Like a dumb fucking idiot. “You know me so well.”
Your pussy flutters at that, and strangely, so does your heart.
He keeps fucking into you at the same pace. Not too fast, but hard enough for your ass to ache from the slaps of his hips. You want him closer.
“My leg’s cramping.” You lie mindlessly.
You’re not sure if he sees right through you, but he slips your legs off his shoulders anyway, letting them loosely settle around his hips, and you seize the opportunity to pull him closer, a hand grabbing onto the back of his neck.
He groans lowly at the forced proximity. “Shit.”
“Faster.” You demand, hands tugging at his hair as he buries his face in your neck. He doesn’t say a word, just does as told. Fucks you faster and a little harder than before, cock barely pulling out before jamming back in, creating a delicious vibration against your clit and front wall. “Oh, my god, yes.”
“So good, baby.” He whispers raggedly in your ear, the pet name causing goosebumps to raise on your sweaty skin and turbulence in your chest. “So warm and slippery.”
A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out, your legs closing in on his hips, preventing him from moving for a second, before he shoves them open again.
“Just take it.” He grunts, hips resuming their assault as his teeth graze your jaw before trapping your earlobe between them. “You asked for this, didn't you?”
“Fuck, please.” You whimper out pitifully, not entirely sure what you’re begging for at this point. Your focus is interchanging between the way his chest rubs against yours, stimulating your aching nipples, and his fat cock stretching your cunt like it's carving out its shape in you, as though he's trying to ruin you for anyone else.
A hand buries in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you gasp, your head lolling back, giving him enough space to lap the sweat off your neck, lustful, angry kisses littering the sensitive skin.
It's too much. Too dizzying. And so fucking good.
You’re so close. Right on the edge. You just need something to push you over. Something you’re too shy to ask for.
You let your fingers wrap around his wrist instead, guiding his hand to your neck. It lies there limply for a second, just at the base of your throat, and then he lifts his head a little, forehead resting against your temple, nose nuzzling your cheek. Once again, your wish is his command. His palm engulfs your throat, fingers applying the perfect pressure on your pulse points. So perfect that your eyes roll back and your hips stutter, while his don't falter even a little, maintaining their intense rhythm.
“Hyuckie,” You whisper the loving nickname weakly, too lost in the daze, not able to care about how vulnerable you sound. You need him to know how fucked up he's got you. “Can I cum? Please?”
“Fuck, you're so cute.” Haechan whines, the tenderness in his voice contrasting his demanding thrusts. “It’s okay, baby, Huyckie's got you.”
His sweet, reassuring words combined with every single of your nerve endings being stimulated to the max, send you into an all-consuming climax. Just a couple more thrusts and your pussy squeezes him so tight, kneads his shaft in rhythmic pulses, to the point you’re worried you might actually push him out, but you’re so thankful he doesn’t let up.
His hips smack into yours harder, faster, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he can. Your muscles spasm from the aftershocks, hands grabbing onto his back, legs quivering around his waist. And just when you’re floating in bliss - body and mind feeling light and fuzzy - you utter something that would have shocked you, weren't you in this delirious state.
“Hyuck?” Your voice comes out shaky and breathless. “You’re still my best friend, right?”
He stills for a moment, slamming deep inside you, pulling a yelp out of you.
“What the fuck.” He growls out, sounding enraged as well as surprised. His cock kisses your cervix, before it drags against your incredibly sensitive walls, the pleasure bordering pain when he starts fucking you like he wants to punish you, your body torn between needing a way out and begging for everything he’s giving you. Especially when he sounds so wrecked. “You can’t say that unless you want me to nut inside you.”
“Yeah, please.” You put on the whiniest voice you can, hoping he cracks. “Want it.”
You've already lost the battle. You might as well act reckless now.
“Jesus fuck.” He pants in awe. “Are you insane or did I actually fuck you stupid?”
The blissed-out laugh that rolls out of you, makes you sound completely dumb and out of breath. Maybe he did fuck you stupid.
An arm slings around your shoulders securely, holding you close as he grabs onto your thigh with his free hand, hooking your leg higher on his waist. His thrusts are messy now, cock stuffing you in uncoordinated short plunges, slipping out a few times due to the wetness, but quickly finding its way back in your quivering hole.
“I’m such a good bestie, right?” You prod, loving his little whines and how responsive he's suddenly become.
“Yes, baby, you're so so good to me.” His blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, harsh breaths hitting your collarbone in hot puffs. He’s slightly trembling and your heart aches a little at how pliant with need his is, how soft his skin feels on yours, so you thread your fingers through his messy hair, caressing gently to offer some relief as he nears his peak. “Oh fuck... oh god—I’m gonna—”
“That's it.” You praise in a whisper, struggling to keep your legs spread wide open for him, toes curling from the overstimulation, breaths stuttering against his neck. "Please please, cum in me, wanna feel you."
“Shit, ffffuck—I’m cumming... I’m cumming.” He moans, all strained from the building pressure, and then he’s visibly shaking, his whole length burying deep inside, to the hilt, as his hot cum paints your walls in quick spurts, filling up your spent pussy, just like you begged him to. He's so vocal; mewls and broken whines rolling out of him as he delivers a few more messy pumps that turn into languid grinds.
You can’t help but moan with him, clenching on purpose to milk everything out of him, loving the claim he’s laying upon your body. And when he lifts his weight a little, just to look down, you find the most sinful sight. He grinds one last time before pulling out slowly, the head of his softening cock bumping into your clit, making you flinch while smearing both your releases all over your puffy folds.
“Shit.” He exhales in wonderment, damp chest moving up and down, covered in pink blotches, giving his already pretty skin a breathtaking glow.
Your hand moves on its own, in need to feel the mess you've both created. Your let your fingers dip between your wet folds, shamelessly stroking up and down your slit, his intense gaze spurring you on as you gather some of his cum that’s already started to spill out. You revel in the fascination his eyes hold as they follow your every move carefully.
Your lips wrap around your index and middle fingers while holding his gaze. His tongue dips out to lick at his bottom lip as he takes in the sinful act with furrowed brows, like he's angry.
Before you can put on more of a show, his hand is on your jaw, your fingers ripped out of your mouth as his tongue replaces them, shoving into your mouth like he just needs a taste, prying your lips open without hovering for permission.
And then he abruptly breaks the kiss with a wet smack. Wild eyes find yours again when he mutters quietly, “Do you want all of it?”
You know what he's implying. You know you should refuse. You really should.
But you nod instead.
He doesn’t waste time. Just shuffles down, head buried between your thighs in record time, tongue eagerly licking all over your folds. You flinch when his nose nudges against your clit, mouth greedily sucking at your entrance to gather as much of his cum as he can. It feels soothing in a way, as opposed to the tingling sensation his cock left behind after the repeated stretch. You know you’ll feel sore tomorrow, but you focus on his soft lips, sighing out in relief at the lazy laps.
It ends before the pleasure can start building back up, and he’s hovering above you again, shielding your naked body from the cool air of the room. His mouth is just above yours, sealed tight as he awaits.
You cup his face in your hands to pull him closer before parting your lips for him, tongue sticking out flat. You let a moan slip when he lets your combined juices mixed with his spit dribble onto your awaiting mouth. You can only close your eyes when you briefly taste and then swallow the thick and slightly salty substance.
And then he's slotting his lips with yours again, kissing you slowly this time, tongue gliding savouringly against yours until you're out of breath and your lips feel numb.
He hesitantly pulls away with a little nip on your bottom lip, before he licks at the corner of his mouth, where some of his - or your - saliva has smeared.
“Well, that fucking escalated.” He says with a tired, amused sigh.
You don't even try to tone down your staring as you take in his flushed face, slightly baffled expression making you smile.
“In a good way?” You test, letting out an exhale of your own when he drops his weight on you carefully. He rests his head on your chest, cheek squishing just above the swell of your left boob, exactly where your heart threatens to jump out of. The softness in his actions helps your limbs relax a little.
He hums contentedly when you run a hand through his hair, combing through the fluffy strands absentmindedly.
“A little too good, unfortunately.” He teases, tone playful as always.
“Mm, sorry, I guess.” You play along, eyes closing briefly when his warm palm engulfs the breast he’s not using as a headrest. He kneads the supple flesh gently. Then just holds.
“Maybe it’s a sign.” He says quietly, sounding like he’s in deep contemplation.
“That we’re both equally deranged?” You joke with a soft chuckle.
“That too. But also, that you've been fucking the wrong people.” He states, like it’s the only explanation.
“And fucking my best friend is so right.” Your tone is sarcastic, but it holds truth. How is this right?
He chuckles lightly, warm breath hitting your skin. “Didn't feel wrong, I'll tell you that for free.”
“Aren't you sweet.” You tug a little harder on his hair — a silent warning.
“No, seriously, though.” He traces the underside of your breast with his thumb, slightly tickling you. “There's obviously tension.”
You don't confirm or deny. “Okay, and? What's your point?”
“Maybe we should just fuck it all out.” He suggests a little too casually.
“Isn’t that what we just did?” You keep playing with his hair, needing a distraction from the slightly confusing conversation.
He tilts his head up to look at you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, brown eyes glimmering with mischief in the soft lighting of his living room, like he's unlocked something that maybe should've stayed hidden.
“I dunno,” Haechan mutters, voice sounding honey-like. “Do you feel like you’re done with me?”
The quickening of your heartbeat and the strange, tingly feeling that still lingers in your tummy are enough of an answer.
summary: you don’t necessarily mind admiring lee haechan from afar, but when the opportunity for you to get closer presents itself, you grasp it, and eventually you come to the realisation that whilst you’ve been too busy admiring, you’ve failed to notice that he’s been doing exactly the same.
pairing: student!haechan x f!reader. mdni! adults only.
genre: university!au, fluff, strangers to acquaintances to lovers, smut!
word count: 32k (i am sorry)
tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, smoking/vaping, swearing, talks of fetishes, explicit sexual content, kissing (a lot), making out, semi-public shenanigans(not sex), spitting (yum), fingering, dry humping, oral (both receiving), multiple orgasms, multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, praise, light chocking, lots of teasing, protected sex, overstimulation, haechan is cocky but also pathetic, haechan being bf material without even being her bf, he calls her a brat like once, petnames (baby, pretty, baby girl, good girl), she calls him “hae”, they’re both down bad, soft dom!haechan, sub!reader, switch!haechan, cumshot oops, aftercare, he’s just a good guy, both are mature but can be too in their head at times, there’s no toxicity or angst in this fic, ✨communication✨, pls let me know if i missed anything!
other characters: the whole dream gang, chenle & ningning as oc’s besties
a/n: hi all! this is my first ever fic (that I'm posting lol) and I've poured my heart and soul into it so i hope you show some love. it's definitely not perfect and i could keep rereading and finding things that I'd change but I've kept my writing in the dark for long enough and if i don’t post this now i know i never will, so please take it! I do have a part 2 in the works, which will be diving into their feelings and more angsty themes, but for now I hope you lovely people enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it xoxo
ps. the idea for this fic blossomed while i was listening to eye candy by justin bieber, so might be worth giving it a listen whilst reading
→ Part 2
It's not like you’re obsessed with Lee Haechan. You just enjoy looking at him. You barely even know the guy, but, annoyingly, he's difficult to ignore. Difficult not to notice. And it’s not like you’ve spoken much to each other either, apart from the rare exchange of a few words here and there or the odd nod of acknowledgement in corridors.
There was this one time where he sat next to you in class, but that was only because he was late and the seat next to yours was the only empty one that was close to the entrance of the classroom. That was the first time he smiled at you. Nothing more than casual and polite but it still made your heart race.
Then, of course, there was the time where you bumped into him on the street, while you were on your way to a date, which ended up being disastrous, but that didn’t really bother you. What bothered you was the fact that he was also on his way to a date. With a girl. A girl he chose to go on a date with. A girl that he probably found pretty. A girl that wasn't you. Regardless, that didn’t negate the fact that, that night you had your first ever conversation with him. It was brief, but it happened, and it certainly left you with a bittersweet taste in your mouth, which was probably why you later couldn’t focus on the boy you matched with on that godforsaken dating app. And as mean as it sounded in your head, you hoped Haechan’s date went as badly as yours.
Next time you saw him, was at a campus party you got dragged to by Chenle and Ningning. Mark convinced Chenle, who convinced Ningning, who forced you and it’s not like you don’t enjoy a fun night out with friends and alcohol, you just weren’t in the right mood that night and you were convinced that being in your luteal phase had definitely something to do with it.
You remember instantly spotting him in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter as he was speaking to a girl you didn’t recognise and you could tell just from her side profile that she was nothing but attractive. You watched as she reached and took the drink he was holding, bringing it up to her lips, tasting the contents of the cup but also him, and you decided to look elsewhere before witnessing anything that would (but definitely shouldn’t) ruin your night.
You were determined to spend the rest of the party as far away from him as possible, forcing poor Chenle to go and refill your drink in the kitchen every time you ran out. You were more than aware it might have sounded silly to anyone else, but you didn’t want to go down the rabbit hole of trying to get someone’s attention, when they were clearly not interested. You’d been that person in the past, and you refused to make the same mistakes again. At the end of the day, it was just a crush. It would go away eventually. Right?
When the party started to die down, you found yourself in the back garden with no one else other than the lovely Na Jaemin, after you stumbled upon him being sick in a fake plant pot. You could have left him in his own fate, but knowing yourself, you would definitely feel guilty for the rest of the night, if you didn’t make sure he was safe. You started to regret your decision about 10 minutes later, when he had already fallen asleep with his head in your lap and you were sure he was drooling on you, but that was the least of your concerns in that moment. Thankfully, Chenle picked up on the first ring and when you asked him to come outside with reinforcements, he immediately said, “I’ll be there in a sec.”
The reinforcements, of course, being Jeno and Haechan, wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but you weren’t in a position to be picky. You found out shortly after that Haechan had only stepped outside for a smoke and got dragged into ‘helping’, which he refused to do since, according to him, Jaemin had put him in that position countless of times and he’s sick of looking after a grown ass man who’s got the alcohol tolerance of a twelve year-old. You found his point more than valid, but you didn’t say anything.
When Chenle and Jeno disappeared back inside, carrying a whiny and barely coherent Jaemin, you found yourself alone with the boy you had initially tried to steer clear of at all costs. Your mission miserably failed that night and at the end of it all you realised one thing; whatever it was that you felt for Lee Haechan, wasn’t just a harmless crush.
“I gotta admit, that was slightly entertaining.” He said as he took the seat that Jaemin had previously been occupying next to you on the wooden bench.
You must have sat there with him for about an hour, talking about everything and nothing, while enjoying the early summer breeze and the freedom that came with the end of finals. He insisted on getting you an uber home when you announced that you were going to walk because your phone had died and when you asked if you could pay him back somehow, he said, “Just don't be a stranger next year.”
Autumn
You were aware Zhong Chenle was an evil little thing, but you hadn’t pegged him for a traitor. And betrayed is what you felt as you read the message on your screen over and over again.
@kh1000le: greetings folks, party at my new place this saturday @8 – I'll add the deets later but feel free to invite more people. ps. don’t forget to bring extra booze.
You look up from your phone, remembering you're still in class and the professor is still talking stats. Your eyes instantly land on Haechan, still sitting two rows ahead of you, between Jeno and Jaemin and you can tell he’s looking down, probably reading the message you were reading just seconds ago. Jaemin shifts closer to whisper something in his ear and Haechan leans in to hear better. He quickly nods his head agreeing to whatever Jaemin says.
You turn your attention back to your phone again as more notifications flood your screen. Other people in the group chat responding and reacting to messages. Haechan is still silent. No reactions or responses. You wonder what he's thinking. But most of all, you wonder if he's noticed you're also in that group chat. Would he recognise your username? You only started following each other the day after that party before summer, but it’s been almost four months now and there has certainly been no exchange of messages.
Suddenly, you notice people have started packing up their belongings and you quickly start doing the same, hoping you can flee the scene as fast as possible, before Jaemin comes up to you with questions about the party.
The second you step outside the doors and into the corridor, you exhale, relieved to have succeeded and as you start walking towards the main building exit you realise you spoke too soon.
"Y/n, wait up!"
You close your eyes muttering a quiet “shit” to yourself. You put on a smile and turn around, Jaemin quickly approaching you. Haechan, who's trailing a few steps behind him, isn’t really paying attention, already in a conversation with Jeno.
“Jeez woman, you sure walk fast. You got somewhere to be?” He speaks fast as he tries to catch his breath.
“Hey Jaemin, yeah, sorry, I'm in a rush, how can I help?" You try and respond as nonchalantly as possible.
"I just saw you're in that group chat and I'm assuming you'll be there on Saturday?" He asks with eyes full of hope.
"Yes sir. I'm actually meeting up with Chenle now to talk logistics." You explain quickly, seeing Haechan getting closer from your peripheral.
"Ahhh that makes sense, I just wanted to ask if we should bring anything else other than alcohol?"
"Just your drink of choice will be enough for you I reckon, don't want you ruining any of his new plants." You say with a teasing tone.
"Yah!" He complains with a pout that is nothing but laughable.
"Hey Y/N." Jeno approaches with a smile and joins your conversation. “Is this man bothering you?”
“Not really, just making sure he doesn't die of alcohol poisoning on Saturday.” You try to keep your eyes on Jeno, avoiding the handsome boy who's also joined your little group.
”I thought you were a nice one.” Jaemin whines like a little child while a frown adorns his face.
“You’ve been fooled my friend,” Jeno comes to stand next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders, shaking you playfully. “She’s evil.”
You're mid eye roll when Haechan’s voice cuts through. “Seems pretty harmless to me.” He’s standing next to Jaemin now. One hand in his pocket, the other holding the strap of his bag. You notice the two rings adorning his middle fingers. Such a pretty hand, you think, the veins prominent, running down his smooth arm, disappearing underneath an oversized check shirt he's wearing over a white t-shirt. You then notice he's got a pair of jorts on and you can't help but wonder who can even pull off jorts that effortlessly nowadays.
Your attention drifts back up to his face, the most adorable boba eyes are twinkling as he looks at you and his captivating mouth offers you a cheeky smile. A small dimple appears, barely there for you to see and you think you're on the verge of throwing up. His lips move again and you watch him carefully like he’s moving in slow motion. "Hi." His hand leaving his pocket and raising in the air to offer you a quick wave. It's annoying how such a small and casual gesture makes your heartbeat faster and your cheeks feel warmer. You're pretty sure your eyes are giving you away, showing how affected you are behind the stoic expression you’re struggling to maintain. You never thought you'd be here, but you have Chenle to thank. Or maybe strangle. You haven't decided yet.
"Hi." You return the smile as calmly as you can, foregoing the wave. You don't think your limbs are working properly right now and you're pretty sure your fingers are slightly shaking by your sides. And you’re now thankful for Jeno’s arm still draped around you, the weight grounding and necessary. You feel your phone vibrate a few times in your back pocket, assuming it's either Chenle or Ning checking if you're alive and that pulls you out of your trance. “Evil is a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
”That’s funny, remember when you told me to go fuck myself and read a book whilst I’m at it?"
“Oh, I’m sorry,” You shove his arm off you in fake annoyance. “Did I offend you?” You feign concern dramatically. “Remember when you asked me if I’ve got any friends who need, and I quote, an unforgettable dicking down session and then proceeded to say, and I quote again, ‘is Murakami the fella who wrote that book about some Norwegian guy’s dick?’” You get slightly irritated just at the memory.
"Ahhh that explains it! This guy came back home a few months ago asking if anyone’s got a copy of Norwegian Wood." Jaemin looks at you as he explains, whilst pointing a mocking finger at Jeno.
"Oh? You actually read it then?" You ask with a hopeful smile and Jeno offers you a shy nod. Maybe there's hope for him after all.
“Read it? He actually cried when he got to the part where Naoko kills herself.” Haechan snorts at Jeno’s sour expression and reaches out to lightly pinch his cheek. He instantly gets shoved away. “Aw come on, I thought it was endearing.” Haechan turns to look at you now. “I was wondering who made him read that.” He holds your gaze while you hold your breath, and you wish someone could hold your heart as it’s about to beat out of your chest. “I love that book.” He admits with a smile, and you celebrate internally, because you knew he wasn’t just a pretty face, and you feel giddy knowing that you’ve both loved the same thing, even if it’s just a book.
You picture him sitting in a pink cafe, wearing a cozy sweater, looking all warm and comfy while turning page after page. You find yourself wanting to ask if he’s read it more than once, like you have and what his thoughts are on the ending. But you don’t. Not yet.
“Well maybe you two nerds should join a book club.” Jeno bitterly says.
“I mean, I’d be down?” Haechan raises his eyebrows suggestively at you. Mothefucker.
“I would, but unfortunately I have somewhere to be right now.” Your response causing his tongue to poke in his cheek, trying to fight off a smile. The gesture making him look incredibly handsome and boyish at the same time and if you were a cartoon character, pink heart eyes would be bulging out of your eye sockets. You force yourself to look away from Haechan's face, opting to divert your gaze between the other two boys instead. They're both carrying amused expressions, looking between you and Haechan and you feel like you’re missing something.
“Ouch.” Jaemin says with a laugh, now mocking Haechan.
“See?” Jeno looks at both of his friends, crossing his arms over his chest as if proving a point. “Told you she’s evil.” He smiles like he’s proud of you.
And that’s your queue to escape. ”Right, well, as lovely as this has been, I actually have to go.”
“Okay, busy queen.” Jaemin snaps his fingers and you can instantly picture him getting along with Chenle. “We’ll see you Saturday then.” He smiles sweetly.
”You will indeed. Don’t be too late.” You say with a warning, pointing a finger between all three of them.
”Yes, mam.” Jeno nods in agreement.
You look at Haechan one last time. His expression contemplative, almost like he's torn between saying something else and keeping quiet. The way he's observing you makes you feel like he's already got you all figured out. Like there's no way he doesn't know you’re having trouble breathing, all because of him.
“See you Saturday.” He says in the sweetest tone, smiling at you like he's done it a million times before.
You give him a small nod goodbye and when you start to walk away you try your best to do so at a normal speed, not wanting to give away the fact that you're practically running away.
You hear Jaemin's loud voice again. “Bye Y/N!”
”Bye Jaemin!” You respond, mimicking his cheerful tone without looking back.
As you head towards the exit, you've already decided you're going to go with the option of strangling Chenle. Because there’s no way you’re surviving Saturday night without going clinically insane. Not if Haechan holds your gaze the way he did just a few moments ago. Not if he talks the way he talks and certainly not if he looks as good as he always does.
You’re done for.
_
You’re baffled as to how and why Chenle knows this many people. You assume majority are friend of friends and acquaintances, because you’ve known the boy for three years now and never has he mentioned more than five names. You’re also starting to get worried he might get a noise complaint from the people occupying the flat downstairs, but you assume he has already warned them about tonight.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud exclaim and you feel like laughing when you hear Chenle’s screechy voice shouting Mark’s name excitedly, announcing his drunkenness along with the older boy’s arrival.
"Lover boy still not here?" Ningning teases you as you check the time on your phone for the umpteenth time that night. She takes a sip from her drink and looks over your shoulder. "Relax, it only 9pm."
"I'm relaxed." You defend quickly. She takes in your stressed expression and pauses to think for a second. "What?"
"Nothing, I just realised I haven't seen you so excited about a boy before. It's refreshing." She smiles while trapping the straw between her pearly whites. "Speak of the devil." She jerks her chin towards the direction of the door and you instantly know who she’s referring to, but you don't dare to turn around and look yet. You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest and Ningning sets her drink down on the kitchen counter before taking hold of both your shoulders. "Y/N, we talked about this. There's literally no reason to freak out. If he flirts, flirt back. Let it happen naturally yeah?" Her tone serious, as if you're both on a mission.
You widen your eyes comically to match hers, nodding your head quickly while trying not to laugh at her expression. It’s almost as though she’s more anxious than you are. "Ning, I'm good. I got it."
"Just saying, he'd be a dimwit not to like you." One of her hands pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and the comforting act gives you the reassurance you didn’t know you needed. "Plus, this dress makes your tiddies look yummy." She smirks and you wack her hand away with a laugh when she reaches out to poke into the bit of cleavage that spills from the top of your dress. You can tell she's entered the realms of tipsiness, and you wish you were there with her too, but the tequila shot from earlier definitely didn't do its job.
"Fuck me, didn’t think this many people would turn up." Jaemin's loud voice startles both of you, making you turn around and you're met with the three boys from your stats class. "Good thing we brought reinforcements, huh?" He says excitedly, shaking a Jack Daniels bottle.
"Are you a middle aged man by any chance?" Ningning's face scrunched up in disgust as she inspects the whiskey bottle in Jaemin's hands. "What happened to just drinking plain old vodka at parties?"
"Ah, Jeno is your guy." Jaemin points his thumb behind him and Jeno raises the hand holding a vodka bottle.
Jeno's face lights up when he spots the unused cups and heads over to start making drinks for him and Ningning. "Lemonade?" He asks, looking at her and she nods excitedly. "Same for you Y/N?" His eyes on you now.
"Nah, I'm on gin tonight, thanks though." You smile appreciatively at him.
"Guess I'm your guy then."
Fuck.
Your eyes instantly meet. He's already smiling down at you, and he looks so good. Too good for your respiratory system to function properly. His dark hair is messily styled, fringe almost covering his eyes. He's got a black button-down shirt on, top three buttons undone, collarbones on display and sleeves rolled up revealing his veiny forearms, all effortlessly combined with dark blue jeans and black converse. Pretty. Perfect.
Without permission, his hand engulfs yours, wrapping around your drink, bringing the cup to his lips, your own hand slipping down as he downs the liquid in one big gulp. The cooling feeling of his rings lingers, and you can’t help but stare at his neck as he swallows and then his eyes are on you again, his tongue slightly darting out to lick his bottom lip where there's a drop of liquid. His eyebrows furrow and he nods in approval.
"Lemonade it is." He casually says, like he didn’t almost just cause your heart to fail. He takes your now empty cup with him, joining Jeno at the counter.
"Well then," Jaemin feigns disappointment, eyebrows furrowing dramatically. "I guess I'm having this whole whiskey bottle to myself."
"I'm sure Chenle would help you out." Ningning half jokes. "Good luck finding him though."
"Yeah, what the hell, this place is so crowded." Jeno returns with two drinks and hands one of them to Ningning. "It might be a bit strong, sorry." He warns her.
Her face grimaces slightly when she takes a reluctant sip, proving Jeno right, making you both laugh. "Eh, it'll do." She says carelessly, "I've had a stressful week."
"Here to help." Jeno raises his cup, and they do a quick cheers. They start conversing comfortably about why her week was stressful and you're pretty sure they've never met before but that's Ningning. Top yapper, never awkward.
"Yours might be a bit on the strong side too." Haechan says apologetically as he stands in front of you, handing you back your now full cup. You smile at the sparkly straw he's added. Cute. "Try it."
And you do. It feels too intense, almost intimate, drinking while holding eye contact with someone, let alone this fine man, so you don't. But you feel his eyes on you as you take a sip. And you really do hope the drink is strong, because if you're going to survive tonight, alcohol will be your savior. He's looking at you, carefully taking in your expression as you taste the drink, almost as if he's sat on the edge of his seat waiting for your reaction.
"It's good. Thank you." You smile appreciatively as you welcome the slight burn in the back of your throat and he mirrors you excitedly.
"Good." He nods with a satisfied expression. Then he lets his eyes wander downwards. He takes in your dress in a not-so-subtle way, and you could swear he’s checking you out. You watch his eyes move on you and you love how he's still holding his cup close to his lips, touching the bottom one. You fight against the urge to reach out and drag it down with your thumb. Would he mind if you did that? You reach behind you instead, resting one hand against the counter to somewhat ground yourself, and the action seems to bring him back to reality. Is he always this obvious?
"Did you also have a stressful week?" He asks casually, like he wasn't just staring at your boobs a second ago. His eyes on yours now.
"Huh?"
"Your friend said she's had a stressful week," He explains, chuckling at your confusion. "Was just asking if it was the same for you."
"Oh right. Umm, I dunno." You shrug. "A little, I guess."
"How come?" His head tilts to the side slightly.
"It's always fine until Thursday to be honest." Your admission holds a double meaning and he seems to catch on as the sides of his lips slightly lift amusedly.
"Really? I thought Thursday was our day, no?" He playfully pouts and you’re trying your best not to let his smooth words affect you. Our day? What a little shit. You notice the silver chain around his neck and you can't help but feel a tinge of shame at the inappropriate thoughts that flood your mind.
"Just not a big fan of stats." You make up an excuse with a slight delay, hoping that he can't tell you're practically ogling him.
He nods understandingly. "You and me both. I've been seriously thinking about dropping it next semester."
"What would you choose instead?" You ask curiously, trying to cover the frown that takes over your face at the thought of not sharing any classes with him.
"Why, you interested in joining me?" Is he flirting or have you already gone insane?
"Depends." You shrug, twirling the sparkly straw, eyes not leaving his.
"I think I'd go for creative writing." He studies your face for a reaction.
“Oh?” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “So you really did mean it when you said you wanted to join a book club.” You tease with newfound confidence and he lets out an airy chuckle.
“That offer's gone now, you turned me down.” He says with a smirk.
"I'm sure I could convince you to reconsider." You say with a suggestive tone, catching him off guard and before he can retort with a witty response, you return to your initial subject. “So, you wanna be a writer or...?”
"Well, no, not exactly.” His voice is hesitant, eyes lowering to look at his drink, almost as if he’s embarrassed. Does he think you’ll judge him? You suddenly get the feeling that you might have overstepped.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to-”
“No, no, you’re good.” His words are rushed, his head shaking quickly, hand reaching to touch your arm reassuringly. It’s light, quick, barely there but his fingers feel hot against your skin. Before you have time to react, he continues. “I just- I don’t really go around talking about personal goals and what not, don’t want you to think I’m flaunting.”
“Why would I think you’re flaunting?” Your perplexed tone causing him to smile.
“I wanna make music.” Eyes carefully watch you as he waits for a reaction. When you just nod for him to continue, he almost looks surprised but quickly recovers, clearing his throat. ”So, I thought creative writing would help.”
"So, you wanna write songs." You state as if to make sure that you heard him correctly and he nods, still watching your face. "Or have you already?" You ask carefully and he chuckles at your attempt to keep your nosiness to a minimum but failing.
He moves to stand next to you, leaning against the counter. You feel like you can breathe again, now that his eyes aren't on you, but his arm brushes against your shoulder and you almost shiver when you feel the warmth radiating off him. You get a whiff of his scent, subtly inhaling, cologne and detergent mixing into an intoxicating potion that clouds your senses. He's too close but you somehow want him closer. You suddenly wonder where Chenle is and instantly feel bad for threatening to cut his air circulation. This is good. This feels good.
He looks down at his drink, in thought. "I play the piano, so creating a melody is relatively simple if I really put my mind to it." Oh? He looks at you again and you feel scrutinised under his gaze. Suddenly, your shoes are very interesting to look at. "It's just the words I struggle with." He admits.
"Maybe you need to find some sort of inspiration?" You suggest.
"Maybe." He puts his drink down and leans against the counter, crossing his hands on his chest. "Got anything in mind?
"I mean, it could be a person." You say nonchalantly, without really thinking. "Unless you’ve already got that covered?" The bold question comes out before your brain can process the thought and you internally scream.
He smiles wide now. Pearly whites on display. His eyes back on yours. "I thought you didn’t mean to pry." He teases and laughs when your eyes widen. “I’m joking.” He elbows your side softly and you almost gasp as the touch. Why does he keep touching you?
“I tend to get nosy after a couple of drinks, sorry.” You huff a quick laugh before taking another sip of your drink, trying to distract yourself.
“You can be nosy, I don’t mind.” He says in a more serious tone now and you feel his gaze on you. Choosing to keep your eyes on your drink seems like a wise choice, watching as you swirl the liquid in your cup. "To answer your question though, I currently have no clue what or who I'd write about." He responds indirectly, but the implication is clear. He reaches for his drink again in thought. "Maybe ask me in a year's time? Hopefully I’ve found a source of inspiration by then."
“That’s fair.” You pick up your phone from the counter and after unlocking it you click on your calendar app. You scroll until you find next year’s October and select today's date. He looks over your shoulder and laughs when he reads 'Ask Haechan about his songwriting' as the reminder's title. You show him your screen and smile when you see the approval on his face.
"Yeah, that works." He nods.
You look around and notice that all your friends are now gone. "We should probably mingle." You suggest.
"Right, yeah." He agrees with a nod, looking around just like you did a second ago.
When you spot Ningning in the crowd, she's laughing with Jeno and Jaemin. Their attention on Chenle and the girl who's got her tongue down his throat. You and Haechan find the situation just as comical.
The rest of the night flows smoothly. You get to meet a few more people as well as the other two boys Haechan, Jeno and Jaemin live with and you wonder how all these insanely attractive boys came to be friends. Renjun and Jisung are both equally as lovely. You find Renjun’s mother figure hilarious and Jisung’s shyness endearing. You don't fail to notice that Haechan always hovers close. Not necessarily standing or sitting next to you, but always close enough that you can see him from your peripheral and you can't help but wonder if it's intentional or just a coincidence.
You’re mid conversation with Mark when you feel a hand on your lower back. You easily recognise the now familiar scent of his cologne, and you instantly turn your head and look at him. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol deceiving you, but he looks even more irresistible than he did before. His hair slightly stuck to his forehead from the heat surrounding the crowded living room, cheeks and lips a deeper shade of pink now that he’s had his fair share of alcohol. You wonder if his lips taste the same as yours since you’ve been having the same drink all night.
“Shots?” Haechan shouts over the music and you and Mark follow him into the kitchen, where Jaemin and Jeno are preparing tequila shots and you wonder who assigned these two clowns with bartender duties. Chenle is now gulping down a glass of water and you’re thankful to whoever made that decision for him.
As soon as you’ve downed your shot, you take a sip of your drink as a chaser to minimise the burning sensation in your esophagus. “Wanna go get some air?” Haechan leans in and you almost shiver as his warm breath fans against your naked shoulder and you internally thank Ningning for prompting you to wear a strapless dress.
You respond with a quick nod and he smiles. “I got you.” He mumbles as he takes hold of your hand and leads you to the big balcony doors. On the way, he grabs a hoodie you assume he dumped earlier on the couch and the second you’re outside and he shuts the door, you feel the ringing in your ears. You’re thankful for the fresh air infiltrating your lungs and brain, feeling a little less intoxicated now. “Maybe that shot was a bad call,” Haechan laughs quietly at your dazed expression. “Didn’t take you for a lightweight.” He teases.
“Yah!” You elbow him, your voice louder than you intended it to be and he giggles softly, clearly also affected by the drinks he’s had all night. “I’ve had the same amount as you.” You pout drunkenly.
“I’m just teasing.” His smile soft now.
“Yeah, you seem to keep doing that.” You say with a complaint in your tone, eyes narrowing.
“Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t keep getting all flustered every single time.” His words take you aback; a surprised laugh escaping your throat at his boldness.
Before you have time to speak, he notices your arms coming up to conceal a shiver and without a word, he’s closer than he’s ever been before. His arms circle around you, hands hovering just above your shoulders as he holds up the hoodie, waiting for you to slot your arms through the sleeves. You look up at him before you obey, his intense stare not giving much room for any objection.
Once it’s on you, his hands come to your front to fix the neckline that connects to the hood and when you think he’s about to zip you up, he reaches behind you again, playfully dragging the hood up, over your head, covering most of your face with the thick fabric and you whine loudly, causing him to laugh. You push the hood back down, with a frown.
“Aww, cute.” He coos as he gently tames the mess he created on your head, fingers untangling and smoothing down the strands and he smiles endearingly when he’s happy with his work. "There you go, all done."
“Thanks.” You say in a bashful tone.
“For keeping you warm or calling you cute?” He asks with a smirk and you can’t help but scoff, feigning annoyance as you swat away the hand still playing with a strand of your hair.
Desperately needing to escape his daring eyes, you walk past him and towards the railing as you take in the view of the twinkling city lights and you withhold a smile when you feel him follow after you.
You feel his stare on you as he leans against the railing, taking a vape out of his pocket. He takes a puff and exhales the smoke through his nose, as he takes in the view himself, before turning to meet your eyes again. The action shouldn’t feel this intimate and it definitely shouldn’t make him look even more attractive than he already is.
You instinctively reach out and fix the chain that’s somewhat tangled around his neck. He doesn’t flinch, just moves his head to the side to make room for your hand and the sides of his lips twitch, fighting a grin. “What flavour is it?” You drop your hand from his collar and step a little closer to take a look at the fruit-flavoured stick in his hand.
“Cherry ice.” He holds it out for you. “Wanna try it?”
When you do, you can't help but scrunch your nose at the sugary taste. “Hmm.” Your uncertainty obvious as you exhale the smoke. “It’s too sweet.” You cringe at the aftertaste, your funny expression making him laugh. And you feel your heartbeat fastening at the sound. Because you're right. It's too sweet.
“I like sweet things.” He says in a hushed voice, as if he's letting you in on a secret. The dual meaning of his words causes a blush to creep up from your neck to your cheeks. You can tell he notices, but this time he holds back on teasing you and turns to look at the view again, taking another puff.
You gawk at how handsome he looks from this angle. His long lashes, the slope of his perfect nose, his incredibly kissable heart-shaped lips, his sharp jawline, his neck. Pretty. Everything about him.
“Yeah, I bet you do.” You mutter in a daze. He looks at you again and you don’t look away this time. His brown eyes sparkle, reflecting the city lights below. You realise that you’ve never actually been around him in a setting like this. It’s always been daytime with him. Always crowded. Always surrounded by noise that you had to block out. But now it’s all new.
Nighttime. Just you two. Quiet.
“That dress looks good on you, I like it.” His eyes trail down your form again, a lot quicker this time, but still noticeable and at this point you're convinced he's not even trying to hide it.
Your face feels warmer than before as you look down at your dress, your hand instinctively smoothing down the material. You can see the smoke he exhales from your peripheral and then you choose your words boldly again. “I know you do.”
“Really?” He steps closer and his hand comes up, thumb delicately tracing the tiny bow at the centre of your cleavage. “What gave me away?” Your heartbeat increases when his fingers trail upwards, pushing your hair behind your shoulder and settling on the base of your neck, his thumb on your jaw, giving you no option but to look up at him.
“You’re just-” You pause to inhale sharply when you realise how close he is. Your noses almost bumping into each other. You tip your head back slightly, to look at him properly.
“I’m what?” He urges you to go on.
“Not very subtle.” You finally finish your sentence.
“Y/N-” He says with a breathy laugh and you don’t think you’ve ever liked the sound of your name so much before. The tip of his nose rubs against your own just once and the sweetest smile takes over his features. You feel yourself leaning into him even more. His thumb still caressing your jaw and you know he wants to kiss you, but you wait. You let him take the lead. Because you need him to. “I don’t think I ever intended to be subtle with you.”
Your gaze drifts down to his lips and you so desperately want them on yours now, you think you might cave and close the gap yourself. One of your hands travels up and your pointer finger curls around his chain, pulling just a tiny bit. And the second he closes the gap you think you’re going through an out-of-body experience. His lips feel soft, and you can instantly tell he’s a good kisser.
His mouth slots perfectly against yours, slow at first. But he doesn’t waste time when your lips eagerly part against his. He licks at your bottom lip teasingly before briefly sucking, tongue easily finding its way in and the second it glides against your own, hot and wet, you moan. Both your hands find their way in his hair, slightly pulling, and you feel him sigh against your mouth. The hand on your jaw drags slowly to the back of your neck and into your hair, tilting your head to get the angle he wants. It's filthy, the perfect amount of sloppy and careful. A thousand times better than what you’ve imagined. He sucks on your tongue, forcing another moan out of you.
You try to pull away for a second to catch your breath but the hand in your hair silently instructs you to stay put. “Mmh-mm.” He protests with a whine and the vibration against your mouth feels delicious. Arousing. And you feel pathetic at how wet you already are just from kissing him. He licks into your mouth one more time before pulling back, allowing you to catch your breath, a string of saliva still connecting your lips as you both breathe heavily and your fingers tighten around the collar of his shirt in desperation.
“Fuck.” He exhales against your lips, sounding beautifully wrecked, chest moving up and down rapidly against your own and your erect nipples feel so sensitive rubbing on his shirt. Even with your eyes still closed, you can sense him looking at you, making you feel exposed and incredibly turned on at the same time.
You fully come back to your senses when he starts walking you backwards until you’re eventually backed up against the wall next to the balcony door, suddenly reminding you of your surroundings. You don’t have much time to think before his lips are on yours again and you immediately turn into mush in his arms, mouth pliantly giving him access. The only things audible are your heavy breathing and the wet sounds of your lips smacking. The faint music coming from inside, barely noticeable now.
Haechan wraps a hand around your throat, gentle but possessive and you love the weight of it on your sweaty skin, just resting there with intend. His other hand grabs the side of your thigh, raising your leg to rest on his hip. And that’s when you feel the hardness, grinding slowly against your tummy, testing the waters, and you can’t help but gasp in response.
His mouth leaves yours, trailing gentle kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck, leaving wet patches of your combined spit on your skin, and when he reaches the dip of your collarbone, he bites gently, soothing the skin with his tongue afterwards. You can’t help but clench around nothing.
He angles your head to the side, giving himself more space to suck and lick where he pleases as his other hand trails from your thigh to the curve of your ass, squeezing the flesh and bunching up your dress in the process. You whimper at the feeling of his rough hand, your eyes rolling back when he grinds into your front again, with more urgency this time.
"Fuck." You whisper breathlessly, feeling lightheaded.
“Yeah?” He mumbles against your sensitive skin, and you cup his face in your hands, guiding him to look at you again. “What do you want?” He gives you a sweet peck and you instantly melt, your insides turning into mush as you hold him there, kissing him deeply again, squishing his cheeks between your hands and he smiles into the kiss, biting your bottom lip playfully, letting lets it snap back into place, making you whine softly. “Talk to me baby.” It’s barely audible, and he says it with ease, like he’s been calling you that for a long time and your eyes almost roll back at the pet name. A few hours ago, you were high on nerves because of him and now you’re just high on him, touching you and kissing you and calling you ‘baby’, like he owns you.
Your thumbs caress his cheekbones before you trail your hands back up into his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp and he closes his eyes, humming in satisfaction. “Want you,” You murmur and kiss the side of his mouth as you drag a hand down his arm, giving his bicep a squeeze, before sneaking down to his hand that’s casually resting on your ass like it belongs there. You interlock your fingers with his, bringing both your hands between your bodies, guiding him under the front of your short dress, pressing his fingers against the seat of your lacy underwear. “Here.” You whisper against his lips and he inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring and you almost laugh at his reaction. Your leg wraps securely around him urging him closer by pushing the calf into his ass.
“Jesus Christ.” He whispers and his eyes are on his hand as his fingers now start rubbing slowly against your sensitive clit, the delicate lace somewhat helping with the much-needed friction, but you desperately want to feel his skin on yours with no barrier.
You kiss him again and he pliantly parts his lips for your tongue to invade, allowing you to taste the remnants of cherry ice. Your wet muscle glides against his slowly, and you moan when he pushes the flimsy material of your panties aside, like he’s read your mind. The moan turns into a whine when his middle and ring fingers make direct contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles around the nub with precision, like he knows exactly what you like and you kiss him harder trying to distract yourself from the sensitivity, because there’s no way you’re cumming just from a few touches like a horny teenager.
You both moan in the kiss the moment his fingers dip lower and drag through your wet slit and he doesn’t waste a second, rubbing up and down slowly, spreading the wetness messily.
“You're soaked, fuck.” he mumbles in awe and you bask in the feeling of him finally knowing how much you want him; how much you need him to do something about it. “Messy baby.” His filthy words cloud your brain as your head lulls back against the wall to watch his face. He looks so pretty, his bottom lip trapped in his mouth, his glazed eyes focused on his hand still working between your legs.
He must feel your eyes on him because he looks up at you and watches your reaction with a satisfied expression as the tip of his middle finger catches at your entrance before coming back up to your clit, spreading more of your wetness. He smirks when your jaw drops and your eyes roll back as he starts rubbing the bundle of nerves in firm and quick side-to-side motions with three of his fingers.
"You're so pretty." He mutters against your lips and your stomach flutters at the words, along with your pussy.
“Fuck.” You whine when you feel him delicately suckle on your bottom lip, his tongue playfully dipping out to lick before he starts kissing down to your neck again and your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him close, tugging at the fabric of his shirt in desperation. “So good.” You breathe into the night air, relishing in the intense pleasure the pads of his digits are giving you, flicking with just the right amount of pressure, exactly how yours would.
“Wanna make you cum.” He breathes heavily into your neck, dragging his lips up until he gently bites your earlobe. His fingers move faster now, abusing your poor clit, circling and massaging harder, and you feel a bead of sweat rolling down the back of your bent knee.
“Yeah, want it.” You nod eagerly, your hips jolting forward and he inhales sharply.
“Yeah, baby?” His eyes on you now. “Think you can take it?” His fingers now slowing down, teasing.
“Uh-huh.” You manage to get out in urgency as his fingers dip down again. “Please.” You stare into his eyes, and you feel yours starting to water when his middle and ring fingers slowly slide into you with ease. Your jaw drops, the stretch delicious and so needed, so welcome. Your vision blurs when he slowly starts pumping them in and out, testing the waters first and your eyes roll back in relief. A squeal escapes you when he curls his fingers just the right amount and starts fucking in and out of your pussy at a rapid pace, like he’s on a mission.
“Oh fuck!” You exclaim in shock, your hand flying to his bicep as you look down at his hand, the veins protruding on his tan arm, the sight so sinful you have to close your eyes again. The heel of his palm rubbing against your clit each time he fucks into you, creates a deliciously warm vibration. The sounds are obscene, your wetness making every thrust loud.
Another pornographic moan breaks out of you when his pace gets a little rougher and Haechan has to shut you up with a hand on your mouth. Your shaky fingers are clawing at his chest, over his shirt, and he lets out a low grunt against the hand he’s got pressed on your mouth, his forehead resting on yours and his eyes closing when you clench around his fingers. Your legs start shaking from the intense pleasure and he opts to wrapping his arm securely around your waist in order to help you maintain your compromised balance. He doesn’t hesitate to replace his hand with his lips, silencing you with a wet, tongue-filled kiss, swallowing all your noises. You’re not really kissing him back, your lips parted against his at a pathetic attempt of reciprocating, just panting and whining, completely lost in pleasure.
“I’m so close.” You whisper and you feel like you’re on the verge of crying.
“I’ve got you, baby, c'mon.” He murmurs into the messy kiss breathlessly, saliva coating both your chins and you love every second of it. The pads of his fingers now abusing the spongy spot at the front of your walls at an intense speed, hitting it just perfectly and you think you might pass out. Your walls flutter around his fingers, sucking him in and you're sure he can tell you're right there. Slick is dripping down his wrist, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Fuck yeah, there it is.”
“Haechan, I'm-“ Your eyes slightly widen, and you can’t even finish your sentence as you stumble over the edge. “Oh my god.” Your voice strained, your lungs struggling to keep up. The heat from where his fingers are burying repeatedly, starts spreading and your stomach clenches. Your walls clamp down on his hand, kneading his fingers and for a second, his eyes close, seeming to enjoy the constricting feeling. Your own eyes roll back at the pleasure, eyebrows creased, jaw dropping in a silent moan, breaths coming out quick and you're sure he can feel your leg shaking uncontrollably against his hip.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” His words make you smile in your daze, and you bite on your bottom lip knowing he finds pleasure in your own. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, letting you ride out your high for as long as possible and when your eyes open, you see him watching your face in awe, and ironically, you feel shy.
His fingers slow down when you whine from overstimulation, until he completely halts and buries them inside to enjoy the feeling of your sensitive walls for a little longer. He kisses your cheek sweetly as he carefully pulls out of you, his fingers bumping lightly against your clit, causing you to flinch. He buries his face in your neck to conceal his laugh, hot breath fanning against your damp skin as he scatters little kisses.
You sigh and relax contently when his warm hand cups your soaked centre and he keeps it there in a comforting manner.
"Good?” He whispers, nose delicately rubbing against your flushed skin and you almost don’t hear him due to the ringing in your ears still lingering after the intense high.
"Yeah." Your forehead is sweaty; you feel baby hairs sticking to the damp skin and you lazily smile at how fast his heart is beating against your palm. Your eyes are staring dreamily at his face and you rub your nose against his, your hand coming up to stroke his cheek affectionately. Your thumb drags across his bottom lip and he bites on it playfully, his nose scrunching cutely, making you swoon. It scares you how comfortable you already feel around him.
Your leg drops from his hip, and you wince at the soreness. His hand now trapped between your legs, still cupping your heat. An idea pops into your head, making you smirk and he watches your expression with an inquisitive look, eyebrows raising slightly in question.
"What?" He asks, eyes innocent, seemingly lost.
You firmly wrap a hand around his wrist, trying not to whimper when you feel his fingers drag against your sensitive clit and your hold tightens. He lets you lift his hand between both your faces, his eyes inspecting the strings of wetness stretching between his long digits. Without warning you lean forward, wrapping your swollen lips around the two fingers that were inside you just a few minutes ago and Haechan whimpers at the sinful gesture. It’s erotic, filthy and you don’t even know what took over you but you certainly relish in his reaction. Your eyes watching him carefully, his pupils dilated as he watches you hungrily, cheeks flushed, swollen lips parted prettily.
“Shit, baby.” His voice on the whiny side now, and you feel his other hand tightening on your hip. He’s very clearly turned on and you almost feel bad for torturing him, considering he’s done nothing but please you. He pushes his fingers deeper inside your mouth wanting you to taste yourself and you swirl your tongue around them, harshly sucking, making a mess on purpose. You let a satisfied hum around his digits, closing your eyes as you pull them out with a wet pop.
“You’re being unfair now.” He grunts and grabs the back of your neck, crashing his lips against yours in an open-mouthed kiss. Teeth clashing and tongues tangling messily as he licks into your mouth obscenely, moaning at the taste of you. You let out a surprised yelp when his fingers find your oversensitive cunt again and he dips them between your puffy lips, rubbing them up and down, like he did before, unforgivingly ignoring your protesting sounds. “Still so wet.” He mutters into the kiss and you whine pathetically.
“Mmf-, too much.” You force the words out against his mouth and grab his wrist in urgency this time. He laughs meanly but obliges anyway. He brings his soaked fingers up to his own lips this time and you can’t seem to be able to break eye contact as he slowly sucks on them, making a spectacle, the act much more intimate when he’s the one doing it.
Once he’s done, he drops his hand on your waist, wiping the wetness on the material of his hoodie and kisses you again, this time slow, languidly, wanting to savour your taste and he moans when your hands start unbuckling his belt. “Can I make you cum?” You murmur into the kiss and he’s contemplating but just as he's about to kiss you again, the moment is ruined by a wandering Jaemin, who rolls the doors open and lets out a shocked sound when he steps out.
“Oh shit, sorry.” His eyes widen when he realises it’s you and Haechan he’s walked in on and not a couple of strangers. “Oh shit.” He says again, with more emphasis this time and you bury your face in Haechan’s shoulder to hide your embarrassment. His arm around your waist tightens in reassurance, sensing your unease and you smile against his neck in silent gratitude. “Yo!” Jaemin says loudly and points an accusatory finger at both of you. "What the fuck? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Jaem, read the fucking room.” Haechan’s tone is slightly harsh but his touch feels delicate where his hand strokes gently on your waist. “Go back inside, we’ll join you in a bit.”
Jaemin grins mischievously. “Well, most people have gone home now, I just came out to have a smoke, but I’ll leave you to it.” He moves to head back inside but before shutting the big glass door he pokes his head out again. “Oh, just fyi, Chenle is passed out on the sofa and Mark is still in there somewhere, just in case you’re planning on fucking out here.” His expression then changes, eyes narrowing as he inspects both of you from head to toe, a look of realisation taking over his face.
“Unless you already have?” He poses quizzically.
“You’ll go back inside now, unless you want Jeno finding out about last-“
”Kay bye!” Jaemin quickly shuts the door, fleeing the scene before Haechan can finish his sentence.
“Sorry about him.” Haechan mutters, burying his face into your shoulder and lets out a sigh. “Half his brain cells appear to be dead.” You snort at his jokey comment but you can sense the irritation in his voice. You run your fingers through his hair, scratching on the back of his neck and smile to yourself when you feel him shiver against you, his cheek resting on your shoulder.
He lifts his head, looking down your figure as his hands slide down your hips and onto the tops of your thighs, dipping under the hem of your dress and before you can protest, he slips your underwear back into place. His knuckles drag against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and your breath hitches when you feel him tap his fingers against your core lightly. He laughs when you slap his hand away and you narrow your eyes at him scoldingly. You relax when he smooths over the fabric of your dress to make it look less wrinkled and you find yourself fighting a smile at the sweet gesture. It feels domestic almost.
“Thanks.” You say softly, eyes locking with his. He smiles and leans down to quickly peck you on the lips. His hands caress your sides one last time and then they slide up, squeezing your tits softly in the process, the pads of his fingers lightly dipping into the flesh that spills over the top of your tight dress.
”Pretty.” He mumbles almost to himself and if you were under the impression he was an ass man, now you're thinking you might have been wrong. He continues his journey upwards, taming your messy hair, gently combing stray strands behind your ears. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
When you step back inside, you both quietly laugh at the sight of poor Chenle sprawled face first on his new sofa and you’re pretty sure he’s drooling on it. Haechan heads into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water, which he places on the coffee table next to Chenle’s unmoving body. He then maneuvers him carefully, turning him on his side so he doesn’t choke to death in his sleep with his face buried in the cushions. You smile at the thoughtful gesture, and you move to grab your bag from the coffee table to distract yourself from the fluttering in your stomach.
“’Will he be okay on his own?” A tinge of concern in his eyes.
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. He always passes out like this when he gets too drunk.” You lean down and leave a small kiss on Chenle’s temple, brushing the hair away from his forehead. “I’d say he looks angelic but he’s actually the devil incarnate.” You whisper, observing Chenle’s cute face, and you can confirm he’s actually drooling on his sofa.
_
The walk back to your place is mostly quiet but comfortable. Haechan swings your interlocked hands distractedly as you’re both walking at a slow pace, trying to prolong the night for as long as possible.
“What’s Jaemin’s dirty laundry then? You threatened him you’d tell Jeno earlier.” You break the silence and he chuckles at your question.
“He had sex in Jeno’s bed last year.” He chuckles as he spills the secret and looks at you, gauging your reaction.
“Sounds like someone needs to teach that boy a lesson.” You say, and before you can stop the words tumbling out of your mouth, “Maybe we should fuck in his bed.” Your eyes widen at your own words and Haechan’s head snaps up to look you, mirroring your shocked expression. And then he laughs loudly. A kind of laugh you’ve never heard from him. His hand rests on his abdomen as if his stomach is in pain.
“Alright it’s not that funny.” You pout in embarrassment. “In my head it sounded kind of sexy.”
His laugh gradually dies down until there’s just amusement written on his face. “I mean, we can do that if you actually want to, but I have other priorities.”
“Meaning?”
“Well..” He trails in thought. “Ideally, I'd like to take you out first,” You feel like exploding but you maintain a stoic expression, gesturing him to continue. “And I'd rather fuck you in my own bed before moving on to Jaemin’s or anyone else’s.”
Your breath catches at his forwardness and you’re suddenly struggling to find the right words. “Umm,” you think carefully. “What about my bed?” You ask innocently.
"Don't worry, it's up there." His smirk makes you feel weak and you feel him squeeze your hand in his, running his thumb over the back of it.
“You sound awfully confident.” You say calmly, fighting a smile.
He pulls you closer by your hand. “What, you think I’m playing?” He almost sounds offended.
“I dunno, don’t really know much about you.” You shrug.
“Do you want to?” He asks and for the first time he sounds nervous.
You squeeze his hand the same way he did with yours, hoping to reassure him. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I do.” You halt your movements when you reach your building and look up into his eyes. “A lot.” His fingers stay intertwined with yours lazily. A relieved smile takes over his expression, and you really feel like kissing him again. He looks shy all of a sudden and a giggle escapes your throat. “Cute.”
He clicks his tongue to show annoyance, and you can see him poking the muscle against the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back a smile when he looks away for a second. Then he steps closer, invading your space again. “You wanna give me your number? I don’t really use instagram.”
“Okay, green flag.” You say playfully and he snorts. You hold your hand out for him to pass you his phone and when you’ve saved your contact, you text yourself a “hi” so you can save his number too.
“Cool.” He says casually as he shoves his phone in his back pocket.
“Cool.” You say back and step closer to him, wanting to feel his warmth one more time before parting ways. He smiles in understanding and pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around your waist to hold your body flush against his. You wrap your arms around his middle and rest your head on his chest. “I had fun tonight.” You murmur.
He rests his chin at the top of your head. One of his hands sneaks up and holds the back of your neck gently while the other strokes the small of your back. “I did too.” His fingers bury in your hair, gently pulling to make you look at him but you don’t get the chance, because his lips are on yours instantly, dragging slowly, carefully. Both his hands cup your face as he licks your bottom lip for access, which you give without a second thought and his tongue sneaks in to play with yours, letting you taste him. Your body completely relaxes against his, enjoying the warm feeling of his chest against yours.
You whine when he pulls back to look at you and he smiles when your lips trail after his. He gives in with a smile, chastely kissing you again. No tongue this time, but he playfully sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, and you love how safe you feel in his arms. He trails up, kissing the tip of your nose and back down again as he gives you another wet smooch before creating a tiny bit of distance between your lips while still maintaining the closeness between your bodies.
You smile against his jaw as you slip your hand into his empty back pocket, lightly squeezing his ass cheek and he laughs at your playfulness.
“Okay, you better go now before I drag you upstairs with me.” You give him a little kiss on the cheek before slipping away from his warmth. You take off his hoodie and hand it back to him.
"Mmm okay." He moves away reluctantly. “I’ll text you yeah?” He says with a cute smile.
“I’ll try and text you back.” You tease and he rolls his eyes, his smile not faltering.
“Night, Y/N.” He quietly says in the night air and you melt at the way your name rolls off his tongue.
“Night, Haechan.” You give him a small wave goodbye and watch him walk away.
_
The next morning, you're quietly munching on your cereal, lost in thought, reminiscing last night like it’s a distant memory, when you see a hungover Jeno messily stumbling out of Ningning's room, carrying his shoes in one hand and his jacket in the other. "Didn't care to take off your shoes at the door?" Your voice seems to startle him in the quiet of the morning.
"Shit!" His reaction making you laugh. "Fuck, Y/N, you scared me."
"Sorry." You're really not. "Are you pulling a French exit on my friend?" Your serious tone seems to intimidate him.
"No, she's awake, just snoozing." He says quickly. "I swear." You try not to laugh at the nervousness written all over his face. "Nothing happened, we just cuddled."
"Relax, I'm just fucking with you." You chuckle at his disheveled state. "Want some breakfast? I can offer three kinds of cereal." You point at your selection of boxes.
His eyes widen eagerly at that. "Sure, thanks." He walks towards where you're sitting at the kitchen table, dropping his shoes on the floor and his jacket on the back of his chair, before taking a seat across from you. "I'll just have what you're having." He says with a sweet smile, eyes almost disappearing and you realise he sort of looks like a Samoyed puppy but refrain from making a comment. You’re not that close after all.
You nod and get up to grab him a bowl. He's looking at his phone when he speaks up again. "So, you and Haechan?" You hold back a smile as you pass him a bowl with a spoon and the milk. He looks at you again and he explains when he sees your questioning stare. "Jaemin messaged the group chat."
"Ah," You nod in understanding. "Of course."
"So?" He asks expectantly, chewing loudly after he's poured the milk in his cheerios.
"What, you can't wait until he tells you himself?" You ask sarcastically.
"Girls' perspectives are always better." He pauses mid munch. "Plus, Haechan is the most private dude when it comes to stuff like that." For some reason that doesn't surprise you.
"Good for him." You get up to wash your bowl after finishing. "Maybe you're just too nosy."
"Oh c'mon, it's not that big of a deal, is it?" Your silence seems to intrigue him. "Or maybe it is?"
You turn to look at him when you're done washing up, leaning next to the sink and you see he's already devoured the contents of his bowl. "Feel free to go for seconds." You say pointing at the box in front of him and his face lights up before he starts pouring more cereal.
"Do you like him then?" He asks casually as he starts munching again and the question makes you falter. "Because, if you do," He swallows. "I can confirm it's reciprocated." Your eyebrows lift at his confession and Jeno smirks at your shocked expression. "Just spill, I won't tell him." And you trust his words, but you suddenly feel shy, thinking about your intimate moments with Haechan.
"I'll tell you if you tell me about you and Ning." You like knowing boys' perspectives too.
"Sounds fair." He nods with his mouth full.
"You want the TMI or PG-13 version?" You appreciate he's still eating so you don't want to ruin his breakfast.
"TMI, always." He says casually.
"He fingered me on Chenle's balcony and then said he wants to take me out." Jeno chokes at your confession.
"Jesus woman!" He coughs lightly and clears his throat before continuing. "No tact whatsoever."
You snort at his reaction. "You said 'TMI always' no?"
"Was it good?" He asks in a quieter and more serious tone now. Like he's asking you to share one of your deepest secrets. And here you were thinking you weren’t that close. You can’t help but laugh because that sounds like what Ningning would have asked in a situation like this. Maybe they are a good match after all.
"The fingering?" He nods at your question, eyes not leaving yours, having paused his eating, spoon still in hand hovering over his bowl. "I mean, I thought I was gonna pass out at some point so, yeah, pretty good."
An eyebrow raised in fascination. "Damn, go Haechan." Then he asks carefully. "So, I take it you'd go out with him?"
You shrug. "Maybe, but I don’t think I want a situationship or anything like that."
"You're in luck, he's not into that shit either."
"We'll see, he hasn't texted yet." You try to sound casual but you know Jeno can see right through you.
"Don't worry, he will."
"Who says I'm worried?" You huff a humorless laugh.
He rolls his eyes and gets up to walk over to the sink, taking his bowl with him. "If he said he wants to take you out, he meant it. And trust me when I say, that boy has had enough of casual flings. He might be going about it a bit backwards, but he’s definitely interested." He states like it's a fact and you're thankful he's trying to reassure you even though he doesn't owe you anything.
"How do you know it's reciprocated?" You ask carefully, referring to what Jeno said earlier and he smiles cheekily.
"I thought you weren't worried." He teases, moving his eyebrows up and down and you flick the back of his head. "Ow! Okay okay, jeez." He rubs the sore spot with the inside of his wrist to prevent his soapy fingers from touching his hair. He then proceeds to dry the clean bowl with the kitchen towel he spots on the counter and hands it to you with a sweet smile on his face.
"Thanks, you didn't have to wash up." You say, putting the bowl back on its shelf. He waves his hand, gesturing that there's no need to thank him for something so small.
"He said he thought you were ‘pretty cool’ after we hounded you on Thursday and for the first time in, like, forever, he was stressing about his outfit before a party."
You give him a pointed look. "How’s that an indication of anything?"
"Trust me, that's enough indication for Haechan. He's probably already planning your wedding as we speak." You roll your eyes at his exaggeration. "Y/N, he likes you. It was so obvious that both me and Jaem knew he was gonna make a move last night." He sits down again and starts putting his shoes on. "Obviously, I didn't think he was gonna finger you in a public space and what not but-"
"To be fair, I initiated that." You interrupt him and he snorts.
"I'm sure he didn't mind." Jeno jokes with a smirk, and you cover your face in embarrassment, earning a chuckle from him. He must be enjoying this because he proceeds to tease even more. "If anything, he probably found that incredibly hot." You groan at his words. "Seriously, there's nothing hotter than a woman who knows what she wants."
You look at him through your fingers still covering your face, a teasing comment pops in your head. Two can certainly play this game.
"That explains why you didn't sleep in your own bed last night." You notice the blush that creeps up on his cheeks and you can help but cross your arms over your chest proudly.
"Yeah, something like that." He says sheepishly, his hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck and you suddenly can't wait for your debrief with Ningning later. "Anyway, my point is, I think you should give him a chance." He finishes putting his shoes on, both feet on the floor now and he looks at you, his back leaning against the chair and his arms crossing over his chest. "He's a great guy."
"Alright, enough about me, your turn now."
_
Haechan likes to think he's a decent guy. He's got his life together; he's on top of his coursework, he gets decent grades, he's got good friends and he's got a part-time job at a record store that pays relatively well. At least well enough to cover his own personal expenses. His parents help him out with rent, but they do appreciate his efforts and he does his best to not feel like a burden. He's a good son and a good big brother to all three of his siblings.
He's polite to old people and even helps them cross the street when he needs to, he loves his friends and always looks out for them, even if he gets grumpy sometimes, he never holds grudges and is upfront about things that bother him. He likes buying his loved ones presents and not just for special occasions. Not because he's a people pleaser, but because he just likes making them happy whenever he can. He tries not to lie except for the odd white lie here and there.
He doesn't fuck around or date aimlessly. At least not anymore. He went through a phase during his first year of uni but it's been two years since then and he's currently embracing single life. Yes, he sometimes does cave into the temptation of bringing a girl back after a party, but it's a rare occurrence and he's always honest about what he wants. He hates leading people on. It's not that he's afraid of commitment, he often finds himself wanting a girlfriend but he's not actively searching for one either.
He knows he doesn't lack in the looks department, or in any other department really. Yeah, he's got his silly insecurities like everyone else but he's a confident guy overall. Although, he does admit that he can sometimes be cocky, that's because he knows he's the most mature out of his friends. Yes, Renjun mostly looks after everyone and has a motherly figure, but Haechan gives the best advice when it comes to most serious life dilemmas, and he's aware of that. He might not be the brightest when it comes to academics but he's confident when it comes to navigating life sensibly and responsibly. That's why he was completely and utterly flabbergasted when you came into the picture. His picture.
He's always noticed you before, yes, and he's always thought you were good looking, but that's about it. He doesn't just go around hitting on every girl he finds attractive. He's more of a 'personality above all else' type of man, so when he first saw you, even though he thought to himself 'wow, pretty', he didn't think it would be appropriate to just come up to you and ask for your number. Plus, you seemed somewhat reserved from the few times you had exchanged words. Not that he didn't like that, because he did, he did find you intriguing, he would get to know you if the opportunity posed itself to him, but he also didn't feel like chasing after you would be something you'd like or even welcome. You didn't seem cold, just indifferent. And so, he kind of just opted to observing you from afar.
Sometimes you were alone, other times you were with a girl whose name he didn't know, others with a boy whose name he couldn't remember. He was sure they'd met before though, maybe at a party around campus or maybe through a friend? He couldn't quite place him. Other times you were with them both, laughing your heart out at whatever you three were talking about and he found himself wondering what makes you laugh that hard.
He knew you always sat two rows behind him in his stats class every Thursday afternoon, his last class of that day. However, he rarely got to see you on Thursdays, even though you were both in the same room for an hour and a half. You always arrived after him and left before him, so, whenever he turned his head at the end of the lecture to look for you, you were already gone. The times he did get to see you, were the times he would turn up a little later than normal, which was exactly one minute before the professor started speaking. Even then, he wasn't really able to observe you for as long as he'd ideally like. He would just get to see the back of your head for a few seconds before reaching his usual seat. He sometimes would pretend to crack his back, just to turn around twice and look at your pretty face for a few seconds. Your attention was always on the notes in front of you though. One time he did catch you already staring at him. You looked away the second his eyes met yours, almost shy. He found it cute and thought to himself; 'maybe she's not that indifferent after all'.
He knew you and Jeno were somewhat friendly because you shared a few classes and he was sure he'd caught you speaking with Jaemin a couple times in corridors. He wasn't jealous or anything, but he definitely wouldn't mind being on first name basis with you too. And it's not like he was obsessed with you. He didn't really think about you that much, but his intrigue definitely intensified when he got to speak to you properly for the first time at that party just before summer. He can’t clearly remember what you two exactly talked about, but he does remember not wanting to leave, he remembers thinking you looked unreal and he certainly remembers wishing he could relive that moment sober so he could memorise every word that came out of your mouth.
Things have changed now though. Drastically and unexpectedly. Because just two days ago he got to speak to you again and his curiosity morphed into excitement.
You pleasantly surprised him. From the way you handled yourself around Jaemin's obnoxiously loud personality to the way you put Jeno in his place like no girl ever has before. You were witty and smart and sweet. Too sweet. And he knows that, because he's quite literally tasted you now. Just a few hours ago he had you pinned against the wall of your friend's new apartment. Just a few hours ago he had you gasping and writhing and pathetically whining his name, simply because his fingers were too much for you. And he loved every second of it.
Haechan didn't really go to Chenle's party thinking he'd get some. He was just excited to get to know you and speak to you one on one. He went into the situation hoping he could maybe flirt with you and end up with your number in his contact list at the end of the night, which he did. And maybe he was hoping he could get to walk you home and get a kiss from you, which again, he did. But he didn't expect you'd reciprocate his flirting like you were prepared for it. He definitely didn't expect you'd ask him who and what he wants to write songs about and he definitely didn't expect you to kiss him back the way you did.
He's kissed many people before. He's had good kisses, bad ones, a few memorable ones and certainly a lot of forgettable ones. He's never kissed anyone the way he kissed you, though. And he's equally never had anyone kiss him the way you kissed him. Not even ex-girlfriends. Not that he's had many, but the two he's had don't even come close. And that scares him. Because if Haechan thought he wasn't obsessed with you before, he really doesn't know what to think now. But what he does know is that it’s incredibly unfair of you to make him feel and think this much, this soon.
It's still early, the sun barely out. He's maybe managed to get four hours of sleep before getting woken up by the sound of someone retching in the bathroom down the hall. Most likely Jaemin. He almost fell asleep again after that but the sound of a door slamming, completely ruined his slumber. So, now he's just staring at his ceiling, one arm supporting his head on the pillow and the other resting lazily on his naked stomach. He feels tired but he knows he won't be able to go back to sleep now. And that's fine, because he can at least think about you. He can think about your voice and your scent and he can think about how you touched him and how you let him touch you. He can think about how you tried to keep quiet in the midst of pleasure but miserably failed repeatedly. And he's definitely going to think about how good you felt around his fingers. Perfect. There are so many things he can think about when it comes to you and there's not a single bad one. Everything related to you is good.
You said you wanted to get to know him 'a lot', and that was exactly what he wanted to hear, but he can't help but wonder when you started to feel this way. Not that it matters that much, because, regardless of the timeline, he's going to make it happen. He's going to take you out and he's going to get to know you. He's almost worried that he's going about this in the wrong order, because, ideally, he would have wanted to take you out before any kissing and sexual activities took place. Not because he's old fashioned or some kind of prude, but because he doesn't want you getting the wrong impression. He doesn't want you thinking he's only into you because of the sexual chemistry you share. Of course, he thinks physical intimacy is important, but he's always found that emotional intimacy beats all. And he wants to see if he can get to that level with you. He knows you're compatible sexually, he could tell last night you were on the same wavelength. There was no awkwardness, no uncertainty.
He could tell you knew your body well, that you knew what you wanted and he liked that you weren't shy about it. And he'd be lying if he said that wasn't one of his favourite parts of the night; the moment you guided his hand where you wanted it. He found that so attractive that he actually thought about it when he got in his bed last night and finally managed to relieve the hardness in his boxers. He loved that you weren't shy about how much you wanted him to touch you. You were the perfect amount of vocal, and your body reacted to his words the way he hoped it would. So, yes, he is positive sexual chemistry isn’t something you two would struggle with, but he also doesn't want it to be the main thing that you connect on. He wants a lot more than that.
Haechan is self-aware. He's a horny guy and he's not shy about it. He likes what he likes and there's not much he doesn't like when it comes to sex. He's very much open to exploring and what not, but he knows that he's always struggled connecting with people on an emotional level before. Especially people he's dated. He's had flings and he's had casual sexual partners. He's been in a couple of serious relationships, and he's been infatuated with his ex-girlfriends or ex flings, but he knows he’s never been in love with any of them. He remembers thinking he loved his first girlfriend, but he was only 16 back then and when he thinks back to that relationship, he barely sees it as a relationship. All they ever did was go on walks, watch movies, cuddle and make out. Eventually it just fizzled out.
His second relationship was serious, but toxic. He remembers enjoying the push-and-pull situation initially but when it all became so unbearably exhausting, it put him off relationships for a long time. Now that he's had time to be alone and process his own feelings, he knows he's capable of commitment, but he wants it to be with the right person, and he wants it to be with someone who will accept him for who he is. Haechan knows that if he found the one now, he would commit. And he doesn't know if you're the one, but he wouldn't mind exploring if you would stick around for the long run.
And so, later in the day, when he's lazily sprawled on the sofa, next to a hungover Jeno, who apparently saw you this morning and reassured him that you're definitely interested, Haechan decides to finally text you like he promised. When he opens your chat, he sees you've already texted yourself to save his number and added a little sunflower emoji next to your name and he smiles to himself. He wonders if you've added an emoji next to his name too and if so, which one?
20:03 Hae☀️: hey pretty
20:03 Hae☀️: have any free periods tomorrow?
20:09 y/n🌻: hii :)
20:09 y/n🌻: i do
20:10 y/n🌻: I am free between 1pm-3pm
20:11 Hae☀️: wanna grab a coffee with me?
20:12 y/n🌻: i'd love to
20:13 Hae☀️: woop!
20:13 Hae☀️: where shall I meet you?
20:18 y/n🌻: how about the café by the architecture building?
20:21 Hae☀️: i know the one
20:21 Hae☀️: i'll be there there at 1pm sharp
20:22 Hae☀️: don't stand me up 👉🏻👈🏻
20:24 y/n🌻: i would never 🥺
20:25 Hae☀️: thought about you a lot today
20:26 y/n🌻: really?
20:26 y/n🌻: what did you think about?
20:28 Hae☀️: yes really
20:28 Hae☀️: just...things
20:29 Hae☀️: can't say much more than that
20:29 Hae☀️: did you not think about me? :(
20:31 y/n🌻: nah
20:31 y/n🌻: not really :(
20:32 Hae☀️: 🙄
20:32 Hae☀️: ur rude
20:32 Hae☀️: and a liar
20:34 y/n🌻: oops
20:34 y/n🌻: why ask a question you already know the answer to?
20:35 Hae☀️: smooth
20:35 Hae☀️: i guess i needed some reassurance
20:36 y/n🌻: Hae?
20:36 Hae☀️: yea?
20:37 y/n🌻: I thought about you
20:37 y/n🌻: a lot
20:37 y/n🌻: like an unhealthy amount
20:38 Hae☀️: fuck
20:38 Hae☀️: didn't think you'd actually say it
20:40 y/n🌻: happy?
20:40 y/n🌻: it appears I can't say no to you
20:41 Hae☀️: very :)
20:41 Hae☀️: it appears the feeling is mutual
The rest of Haechan's evening consists of him pretending he's paying attention to the Netflix show Jeno picked out for them to watch after dinner, when the only thing he's actually interested in are the messages he's exchanging with you. You told him you're also chilling on your couch with Ningning, watching a crime documentary with a bowl of instant ramen.
"Bruh, you're astronomically whipped." Jeno laughs to himself, the constant buzzing coming from Haechan's phone making it obvious that he's been messaging you.
"Yeah, so? Deal with it." Haechan doesn't even lift his head to look at Jeno, just keeps smiling distractedly at his screen.
Jeno snorts. "At least you're not denying it." He turns his attention back to the show he's practically been watching on his own for the past hour. "I respect that."
Haechan looks up at Jeno and shrugs. "I'm no fraud, Lee Jeno. You, of all people, should know that." And that earns him laugh with a nod of approval.
“You asked her out yet?” The question casual. No teasing tone detected, just curiosity.
"I'm seeing her tomorrow between classes." Haechan's attention back on your chat.
“Like a coffee date?” Jeno asks cutely and Haechan just responds with a nod, his thumbs hovering over his keyboard as he looks up at Jeno, waiting for some sort of comment.
“That's a good first date.” Jeno's words of approval offer Haechan a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. "Just good quality time, no pressure."
“Yeah, that's what I was thinking.” Haechan's eyes are on the tv now, but he isn't really paying attention to the programme.
Jeno sees right through him. "You nervous?"
Haechan thinks about his response. Is he nervous? “More excited than nervous, I'd say.” Haechan looks up at him when he's met with silence. "What?" He asks confused when he notices his friend's amused expression.
“Nothing, just trying to think when you turned into an absolute sap.” And he laughs loudly when Haechan hits him in the face with one of the cushions scattered on the sofa. “Relaaaaax you big baby, I'm just messing with you.” Jeno throws the cushion back at Haechan and he catches is with a grunt. “I actually think this is good. You haven't dated anyone half decent in a long time.”
Haechan snorts, because Jeno's words hold nothing but the truth. “True.” He states with a purse of his lips.
“If your first date is casual vibes, you should do something fancy for the second one.” Jeno says in a skeptical tone.
“Since when are you a dating expert?”
“Shut up, you've been dying to ask for advice and you know it.” He's right, but Haechan would never admit that. “It should also be on a Friday or Saturday so you don't have to worry about being hungover in class.” Jeno points a finger at Haechan. “Karaoke could be fun!”
“Where are you taking Ningning?” Jeno's eyes widen at the question and Haechan chuckles triumphantly. "You ever gonna tell me about that or nah?"
“Your new girlfriend can tell you all about it tomorrow.” Jeno crosses his arms over his chest after pulling the hood of his jumper over his head.
“Yeah, we're gonna spend the entirety of our first date talking about your sexcapades.” Haechan responds sarcastically.
“No sexcapades, she said she's not currently dating.” Jeno says quickly with a frown.
“And that's a problem for you, because..?” Haechan gestures with his hand for Jeno to explain. “Is your ego hurt or something?”
Jeno shrugs his shoulders like a toddler. “Just a bit disappointing, you know?”
“Shit.” Haechan says with a tone of fascination. “So, you're into her then.”
Jeno shrugs with a huff and Haechan almost feels bad.
“Did you sleep with her or nah?”
“Nah, just cuddled.” Jeno admits, voice laced with disappointment.
“Jeno,” Haechan pinches the bridge of his nose to show exasperation. “You're an idiot.”
“Wha- why?” Jeno's eyes widen at his friend's insult.
“Are you being daft on purpose? She would've fucked you and chucked you out if she wasn't interested.” Haechan is putting the facts out on the table as if it's going to help Jeno realise what is happening, but to no avail. “She's clearly aware of your reputation.”
Jeno perks up at that. "What about my reputation?" His eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.
Haechan kisses his teeth. "You're a certified slut."
“Yeah and? What am I meant to do?”
“Well, if you want her, you're gonna have to work for it.” Haechan says like it's self-explanatory.
"I don't chase." Jeno mumbles stubbornly.
"No Ningning then." And Jeno scoffs at Haechan's patronising tone. "Sounds like you're in need of advice more than I am."
_
You can't really wrap your head around the fact that you're currently walking to your favourite café in campus, only this time you're not meeting up with your two best friends, you’re meeting with Haechan instead. Fuck. You're meeting up with Haechan.
You don't even know if you're supposed to call this a date. He said he wanted to hang out with you and that he can't wait to see you, but people say all sorts of things, and you don't want to get ahead of yourself. You wonder if he's nervous like you are, or if he sees this as a casual coffee break in between his routine. But then again, if it's just that, why ask you and not one of his friends? You told yourself this morning that you wouldn't overthink, but you're now realising that you're miserably failing. Ningning would not be proud.
You check the time on your phone and that instant it buzzes in your hand. Your heart beats a little quicker.
12:55 Hae☀️: what do you want?
12:55 y/n🌻: in life or..?
12:56 Hae☀️: lmao
12:56 Hae☀️: to drink silly
12:56 Hae☀️: we can talk about what you want in life when you get here
12:57 y/n🌻: caramel iced latte pls and thank you :)
12:57 y/n🌻: im 2 mins away btw
12:57 Hae☀️: thought you didn't like sweet things
12:58 Hae☀️: no rush, just ordering now
12:58 y/n🌻: i like my coffee sweet
12:58 y/n🌻: among other things
12:59 Hae☀️: cheeky
12:59 y/n🌻: im here
13:00 y/n🌻: where you at?
13:00 Hae☀️: you look cute
13:00 Hae☀️: to your left
And there he is, sitting at a table by the window, already looking at you, head tilted, eyes pretty, smile saccharine sweet. His phone is still in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen and you notice there's a new ring adorning the digit. His other hand raises and his fingers wiggle, playfully waving at you. You already feel flustered and you think that it should be illegal for a man to be this handsome.
When you walk over, he stands up and casually lifts an arm for you to slot under. "Hey you." He says quietly and you smile. Your arms instinctively wrap around his middle, and your face buries in his shoulder, taking in his familiar scent. It immediately brings you comfort, your overthinking long forgotten. You feel his arms squeezing around your figure and he playfully rocks you from side to side. You giggle and pull back slightly to look at him.
“Hey you.” You repeat his words back at him and his smile is nothing short of mesmerising. His lovely doe eyes hold warmth and tiny stars that you feel could burn you if you stare into them for too long, so you decide to look at the table instead. You spot your iced latte, placed opposite what you assume is an iced americano. “Thanks for getting my coffee, you didn't have to.”
“I wanted to.” He states plainly and unwraps his arms from you, allowing you to sit down before taking his own seat opposite you. It almost feels strange sitting with him like this, seeing him in this light. Not in a lecture hall and not at a party surrounded by your friends. Just the two of you, on a Monday, sitting at your favourite café, in the middle of the day. It’s real. It’s mundane. “Are you hungry? We can get something to eat if you want.” He speaks so fast, one would think he’s trying to cover up nerves.
You smile at his attentiveness and shake your head. “I’m good for now, thanks.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t press and you can’t help but think he looks so boyfriend coded. His big forest green jumper makes him look extra cuddly and you want to bury your face in his neck again. “Heard you bumped into Jeno yesterday.” He says, filling the silence before taking a sip of his coffee.
“Yeah, I interrupted his walk of shame.” You chuckle at the memory. “He looked quite embarrassed, bless him.” You twirl your straw, staring at the condensation dripping down your cup. “Didn’t realise he was that nosy though.” You say with a grin and your eyes move to look at Haechan who’s mirroring you.
His lips curl into a smirk. “Why, did he ask about-” He pauses for a moment, trying to find the right words. “About Saturday night.” His eyebrow raises inquisitively.
Your chin rests on your hand. “Mm-hm, apparently Jaemin messaged your group chat.”
Haechan snorts and you assume he knows which message you’re referring to. “Yeah, if you found Jeno nosy, good luck tolerating Jaemin.”
“I’m just hoping we didn’t scar him for life.”
“I mean,” he shrugs, gently tapping his fingers on the table surface. “He didn’t actually see anything.” His tone suggestive, eyes watching you, trying to gauge a reaction. “Had he walked out a few minutes earlier-”
“Shut up.” You warn and cover your eyes with both hands in embarrassment, smiling against your palms at the sound of his pretty laugh.
“C’monnnn,” he reaches across the table and takes hold of your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face so he’s able to look at you properly, while holding your hands in his, in the most delicate way. You stubbornly look away, trying to hide the blush that has taken over your face. “Aww don't be embarrassed.” He coos and squeezes your wrists in his hands, his thumbs sneaking under your sweater paws, rubbing gently against your pulse points, causing goosebumps to raise on your arms. “Okay, I’m sorry, I won’t tease anymore today, I promise.” He says in a playful tone but you still don’t look at him and maintain the pout on your face. A quick kiss on the inside of your wrist earns him your attention and then another on the opposite one makes you break your resolve completely, your eyes now on his. “Yay, there she is.”
“You’re annoying.” You huff and he chuckles again.
“And you’re still blushing.”
You retract your hand from his hold and attempt to flick at his forehead, but he grasps it again before you’re able to. He interlocks his fingers with yours and gives you a toothy grin. His perfect teeth showing and his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “How do you expect me to not feel embarrassed when you act like-” You stop yourself from saying what's on your mind and he perks up at your hesitation, eyebrows raised.
“Like what?” He asks, his voice laced with intrigue.
“The way you do.” Your gaze moves to your connected hands, taking in the way his fingers look slotted between yours. Perfect. Like they belong there.
“You don’t like the way I act?” His bottom lip jutting out in a fake pout, gently stroking the back of your thumb with his own.
“No, I do but-” You observe how his palm opens against your own, fingers extending and yours instinctively mirror the action, elbows pressed on the table and your heart flutters at how big his hand looks compared to yours.
“But?” He’s also looking at your hands now and slots his fingers between yours again, his grip tight, his palm warm and you worry he can feel how clammy yours is.
“You’re just too forward.”
“Is that a bad thing?” His tone more serious now, his eyes observing you. “I told you; I never intended to be subtle with you.” His hold on your hand loosening. “But I can stop if you’re uncomfortable.”
“No.” Your hand tightening its hold, quietly indicating you don’t want him to let go and he sports a cheeky smile, like he expected you to react that way. “I’m just not used to this.”
His eyes are curious now. “Used to people being forward?” You nod at his question. He thinks about it for a moment. “You were pretty forward yourself the other night.”
“That’s different.” You say calmly.
“How come?”
“Nights like that don’t happen all the time.” You explain with a shrug, without giving away too much.
His expression softens, and his nods in understanding. “So, you knew you wanted me before the party then.” He says it like a statement but you know he’s asking as he watches you with expectant eyes. His hand leaves yours momentarily, dropping on the table, palm facing up, waiting for your own hand to drop back into his. And it does. You trace your fingertips from his wrist to the middle of his palm, drawing along the lines there. His own fingers raising slightly to tickle against your palm, tracing patterns and you feel giddy. He’s emitting this softness you’ve never encountered in a romantic partner before and you’re not sure if you can handle it. But you want to be able to.
“I did, yeah.” You admit with a smile, eyes finding his wide ones. “Why are you so surprised?”
“I just- I did too.” He bites the inside of his bottom lip in thought. “Just wasn’t sure how to approach you before.” Your own surprise evident. “Why are you so surprised?” He mimics your question with a playful tone.
“Since when?” You ask, wanting to know more.
He hums skeptically, and you feel his knee bumping into yours under the small table, “I mean, I’ve always been intrigued.” He moves again and you feel both his knees rubbing against yours now. “But I knew I was into you after we spoke at that party in June.” Both your knees are trapped between his now and you can’t help but feel flustered, your fingers limp in his palm while his index is still tracing the inside of your wrist. It slightly tickles but it’s welcome. “You?”
You could lie and say it was the same for you. That you realised you were interested when you finally spoke for the first time. But you don’t really want to, and you don’t see the point. “I think- I can’t really place it, but I was definitely interested before June.” You expect him to tease, but he just nods in understanding, gesturing you to continue. “And I could tell you were kind of flirting, when we briefly spoke last week, so, I thought Chenle's party was the perfect time to act on it.”
“So, you’ve had a crush on me?” He smirks and his knees squeeze yours between them, finally teasing you. "Cute.” He says under his breath, eyes move to your lips for a second and then up to your eyes again. “You should’ve said something sooner.” He raises his drink and his lips wrap around the straw and you can’t help but look, remembering what they felt like on yours, on your skin, what they looked like wrapped around his fingers when he wanted a taste of you.
“I didn’t think you would’ve reciprocated.” You say bashfully and he looks at you, like he finds your words absurd.
He puts his drink down again. “I'd be clinically insane.”
His words emit a small laugh from you. "Well, I'm glad you're somewhat sane."
"Do you wanna go for a walk?" The question unexpected and your eyebrows raise in surprise. "Sun's out again." He points his chin towards the window and you turn your head to look outside. The autumn leaves are still falling but he's right. The sun is out for the first time in a few days. "Promise I'll have you back by three." He says in a playful tone and you look back at him, pretending to consider his suggestion, even though, you know you won’t decline.
_
Haechan isn't really a big fan of autumn. He doesn't hate it, but he certainly likes summertime the most. He likes being able to walk down the beach with no layers on and no worry that it'll get cold late at night. He likes the way the sun feels on his skin and he definitely prefers the way he looks when he's sun kissed. He finds that everyone looks good in the sun.
He's always associated the idea of falling in love with a nice refreshing summer breeze; not necessary, because he's content in the heat, but definitely not unwanted.
The thought of summer always makes him miss home and look forward to the next time he's able to visit. If he's completely honest, Haechan always misses home a little bit, it's always occupying the back of his mind. The city; as fun as it is living here, has always felt too different. Too chaotic. Now that you're walking next to him though, he's not missing anything and he thinks it's the first time since he moved here, that he feels absolutely and utterly content. At peace even. Even in the chilly autumn air as you two walk through the park near your campus, surrounded by brown leaf covered trees.
"What's your favourite time of the year?" He can't help but ask the question when it pops into his head.
"Hmm I think this one." You lift a finger, gesturing to your surroundings and you pause for a moment skeptically. "I think it’s mostly because I prefer autumn fashion." He chuckles at your reasoning. "Hey, don't laugh," You protest. "I'd like summer more if I could lounge by a pool in a bikini whenever I wanted." You inhale deeply, your eyes briefly closing and he can tell you're enjoying the autumn air. "Autumn is just easier, plus, I love the smell of rain." You turn to look at him before looking ahead of you again. "What's yours? You give off major summer vibes."
He exhales a laugh through his nose. "Really? What gave it away?" He looks at your side profile as he waits for a response. He thinks you look so pretty in this gloomy setting and wonders if you’d look even prettier during his favourite season.
"Dunno." You seem to be in deep thought, your lips pursing and your eyes narrowing as you inspect his face carefully. "Maybe your tan?" And he mimics your expression, scrunching his nose too and you gently elbow him. "Did I get it right?" You ask hopefully.
"You sure did." He confirms, nodding proudly and a cheeky smile makes its way to your lips.
"Why summer then?" You ask with a curious lilt in your tone.
"I guess I associate summer with my childhood." He explains with a fond smile. "It reminds me of being-"
"Carefree?" You finish his sentence and he smiles, nodding slowly in agreement. "That makes sense." You validate his thought process in the sweetest voice and he can't help but feel a certain way that leads him to slip his hand into yours. He senses your hesitation and worries he's overstepped a boundary but instantly relaxes when he feels your fingers take their place between his. You're not looking at him, but he can sense you trying to conceal your flustered state by nonchalantly keeping your eyes on the pavement.
He suddenly remembers you've got a class to attend at 3pm and slips his phone out of his back pocket to check the time. "It's half two, we should probably start heading back." He reminds you, not wanting to be the reason you mess up your schedule for the day.
"Oh shit." Your eyes slightly widen at the realisation. "That was quick." You admit absentmindedly and he laughs softly.
"Hmmmm what can I say, time flies when you're with me." He says with a suggestive pointed grin.
"Didn't realise you were this deluded." You scoff, eyes rolling playfully.
"Hey now." He warns with a nudge against your shoulder and can't hide the amused grin on his face when you giggle. "You had fun, admit it."
"Mmmmaybe." You say with a cheeky smile, and he feels his pulse increasing. His chest constricts inevitably at how cute and soft you look. Your chin brushing your shoulder as you turn your head to look at him, batting your lashes seductively. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him.
“You act all brave now, but -” He stops walking, making you halt, and you turn to look at him. “I bet I could easily make you skip class, if I really wanted to.” He says suggestively, a cocky eyebrow raising when he takes in your surprised expression. He pulls you closer, pulling lightly at your hand that's still in his and you stumble, putting a hand on his chest to regain your balance. You look up at him, and he thinks 'there it is', there's that not-so-innocent look from Saturday night. You don't shy away or get flustered this time, you stand your ground, and he suddenly wants to ruin you. But he knows this is not the time and place and he curses internally for choosing to go on a stupid coffee date. He's definitely taking you out somewhere more intimate and romantic next time, like Jeno suggested.
"And how exactly would you do that?" You ask, testing his resolve, which, apparently, runs very thin when it comes to you.
He leans down so his lips are by your ear, the hand that's not holding yours, taking purchase on your waist. "I'd show you but you'd probably get all shy on me." He murmurs and relishes in the way your hand tightens its hold on the fabric of his jumper. He feels your breathing quicken and can't help but laugh at your reaction.
He moves to pull away and the second his eyes land on yours, your hand grabs the back of his neck and your lips crash on his. His breath hitches and his eyes widen at the impact, before he relaxes against you and kisses you back. He relishes in the feel of your soft lips sliding against his, and the warmth your body radiates when he pulls you closer with his arm around your waist and when he feels you sigh, body pliantly slotting into his, he wonders if someone if playing a prank on him, because there’s no way you’re this perfect for him. You wrap both your arms around his neck securely and he moves a hand to your hip, gently squeezing, his fingers dangerously close to your ass. You whimper when his tongue makes contact with your bottom lip and he feels you tilt your head to the side silently asking him to deepen the kiss, but he decides that the next time he has a full on make out session with you is going to be somewhere private. He bites your bottom lip lightly and gives you a quick peck before breaking the kiss completely and you whine at the sudden loss of contact, making him laugh. The hand on your hip sneakily slides itself into your back pocket, giving your bum a playful squeeze, before letting it rest there lazily, simply because he can't help himself. "You're trouble, Y/N." He mumbles against your lips.
Your eyes open at that, finding his and your hand caresses the back of his neck while you suck your bottom lip into your mouth and his jeans start to feel constricting at the thought of you doing that so you can taste him again, now that he's no longer kissing you. "I'm trouble?" You ask in disbelief.
"You kissed me." He states in an accusatory tone as if he wouldn't have done it himself anyway.
"I know." You whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips again. "I wanted to." You mumble and your tone makes his brain overflow with thoughts that revolve around you and his bed, because it doesn't matter that it's Monday afternoon and you're walking around the park. In Haechan’s head, nothing matters in this moment other than the fact that he desperately wants you in ways he hasn’t wanted anyone before and that scares him. Not because he doesn’t want to. But simply because he does. Haechan wants to want you.
_
"And with five minutes to spare." Haechan says with a proud smile when you reach the entrance of the building your class is in, still hand in hand and you can't help but smile back.
“You know you're definitely gonna be late, right?” You say in a scolding tone and he scoffs rolling his eyes.
“And whose fault is that?” He says playfully, pulling you closer.
“You should've said you were meeting Jaemin at three, how am I supposed to- mmmf.” He interrupts you with a kiss against your lips, cupping your face in his hands. He pulls away quicker than you'd prefer but you still can't help the surprised laugh that escapes you.
"I know I’ll see you on Thursday, but can I take you out Friday night?" He asks, eyes wide and hopeful and you smile.
"You can." You say with a dreamy tone, taking in his pretty brown eyes and the way his smile widens when you accept to go on a second date with him.
"Good." He kisses you chastely again and rubs his nose against yours before dropping a wet smooch on your cheek, laughing at your reaction.
"Yah!" You complain cringing at the wet sensation against your skin. "Ewww, you slobbered on meeee." You whine, wiping the wetness off your face with the back of your hand, your nose scrunching in fake disgust but your heart flutters at the sound of his laugh. "Fucking weirdo." You huff, torn between laughter and exasperation.
"Be a good girl and get to class." He turns you around, putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you towards the entrance of the building, arms hugging you from behind and the butterflies in your stomach go ballistic. "Also, sit with me on Thursday." He whispers in your ear and you shiver at the feeling of his warm breath on your neck. You turn your head sideways to look at his face and you can't stop your lips from curling into a grin.
"Be a good boy and don't tell me what to do." You whisper against his jaw, where you press a quick kiss that surprises him, his arms loosening around your shoulders in shock and you take the opportunity to turn around and loosely wrap your arms around his waist. You raise on your tippy toes so you can bring your lips to his ear. “I’ll see you soon, Lee Haechan.” You say with a low tone and to anyone else it might seem like you're just hugging, but you can feel his chest moving shallowly against your own when you give him another gentle kiss, on the cheek this time.
"What the f-" You walk away with a sweet smile, before he can react or finish his sentence and you couldn't be more satisfied with yourself. You know he's still standing there, looking at you while you walk away from him and you smile to yourself.
When you take your usual seat next to Chenle, in the back of the big lecture hall, he looks at you with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest. "So? How was it?" He asks and a giggle escapes him when you sigh with a dreamy smile on your face. "That good?"
“You have no idea.” You feel you phone buzz in your pocket and you already have an idea what to expect.
15:01 Hae☀️: that was fucked up...
15:01 Hae☀️️: you're in for a treat next time i see you
_
Thursday rolls around slower than normal this week and you know why it feels that way. You can’t wait to see him.
It’s the first time you’re running late to class though, and you’re cursing yourself for deciding to take a nap earlier. The bus that would have gotten you there on time is long gone, so your only option was to walk and be ten minutes late. You know it’s not the end of the world, students run late all the time, and it’s not like you’re anal about punctuality. It’s just that you hate being the centre of attention.
And when you walk in the lecture hall, everything pans out exactly how you had predicted; some people turn their heads to look when you enter the hall as quietly as possible and some couldn’t care less. When you skip past your usual row of seats though, taking a seat two rows ahead instead, next to the handsome boy who’s been lately occupying your thoughts nonstop, more people’s eyes drift to your direction and you’re thankful to your professor, who continues speaking, without batting an eyelid at your tardiness.
“You okay? I texted you.” Haechan leans into whisper in your ear, voice as quiet as possible. An arm extends behind you, resting on the back of your seat casually and you feel the warmth radiating on your shoulder blades, through the material of your top.
You look at him for a moment before starting to take out your notes and iPad. “I know, I took a nap and overslept.” You whisper back maintaining the decibels of your voice as low as possible and you can tell he’s holding back a laugh.
You look past him and you see Jaemin and Jeno both looking at you and waving. You mouth ‘hi’ to both of them offering a smile and your eyes land on Haechan again who’s smiling at you like he’s up to something. He relaxes in his seat, comfortably sinking into it while spreading his legs, his knee now touching yours and you know what he’s trying to do.
You also lean back and relax in your seat, pretending to finally pay attention to whatever example is being demonstrated on the board. Your knee playfully nudges his.
“Stop manspreading.” Your eyes still on the board but your attention on him.
“I’d say sorry, but it was intentional.” He states and you hold in your exasperation as well as your laugh. Your amused expression falters when he reaches to take your hand in his and rests them on his thigh. He’s too casual for your liking and too soft for your poor heart.
When he said that you’re in for a treat he really did mean it.
He walks you home that day.
-
“What the actual fuck?” Your voice is high-pitched; eyes so wide, they resemble a cartoon’s.
“What?” He laughs at your comical expression and places the mic down on the table in the centre of the noraebang room.
“You made me go first so you could embarrass me!” You loudly accuse with your finger pointing at him.
“You weren’t bad!” He can’t help the laughter that won’t stop. You’re frowning still and you look so adorable and believably annoyed. He knows it’s all pretend though.
“You were so good though.” Your frown slowly turns into a pout. “And it was all in Japanese.” Your wide eyes looking up at him from when you’re still sat cross legged on the leather sofa seat. He feels weak. You make him feel weak.
“I took singing lessons when I was younger.” He explains with a smile. “And that’s my favourite song so I’ve had practice.” He approaches slowly and takes a seat next to you, huffing and spreading his legs slightly to get comfortable while his head rests on the back of the sofa. He’s the one looking up at you now. You look so pretty in the purple and blue hues that light up the room. He definitely made the right choice bringing you here after dinner. He wanted to keep your second date PG but the way you’re looking at him right now makes him contemplate.
“Ah right. He’s an artist.” A teasing smile takes over your face as you hold his gaze. He groans and you giggle when his hands come up to cover his face in embarrassment. He feels you shift next to him and when he looks at you through the gaps of his fingers you’ve turned your body towards him, still crossing your legs. “You have a pretty voice, Lee Haechan.”
He knows he’s blushing, but he snorts, trying to feign nonchalance. “Thanks.” his hands drop and rest on his thighs.
“Did you bring me here to show off then?” Your tone still ever so teasing.
“No, but I was hoping to impress you maybe.” He admits without realising. Your effect on him frustrates him.
“By serenading me in a language I can’t understand?” Your smile is so sweet, tooth ache inducing. So sweet it’s contagious. You move a little closer and he can smell your sweet perfume. His eyes drop to your exposed neck and then to the collarbones he’s dying to press soft kisses on. “Consider me impressed.” You say and his eyes come back up to your face. You seem to be fighting your smile now and he’s obsessed with the fact that you don’t want to give away how affected you also are by him.
“What’s your favourite song?” He asks in a low voice, sitting up a bit and extending an arm along the back of the sofa. Your eyes instantly drop there, and your hand comes up to trace a vein absentmindedly. He manages to contain the shiver that creeps up on him, but he can’t control the goosebumps raising on his skin.
“Japanese Denim by Daniel Caesar.” You respond, copying his low tone. Your eyes not leaving your fingers gingerly trailing up and down his skin. “You know it?” you look at him in question.
Haechan is thankful he does. “Myyy blueee jeaaansss.” He sings the start of the chorus playfully and you giggle, pushing his shoulder lightly.
“Okay r&b king.” You joke with a laugh. He pokes your side and you flinch with a half whine half giggle. He can’t help but smile at the sound.
“I just think his lyrics are like poetry, you know?” You shrug, explaining why you see the appeal. Your hand is now resting in his arm, no longer tracing and he enjoys the weight of it. The warmth. He wants to reach out and touch you too, but he doesn’t move. The moment feels too precious to ruin.
“They really are.” He agrees with a small nod. He likes to think that maybe he’ll be able to write lyrics like those one day, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want to talk about himself now. He’s too busy admiring you. “You’re so pretty.” He says softly and he doesn’t even register the words leaving his mouth until he gets the cutest reaction from you. You look away, smiling big and your hands come up to press against your cheeks, attempting to cover what he assumes is a blush. A soft chuckle escapes him and he reaches up with both hands to remove yours from your face. “Blush away, no need to hide.” He teases you. He finds that he’s good at it. He wonders if it’s because you generally get flustered so easily or if it’s just the effect he has on you. He hopes it’s the latter.
When your hands aren’t in the way, he taps a finger under your chin gently encouraging you to turn your head so he can look at you again. He then instinctively moves closer, craving to feel your warmth better and when your eyes find his again, his chest constricts. He sometimes doesn’t understand how it’s possible that he’s come to feel so attached to you in such a short amount of time, how he so easily gravitates towards you. But then you look at him and he understands. You speak and he understands. You laugh and he understands. You touch him and he understands. It almost feels foreign but never unwelcome. Never forced. And that scares him.
Haechan trails his fingers from your chin down to your collarbone, tracing softly and he slowly moves the fallen strands of hair behind your shoulder. He feels your gasp when he leans forward to leave a kiss on the curve of it. Then a little lower. And a little lower until his nose nuzzles against the dip of your collarbone. Another kiss. And another. This time his tongue makes contact first, tasting the skin, before his lips pucker on the sensitive surface again. Your breathing has turned shallow and he smiles at the sight of your chest moving up and down. Your fingers thread into his hair, slightly pulling and he sighs against your wet skin. You catch him off guard when your other hand pushes him by the shoulder and he’s about to apologise for crossing a line but then you quickly straddle him and his mind goes blank. This is definitely not PG.
“Someone could see us, you know.” You whisper against his lips and he almost moans. The hand in his hair pulls again and his head drops against the back of the seat pliantly, eyes closing at the feeling of your lips on his jawline. You scatter small kisses until you reach his ear and lightly bite on his lobe, his breathing quickens and the moan he’s been holding in eventually escapes at your next words. “Bet that turns you on though.” His hands instantly come up to hold onto something, anything. One grabs onto your waist, the other lands on your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. “Talk to me.” You whisper sweetly in his ear before starting to trail kisses down the column of neck. The further down you travel, the wetter they get and he feels himself getting hard, his hips slightly raising to get some friction, but you don’t budge. “Behave.” You laugh against his neck in a hot puff of air and his voice comes out in a soft whine.
“Baby,” he breathes out weakly and you coo softly against his neck while gingerly sucking on the delicate flesh. He feels you place a hand on his chest, above where his heart is beating uncontrollably and he knows you can feel it too, your thumb stroking soothingly to comfort him. “Wanna kiss you.” He pleads pathetically and he feels like he might come in his pants when you suddenly grind your hips down. His breath catches in his throat and he trails a hand up your back, between your shoulder blades, to wrap around the base of your neck, pressing you down as he thrusts up into you. He smiles stupidly when you bring up your face, unburying from his neck, to look at him with wide eyes. He thinks you might scold him but instead you just wrap a hand around his neck, pressing your fingers against his pulse points in a possessive manner and he groans. His eyes shut at the dizzying sensation and when he feels your lips press on his, he relishes. His head tilts automatically to deepen the kiss and he sighs into your mouth when your tongue finds its way in. It’s intoxicating and he swears he feels high. Your hand around his neck definitely playing a part but it’s mostly your taste and the way you kiss him exactly how he likes to be kissed. Wet and filthy but still slow, sucking on his tongue to tease him. He feels his heartbeat going wild without permission when you grind down again, just the right way, the perfect amount of pressure to drive him insane.
His hands trail down to messily bunch up the fabric of your corduroy skirt so he can squeeze the flesh of your ass in his palms, fingers digging into the skin. He’s not gentle with you this time but your moans against his lips encourage him not to hold back.
You’re now grinding down with determined force and he moans into your mouth when his fully hard dick slots between your pussy lips, the only thing separating you, his layers and your underwear. He matches your pace, hips coming up when yours drop down and he realises that you’re no longer teasing him. “Think you can cum like this?” You ask against his lips, the scratch in your voice driving him insane, breathing ragged, hips quickening their eager ministrations. He nods, staring into your eyes. “You want to?” You ask again, keeping your eyes on his as your arms wrap around his shoulders to gain more support and he responds with another nod and a shaky breath. His head dips forward, eyes dropping down to where you’re connected and his hand pushes your skirt up even further, to get a better look. He groans at the sight. Your panties almost trapped between your folds, your pussy leaving a trail of wetness on the front of his jeans whenever you drag your body back and he feels himself twitch in his pants. It’s sinful. It’s perfect. You're perfect.
“Fuck, hang on.” He whispers suddenly, arm wrapping around your middle to halt your movements and he quickly unbuttons his jeans with one hand. His hips raise a little bit as he clumsily pushes the fabric down, leaving his boxers still on. “Okay.” He exhales and his hands find your hips again, guiding you to resume your work. The friction so much better now that he can properly feel your wetness seeping through the cotton and he loves that he can see the way his fat cock drags between your lace clad pussy lips.
Your whining doesn’t go unnoticed, and he looks up at your face only to find you also looking down dazedly. He relishes in the idea that you can get as dirty as he can and he takes in the sight of you now; lips parted, gasping audibly, your nipples hard and visible through your thin blouse and he’s suspecting that you’ve foregone wearing a bra.
His hands drag upwards, leaving your hips, trusting you to keep grinding down with no guidance and when he squeezes the flesh of your breasts through the fabric, his suspicions are confirmed. You moan when his thumbs rub on your already sensitive nipples, leaning into his touch and he repeats the action, enjoying the desperate little sounds you let out.
“I’m close.” He announces in a gasp, his balls feel heavy and he knows he’s leaking precum, adding to the wet patch you’ve created on the front of his boxers.
“Yeah?” Your eyes search his, hands cupping his face and kissing him again, soft this time. “You gonna cum for me, pretty boy?” He feels his eyes roll back at your words and all he can do is nod again. He anchors himself by squeezing your ass in his hands again and he loves the whimpers you let out when his hands get a little rougher, making the flesh ripple. He decides to take matters into his own hands when he feels your thighs shaking around his hips, suspecting the soreness in your muscles and his hold on you gives you no option but to quicken the pace
“Fuck, you feel so fuckin good, baby, please don’t stop.” He exasperatedly begs, his breath shaky and he feels like he’s losing it. Pathetic.
“Yes, god, m’cumming.” His voice comes out ruined, words muffled against your lips, vision blurring and his jaw drops when he reaches his peak, soaking his boxers like a teenage boy. Your hands slide into his hair when he starts shaking and he basks in the comforting touch. His head drops back on the seat again and he feels dizzy, your hips are still moving, dragging out his high and when it gets too much, he gently taps his fingers on your ass cheek, smiling dumbly. “Mmh, just give me a second.” He sighs as you take a seat, directly on his cock, softly cooing at him and kissing his cheek as you push his fringe back, revealing his damp forehead and he purrs at the gentleness.
“Good?” You ask sweetly and he almost scoffs, because there’s no way you don’t know you’ve just ruined him when he’s pathetically drenched his underwear like a horny teenage boy.
“Intense.” He hums and he feels himself shiver when you let out a breathy laugh against his skin, nuzzling into his temple. He slowly turns his head and catches your lips in a slow kiss. “Wanna make you feel good too.” He murmurs in the kiss and when he notices the conflicted expression on your face, he doubles down. “I’ll be quick.”
“Confident?” You tease with a smile that he can’t help but return. Your teeth sink on your bottom lip when he cups your pussy and he moans at the feeling of soaked lace.
“Not like I haven’t done it before.” He teases back and he laughs when you swat at his chest. “Please?” He tries again, tone needy this time and he uses his puppy eyes, smiling when he breaks through your resolve. The second you nod, he wraps an arm around you securely and his other hand grabs at the fleshy bit where your ass meets your thigh. “Lie down for me.” He whispers and helps maneuver you onto your back swiftly.
He can’t help but smirk when your legs instinctively part for him to slot in between, and he does exactly that, coming to position himself above you, supporting his weight on one arm by the side of your head. His lips find yours again, in a hungry kiss and this time it’s his tongue that dominates yours, sliding into your mouth, tasting you just like you did to him earlier. He loves the sigh you let out through your nose when his hand slips into your underwear slowly, sliding his middle finger between your folds but what he loves the most is how wet you are.
“Can I use my mouth?” He questions mid kiss and you must like the sound of that, because he feels you grind against his palm.
“You can do anything you want, just no sex.” You say shyly. “Not here.”
“Told you, baby,” He gives your lips another peck before kissing down your neck, giving your tit a tentative squeeze as he moves downwards. “Wanna do that in my bed first.” Your moan at the promise brings a smile to his face as his hands slip into the top of your panties and drag them down your legs hastily, feeling the goosebumps on your skin. He stuffs the flimsy material into his back pocket, earning a questioning look from you and he grins. “Don’t worry, you’ll get them back.” He starts kissing from the inside of your knee to your inner thigh, wet and full of tongue.
“Stop teasing.” You whine, raising your hips impatiently when he reaches closer to where you want him. And he chuckles against your folds, watching as your legs spread even more for him.
His head rests on your inner thigh, comfortably and he looks up at your face, gauging your reaction. “What do you say?”
“Please.” You whisper and he feels his dick harden again at your submissive tone.
“Good girl.” He mutters and his hands slide up your inner thighs, thumbs pulling your pussy lips apart, revealing your cute swollen nub, all pretty and in need of attention. He can see you’re clenching around nothing, clear pearls of slick dripping from the tiny hole that he can’t wait to lap up.
You’re more than wet enough but Haechan doesn’t think twice before letting a fat glob of spit slowly drip from his mouth and he feels his dick twitch at the sight. You moan when you feel the extra wetness land on your cunt and he does it again, watching his spit drip down to your asshole, making a mess of you. Nothing but sensual. “Yeah? You like it messy?” He breathes out in admiration and he doesn’t even need an answer, he knows you do.
His hand comes up again, fingers spreading the mixed wetness through your folds. His middle and ring fingers create a v shape around your clit, isolating the nub between them and the tip of his tongue comes out to make contact, flicking gently up and down. You both moan in unison, your hands burying in his hair to keep him where you need him and he loves how ruined you already sound, how your legs part completely, how addictive you taste on his tongue. And he loves that he can’t get enough of you.
“Mmh, fuck.” You moan when his arm wraps around your thigh, bringing his hand to separate your folds from the top, palm pressing against your pubic bone, fingers delicately pulling the hood of your clit up, revealing more of the little nub. His flat tongue licks from your hole to your clit and he repeats the action when he feels your fingers pull at his hair harder. The pink muscle then settles back to delivering quick flicks on your nub, the direct contact making you squeal and he smiles at the adorable sound. “Yes, like that.” You encourage him, the praise making his chest swell with pride. His other hand joins and his middle finger teases your leaking entrance, circling before slowly sliding in until it’s fully buried inside, your soaked walls making the glide so easy, that he’s certain one digit won’t be enough.
When his jaw gets tired, he switches to sucking harshly on your clit, making you groan and he slowly starts to move his finger in and out, curling up slightly, following the curve of your pussy. He knows you want more, your hole dripping even more slick around his finger, so he slows down as he adds a second one. You sigh when you feel the extra stretch and he knows he’s got you where he wants you when you start clenching.
“Fuck, baby, you’re creaming.” He points out in disbelief when he sees the white substance coating his digits every time they pull out of you and you whine in embarrassment. “I swear to god, I’m gonna fuck you stupid one day.” He promises against your cunt and goes back to sucking, more determined this time. His fingers start pumping quicker into you, the squelching sounds nothing but melodic in his ears and your tight walls nothing but heaven around his fingers. Your whines get louder when his speed increases and he knows he’s hitting your sweet spot every time he thrusts in, the pads of his fingers dragging against your walls. “Right there, hm?” His pace quickens even more and he looks up when he feels your eyes on him. You’re on your elbows now, jaw agape, eyes on his lips, watching him ruin you and his tongue comes out to flick quickly from side to side, his head moving with it, making a spectacle without breaking eye contact.
“I’m gonna cum.” You warn in a whisper, burying a hand in his hair again and your elbows give out, allowing your body to drop back down. He hums against your cunt, letting you know he’s got you and he feels your legs trembling around his head. “Fuck, yes yes yes.” Your voice sounds broken, your walls are kneading his fingers and he has to put extra effort into sliding in and out due to the restricting tightness.
He doesn’t stop though, even when he knows you’re coming down from your high, he keeps pushing your boundaries. He wants more. “Haechan!” You squeal when he suckles on your clit again and he laughs darkly at the cute sound. Your hand tries to push him away, legs attempting to close around his head but he’s not quite done yet, his hold around your thigh tight enough to keep you open for him.
He pulls his fingers out slowly and you whine. “Sorry, pretty.” He whispers mockingly against your clit before dipping down to lick at your pulsing entrance, smiling at the mewl you let out. He licks from bottom to top again, gently flicking at your clit when he comes up and he knows it’s too much when your body convulses and you sound like you’re crying. You’re not pushing him away though, which gives him hope. He opts to circling instead of flicking, tongue relaxed now; languid and he feels your legs spread again. “Yeah? Want more gentle?” He coos as his eyes look up and he can see your perky tits moving up and down with your breathing. He trails a hand up your body, squeezing greedily around the flesh and he moans at the feeling of your stiff nipple against his palm.
“I’m too sensitive.” You sigh and bring a hand above his, squeezing around your own tit with him as you raise on your elbows again.
“You can give me one more, though, right?” His eyes staring into yours, hopeful.
“I think so.” You nod tiredly, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the overstimulation, breathing coming out harsh. “I’m still turned on.” You admit shyly, biting down on your bottom lip as you push his fringe away from his damp forehead.
“Such a good girl.” He says dreamily and his tongue gently circles your clit again, wet hand pressing against the back of your thigh to keep you spread out for him.
Only after you come again on his tongue, does he stop, moving to kiss on your inner thigh, sucking on the supple skin there, leaving a wet patch behind along with a subtle mark. He leans over you again, taking in the sight under him. Your breathing slowing down as you look up at him, your hair fanned around you and your eyes blinking slowly. You look beautifully and utterly fucked out and so angelic. His heart swells when you reach up, pulling him close to you and he gives in right away, dropping down, resting his weight on you carefully. He kisses you slowly, pushing his tongue past your parted lips, moaning with you, knowing you can taste yourself.
“You’re hard again.” You whisper against his lips and he laughs, because of course he is.
“You are not making me cum in my pants again.” He scolds and kisses softly on your cheek as you snort a laugh, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close.
“Okay, I won’t.” You say with a smile, leaning in to kiss him again. He lets you.
—
“Do you guys have any, like, weird fetishes?” Jaemin asks randomly, interrupting your conversation with Ningning and almost causing you to choke on a fry.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” Haechan pipes up next to you, genuine concern laced in his tone, his hand stroking your back whilst you cough.
“Yeah, changing the subject from ‘I’m broke’, to that, is slightly worrying to say the least.” Ningning agrees but that doesn’t stop her from laughing. “Look, even Jeno is speechless.” She points at Jeno’s shocked expression and he snaps out of it, taking a sip from his coffee.
“I was just curious.” Jaemin shrugs as he explains. “I’ve been texting this girl and the other night it turned into sexting and she asked me if I’d be down to piss on her?”
“Oh wow,” Ningning is suddenly interested. “What did you say?” She asks and he eyes widen as she awaits his response. All eyes around the table are on Jaemin now and he’s clearly thrown off, struggling to find the right words.
“Wellllll-“
“Oh my god!” Renjun exclaims and covers his mouth with both hands. “Please tell me you didn’t actually do it.”
“No, of course not.” Jaemin defends himself quickly. “I haven’t even slept with her.” He steals a fry from your plate. “Yet.” He concludes with a smug smile.
“Okay, but, let’s say you do sleep with her and she asks you to piss on her.” Haechan interferes. “Would you?” He asks with an amused expression and Jaemin seems to be in deep thought.
“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to it but I’m pretty sure I’d get stage fright.” Says casually and stuffs a few more fries in his mouth. “Also, I don’t think I can pee when I’m hard.”
”Yeah, I was thinking that.” Jeno says with narrowed eyes. “It’s also a bit weird if you don’t know them that well or if it’s just a one-time thing, no?” He looks around, asking everyone.
“Yeah, true.” Renjun agrees. “Not that I’ve done it before, but, surely you do those kinds of things with someone you’re in a relationship with or at least someone you’ve been seeing and agreed to experiment with.” He looks at Jaemin. “But then again, you’re a different kind of breed.” Everyone laughs at that.
“That I am my friend.” Jaemin laughs darkly and leans over to kiss Renjun on the cheek. The latter pushes him away by shoving a hand against his face with a disgusted expression and you snort at the scene.
“The question is, where did you even meet this girl?” You ask with a wiggle of your eyebrows, not because you care, but because you find it amusing when Jaemin gets flustered.
His eyes meet yours now and he seems taken aback before he puts on his cheeky grin again. “Oh, I have a better question, miss thing.” His voice laced with nothing but mischief and you’re now scared. “Would you let Haechan piss on you if he asked?” There it is.
“And I ask again.” Haechan saves you momentarily. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice is calm but there’s definitely an edge to it, a warning even. He doesn’t move from his position next to you. An arm lazily resting on the back of your chair, the warmth certainly comforting on your shoulders. You instinctively lean into him, resting a hand on his thigh and his knuckles rub against your arm soothingly. Your eyes meet Ningning’s who’s watching the whole interaction smiling and you try to contain your own smile.
“What? It’s a good question, no?” Jaemin says with a shrug and you roll your eyes.
“Jaemin, I don’t know about you, but I don’t really talk about golden showers at least until after the fifth date.” You say sarcastically and Jeno snorts trying to hold in a laugh. “And that’s besides the point. You asked if we have any fetishes so I think we should all share one.”
Jaemin smirks and points a finger at you playfully. “I knew you could match my freak.” He says, giggling like a schoolgirl and Haechan’s arm around your shoulders tightens, the act unnoticeable to everyone else but not to you. Your fingers resting on his thigh, tense slightly trying to get his attention as you turn to look at his face and you can’t help but notice the frown on his face while he’s looking at Jaemin. He’s jealous and it’s obvious and you can’t help the warm fuzzy feeling spreading in your belly. When he looks down at you, his expression softens and you feel his arm relax around you. You give him a smile, which he instantly returns. You’re definitely bringing this up later.
“Take your freak elsewhere please.” Renjun says with sass, earning a few laughs around the table.
“Ugh fine, I’ll start.” Ningning says and all eyes snap towards her. “I’m not opposed to some toe sucking. There you go. Thank you. Let’s move on.” Your laugh is loud and you wish Chenle didn’t have basketball training so he could witness this shit show.
”Alright, I like sucking on toes.” Jeno confesses and you bury your face in your hand leaning into Haechan’s shoulder to conceal your laugh. You feel him chuckle in your hair as he wraps his arm around you properly and you love the heat radiating off him so much that you wish you could stay there for the rest of the day.
“Next!” Ningning says exasperatedly, sending Jeno daggers across the table. It wasn’t even his turn but you respect his efforts. Not a lot of men have managed to get Ningning this flustered before and it actually makes you wonder if any toe sucking took place that night they supposedly only cuddled. You make a mental note that this might also be worth bringing up earlier.
It’s Renjun’s turn and he seems to be in deep thought. “I honestly can’t think of anything, I think I’m pretty vanilla.”
“Surely there’s something, it doesn’t have to be hardcore.” Haechan butts in.
“I guess choking?” Renjun’s ears have turned red now and you almost feel bad, because out of everyone around this table, he’s the one that deserves to be embarrassed the least.
“Ooooh erotic asphyxiation!” Jaemin says feigning a seductive tone. “Okay, so, I may or may not like butt stuff.”
Everyone’s eyes widen at the confession.
“As in your butt or the other person’s?” Jeno asks curiously. Jaemin only responds by wiggling his eyebrows and Jeno gasps dramatically.
“As in you’ve had a finger up y-“
“Moving on!” Jaemin exclaims loudly, interruptinh Ningning. "Your turn, lover boy." He gestures at Haechan to continue as Jeno’s mouth is still open in shock.
“Hmm.’ Haechan ponders, his fingers tapping on your shoulder absentmindedly as he thinks. For some reason, even though it’s not your turn to answer, you feel exposed, as though all your friends are watching you both, trying to gauge your reaction at his response. You try to maintain as neutral an expression as possible and you hope he says something you might have already guessed by the times you’ve been intimidate with him. “Maybe the risk of getting caught.” He finally admits and you’re definitely not shocked.
“Speak for yourself, sicko.” Renjun defends. “Some of us like total privacy.”
“Aww you really are vanilla.” Ningning pouts cutely and Renjun scoffs.
“Y/N?” Renjun says to divert the attention from him and you fear your ears might be as red as his now. Everyone is watching you, including Haechan and you’re starting to regret suggesting this in the first place.
“Just say it, no one is going to judge.” Jeno encourages and you want to bury your face in Haechan’s shoulder again.
“Maybe Haechan should try and guess.” Renjun suggests and now you feel like you've underestimated him.
“Oh yes!” Jaemin quickly agrees excitedly, clapping his hands. “Okay, how about he whispers it to you and if he gets it right, he then has to say it out loud.”
“What if he gets it wrong?” You ask and Haechan scoffs next to you.
“He seems pretty confident.” Ningning says, pointing at Haechan’s face and when you look up at him, he’s got a cocky smile plastered on his stupidly pretty face.
“Alright, Haechanie, make us proud.” Jaemin says while holding a hand to his chest and Haechan rolls his eyes at his friend.
“Okay,” He leans closer, cupping his hand around your ear to conceal his mouth from the group. “Spitting.” He whispers so that only you can hear and you feel lightheaded for a moment. When he retracts, he gently moves your hair behind your ear and when your eyes find his, he smirks. He’s got you all figured out and he knows it. Bastard. “So?” He asks patiently.
“Correct.” You say in defeat and everyone cheers a little too loudly around the table.
“So, what is it?” Jaemin asks excitedly.
“Can I?” Haechan asks, eyes still on you, ignoring his friend and you appreciate that he prioritises your comfort. You nod with a smile, giving him permission to say it out loud.
“Spitting.” He says again, out loud this time for all your friends to hear.
“That’s quite vague, no?” Jeno says. “Who’s spitting and where?”
You turn in his direction, throwing daggers at him, because there’s no way he’s trying to be a brat. “Oh, would you perhaps like a demonstration? I’ll happily spit in your cute little boba tea right now.” Your sweet tone, insincere and Haechan bursts out laughing, head thrown back, pretty neck on display but you push that thought to the back of your mind.
“Relax woman!” Jeno says with his hands raised in surrender. “No saliva in my drink please.” He takes his drink from the table and covers the top with a hand protectively.
“You can spit in mine.” Jaemin offers with hopeful eyes, holding up his drink in your direction and you groan at his crassness.
“Dude, you’re sick.” Renjun says with a shake of his head, judging his friend.
“No, I’m just versatile.” Jaemin defends with a pout. “No one’s spat in my drink before.”
“That you know of.” Haechan says with a feigned smile, voice laced with mild irritation.
“Right, well, I hate to ruin the fun, but I have class in fifteen minutes.” Ningning gets up, grabbing her bag and drink. “Bye losers.” She says with a sweet smile and starts walking towards the exit of the cafeteria.
“Wait!” Jeno’s voice is loud. “I’ll walk with you.” He gets up quickly, clumsily gathering his stuff before following after her like a puppy following his owner, without even looking back at the rest of you. You look at them walk away, already discussing something. You think they look cute together and you wonder what you and Haechan look like to other people.
“Someone’s toes are definitely getting sucked later.” Jaemin says and you can’t help but laugh at his silly joke.
Haechan turns to you with a sweet smile. “Are you done with classes for the day?” He asks quietly, leaning his body closer to you and you smile at how comfortable he already acts around you, not caring that his friends are still there.
“Mm-hmm.” You confirm with a nod, sitting up to stretch your limbs and once the stiffness is somewhat relieved, you sink back into your chair, leaning into his warmth as he wraps his arm around your shoulders again, like it belongs there. “You working this evening?”
“Nah, I only need to go in on Sunday this weekend.” He says happily as his other hand takes hold of yours, resting limply on his lap. “Wanna come over for dinner?” He asks carefully and your eyes fall on Jaemin and Renjun who are deep in conversation about what jobs Jaemin could look for to earn some extra cash. They’re paying no attention to you and Haechan.
“Dinner?” You ask with a hopeful smile and turn your head to look up at him, his pretty boba eyes already on you and he nods.
“Yeah, I could make us something, or we could get takeout.” His cheeks are now pink and you feel giddy at his flustered look. He looks so unbelievably cute and you get the urge to give him kiss, but you don’t. Not here.
“Sure, I’d like that, but-” Then you look at the two boys sat across the table again, posing a silent question.
“They’re all out tonight, don’t worry.” He reassures you quietly, reading your mind.
It’s not that you don’t like being around Haechan’s friends, they’re all lovely and have been nothing but nice to you, but you would appreciate some one-on-one time with him. It’s been exactly a week since your second date and even though you’ve seen him around campus since then, it’s always been with his or your friends around. On the other hand, you’re now realising that neither of you have been over at each other’s places and you feel the nerves as well as the excitement brewing in your stomach.
You’re aware that both you and Haechan are still navigating the nature of your relationship and even though you know that it’s too soon to tell where it’s going, you’re more than happy to see it through with him.
You’re also aware that so far, you’ve both made very clear that when you’re left alone, it’s almost impossible to keep your hands off each other. And although, the last thing you want is to keep things between you at a superficial level, you can’t help but wonder what sex with him would feel like. And although, you want things to progress naturally, you have a feeling that if you go over for dinner, you might find out.
“You sure you don’t wanna go out with them?” You ask, checking that he’s not cancelling any important plans for you.
“I can’t think of anything worse than going to a frat house filled with a bunch of people I barely know, trust me.” He says with a laugh, his thumb stroking the back of your hand gently. “Plus, I feel like I haven’t properly seen you this week.”
“Missed me?” You tease him, laughing at his reaction. His eyes roll and he tongues his cheek, trying to conceal his smile.
“Yeah, and what if I did?” He challenges, his eyes widening, his lips forming a cute pout.
“If you did,” You trail, leaning closer as you lower your voice, squeezing his hand in yours. “Then that’s great. Because the feeling might be mutual.” You reach up with your free hand to pinch one round cheek and before he has time to react, you lean in, dropping a quick kiss on the other one. “I’d love to come over.” You say with a smile and poke the tiny dimple that’s appeared where you’ve just kissed him.
“Oh great, so you guys are fucking on our couch.” Jaemin ruins yet another moment and Haechan closes his eyes trying to compose himself. A thought pops into your head and you’re already internally laughing at your own joke.
”Now, why would we do that, when your bed is available tonight?” You say with a toothy grin and you’re sure Renjun’s loud laugh makes some heads turn, Haechan mimics his reaction, head thrown, hands clapping. “Do not test me Na Jaemin, I will break you.” You point a finger at him with a serious look.
“You two make a great match, it’s actually scary.” He says in what could be described as amazement or fear, gesturing between you and Haechan.
_
You wake up confused, looking around and seeing you’re not in the familiar space of your apartment and when you inhale deeply you realise you’re safe. Haechan’s familiar scent helps you relax again and when you move to stretch your legs, you feel a comforting weight on your back, stroking slowly. You nuzzle your face into Haechan’s neck, humming in delight as he pulls the fluffy blanket, which you assume he threw over your figures whilst you were asleep, up to your chin.
“Hey, pretty.” He whispers in your ear, not wanting to startle you, his hand now in your hair, gently scratching your scalp and you purr in delight. “We fell asleep.” His tone still low, voice a little groggy, laced with sleep still.
”Mmm, what time is it?” You mumble sleepily in his neck and he shuffles around, careful not to move you from where you’re lying comfortably on him, grabbing his phone from the coffee table near the couch you’re both currently cocooned in. Your blink your eyes slowly, thankful that the only thing producing light in the living room area, is the tv screen. Shin-chan still playing on the screen from earlier but the volume is lowered. You assume you must’ve fallen asleep mid cuddling, after dinner. You remember telling him about this crime documentary you watched with Ningning a few nights ago and how you couldn’t sleep after. You also remember him saying that you should’ve called him so he could take your mind off it, and you remember wondering if he really meant that or if he was just being nice.
“It’s almost nine.” He says quietly after unlocking his phone. “We slept for like two hours.” He yawns cutely while checking any missed notifications and you can see from the corner of your eye, he quickly replies to a message from Jeno. “Seems like Jen convinced Ningning to come out.” He announces with a snort and your ears perk at that, your head slightly raising to look at him in question and he shows you the selfie he’s received from a visibly drunk Jeno, who’s got an arm wrapped around your friend’s shoulders, who’s sticking her tongue out, also visibly drunk.
“Fuck's sake.” Your head drops on his shoulder again, groaning. “She’s gonna be hungover tomorrow.” You whine and Haechan lets out a laugh, holding you tightly against him, his arm wrapping around your middle. Your hand rests on his chest and you close your eyes, allowing the cosiness to engulf you.
“It’s fine, I’m sure he’ll look after her.” He places his phone back on the coffee table and wraps his other arm around you, squeezing you like a teddy bear, with a sigh. “Bet my left nut, he’s staying at yours again tonight.” He jokes and you snort at his choice of words.
“Why the left one specifically?”
“I’m right-handed so I thought I’d keep the right one.”
“I’m sure you’ll get to keep both anyway; he’s definitely going home with her.” You agree with his point and tap your hand lightly on his chest, while resting your chin on it to look up at his pretty face. His eyes are closed now and he looks so relaxed, you can’t help but wonder if he’s enjoying the cuddling session as much as you are, but you also don’t want to assume he wants you to stay over. “I can go home, if you wanna go to bed. It’s getting late.”
His eyes open the moment he seems to have registered your words and he looks down at you. “Or you could stay?” He suggests with hopeful eyes, gauging your reaction. “I have a spare toothbrush, and you can wear something of mine.” He can definitely tell you’re contemplating. “No pressure of course, I get if you wanna be in your own bed.” His fingers comb through your hair soothingly and you close your eyes momentarily.
"Hmm." You ponder with a smile, letting your hand trail up his chest, fingers absentmindedly stroking along his jaw, feeling the scratch of the light stubble adorning his chin and he tilts his head, leaning into the touch. “I'm sure I won't miss my bed that much.”
_
After you’ve both brushed your teeth and he’s given you a comfortable big t-shirt of his to change into, you’re ready for bed and when you walk into his room, he’s already turned the main light off and left the bedside lamp on.
He’s lying comfortably under the white covers, back against the headboard while he’s lazily scrolling through his phone. You feel giddy at how soft and warm he looks. Just like a teddy bear you wouldn’t be able to sleep without.
You place your clothes on his desk chair and walk over to the side he’s not occupying, noticing your own phone is placed on the bedside table next to him, plugged in and screen down. You smile at the thoughtful gesture and slowly lift the duvet to get under, instinctively shuffling closer to his side of the bed when he stretches his arm out for you and you place your head on his chest, resembling the position you were in earlier on the couch. His bedsheets are cold and you tangle a leg with his, wiggling your toes against his skin to warm them up, making him flinch and you giggle quietly. “Sorry.”
He places his phone down, next to yours and moves to get comfortable against the pillows while holding onto your shoulders, bringing you down with him. He maneuvers you so you’re both on your sides facing each other and his arm is still slotted under you, between your head and your shoulder, while yours lazily drapes over his waist. He cups your jaw, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin and when he kisses your forehead gingerly, your eyes close momentarily while your arm tightens around his middle, pulling yourself closer so your chest is touching his. It feels domestic and so comfortable, like you’ve shared a bed with him a million times before.
“You comfy?” He whispers and you nod, the tip of your nose rubbing against his in the process. You see the corners of his lips lifting into a smile that probably mirrors yours. “Are you sleepy?” He murmurs against your lips and you smirk, knowing he’s testing the waters now. His fingers are in your hair and his thigh is resting between your legs, so close to your aching centre that you’re worried he can feel you throbbing through your underwear.
“Not really.” You breathe against his lips, your hand on his back slipping under the hem of his t-shirt and you feel him shiver when you trail your fingers up, your nails lightly scratching, feeling the goosebumps on his warm skin. “You?” Your breath hitches when his thumb traces your bottom lip, dragging it down and your eyes travel to his heart shaped lips. You instantly wish they were on yours, but you want to let him go at his own pace.
“What do you think?” He asks rhetorically and you breathe out a laugh, biting down on your bottom lip when his thumb moves to stroke the apple of your cheek.
“I think,” you pause, lightly dragging your nails down his back, earning a whimper from him. “I’m not really thinking actually.” You confess as your hand travels to his front, fiddling with the strings of his shorts, your fingers catching the elastic band of his shorts and letting it snap against his lower abdomen, earning a gasp from him, which hits your eager lips.
“Dumb already?” He attempts to tease and the smile dies on his lips, jaw dropping when your hand dips into his slacks and past his underwear, to wrap firmly around him. His eyes close when your thumb rubs under the head and you relish in the fact that he’s almost fully hard. He feels velvet smooth against your palm, thick enough to make you think it will probably sting when he enters you for the first time, slightly curved upwards, length perfect for hitting that sweet spot in your walls. You feel yourself getting wet at the thought and your breathing stutters when his thigh makes contact with your pussy, your hips instantly pushing forward, chasing the stimulating feeling. “Mm fu-“
His lips are finally on yours, interrupting you and you moan against his mouth in relief, kissing him back like you were made for it. You can’t help but think of that night in the noraebang room; how these very lips completely and utterly ruined you for anyone else. How they devoured you like no one else has before and probably like no one ever will.
Without breaking the kiss, you push him gently and he rolls onto his back dragging you with him so you can straddle him. He buries his fingers into your hair, deepening the kiss, his tongue gliding against yours and you moan at the taste of him; toothpaste and something uniquely him. Your hands take hold of his, dragging them down your figure and you stop to rest them on your ass, smiling in the kiss when he instantly kneads and pulls at the plush skin. You allow him to lick into your mouth one more time, before breaking the kiss to sit up and take in his dazed expression. Eyes hooded, lips wet and swollen and so irresistible, you feel helpless. Before he can complain, you drop your hands to the hem of the shirt that he let you borrow and slowly start dragging it up your skin, until it’s off you and on the floor.
“Fuck.” He exhales heavily, the second your tits are free and his hand comes up caressing from your hip up to your ribs until he reaches the underside of your boob and he gently cups, feeling the weight of it in his hand. “You’re fucking unreal.” He whispers and licks his lips before sitting up and wrapping his other arm securely around your waist.
His forehead rests against your chest for a moment, inhaling deeply, almost as if he needs a minute to compose himself while still squeezing your boob in his hand and you let him, threading your fingers through his hair to offer some comfort. His warm breath caresses your nipple and your shiver, the skin around the nub pebbling against his palm. You whine at the sensitivity, pulling at his hair to guide him closer to where you want him.
He gets the message and he kisses across your sternum, his tongue coming out to make contact with your skin before it circles around your areola slowly, teasing you. The pads of his fingers digging into the skin of your boob, squeezing as he sucks the nipple into his mouth and he moans when you whine. He starts flicking his tongue, driving you close to insanity and the wetness in your underwear feels almost unbearable now, but you have other priorities.
“Hae?” You call out into his hair as he’s still sucking and licking and he hums, indicating that he’s listening, as he scatters more kisses across your chest, moving to wrap his lips around your other nipple. “I wanna suck you off.” You say quickly, before allowing the shyness to infiltrate your brain and he instantly releases the nub, with a wet pop, so he can look up at your face with wide eyes. His mouth is ajar and his lips swollen and wet with his spit. He looks fucked out like this, hair messy and you love it, because you’re the sole reason. You cup his face and he absentmindedly squeezes both your tits in his hands, pushing them together, his eyes not leaving yours.
“Yeah, baby?” He leans up and kisses you softly. “Wanna make me feel good?” He mumbles seductively against your mouth, and you don’t even think before quickly nodding.
“Mm please.” You say in a whiny voice, playing along with him, as you pull at the fabric of his top and his hands move to pull at the collar, swiftly removing it. Your hands drag down his naked chest, pushing him to lie against the headboard, continuing their journey down his body, until they reach his shorts. You don’t waste any time, pulling his boxers along with them and he spreads his legs when he’s completely naked, for you to kneel in between them. His hand wraps around his hard cock, resting on his tummy and he whimpers at the needed friction while his eyes are on yours.
“Tongue out, keep your eyes on me.” He says softly and you clench around nothing, your panties a mess by now, you have to refrain from cringing at the feeling. You instantly obey, leaning closer and sticking your tongue out, millimetres away from where he wants it. He gently taps the head against the centre of your awaiting wet muscle and you moan, fighting to keep your eyes on his, the act feeling intensely intimate. “Suck, baby.” He says, his voice still gentle but more authoritative than before. You wrap your lips around the head and suck softly, tasting his precum and you can’t help but let your eyes close at the taste and weight of him in your mouth. You pull back slightly, swirling your tongue around him and flicking at the underside, causing him to grunt. “Fuck, pretty girl, you’re so good to me, aren’t you.” He says, with a shaky voice in his state of vulnerability, and you moan at the praise as you slap his hand away, replacing it with your own, wrapping your smaller fingers around his thick length and he lets you. You start to move your hand up and down, pumping him at a quick pace while sucking around the tip again, tongue dipping gently in his slit and when his hips buck up, wanting you to take him deeper, you place a hand on his hip as a warning and he grunts. "Fuck baby, please."
You gather a good amount of saliva in your mouth and when you look up to make sure he's watching you, you let it drip down slowly, watching as it coats his cock and travels down to his balls. You smile when his eyes roll back and you lick from base to top teasingly, surprising him when you take him as deep as you can, with your hand wrapped tightly around the base.
You moan when he reaches the back of your throat, swallowing around him with purpose and you pull back up when you start to gag. Your hand follows your mouth as you slowly start to move your head up and down, trying to give him as much pleasure as you can and you know you're doing a good job when his hands curl in your hair, gathering the strands into a messy ponytail and his moans turn into whines. This time, when his hips start moving, you allow him to fuck up into you, having gotten used to the feeling of him in your throat.
You slacken your jaw, moving your hand from the base to his thigh, and he moans louder when you allow him to go deeper than before. You feel your eyes water and you know you're slobbering around him, making a complete mess as saliva drips from the corners of your mouth, gathering at the base of his cock and balls. Your hand comes up to cup them, rolling gently and he abruptly pulls your mouth off him with a loud groan.
You look at the thick string of spit mixed with precum that’s connecting your lips to his tip, as you gasp for air and then your teary eyes travel up to meet his wild ones. He looks conflicted and his grip on your hair feels tight. "What's wrong?" You ask, your voice comes out hoarse and you feel like coughing to clear your throat, but you just swallow carefully.
He manages to laugh breathlessly at your confused expression, his breathing shallow and his lips bright pink from all the biting. "I was about to cum." He explains and grabs you by the arms to pull you up.
"Ain't that the point?" You say as you straddle him again and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, some of the drool smearing on your chin and you internally cringe at the wetness, but his eyes on your mouth tell you he thinks otherwise.
"Not if you want me to fuck you, no." Your heart jumps at his words and the look on your face must betray you, because he’s smirking. "Unless you don't." He teases, caressing your thighs as you place both hands on his naked chest, your pinky rubbing against his nipple and you giggle when he shudders.
"No, I do." You confess as you lean down to kiss him but he quickly sits up, meeting you halfway as he wraps his arms around you, maneuvering you onto your back swiftly and you feel yourself bounce on the mattress when he plops you down. He kneels between your legs and without warning, he starts pulling your panties off you. You eagerly raise your hips to help him, bringing your bent legs together, so the fabric doesn't stretch.
Once the lace is somewhere on the floor, you see his lips curling into a smile as he bites on the bottom one when you mindlessly spread your legs for him again, inviting him to settle between them. He moves closer, dragging his knees on the mattress as his hands take purchase on your hips.
"Scoot up a bit for me?" He asks sweetly and he helps you move up the bed, so your head rests comfortably on the fluffy pillows, and you feel the butterflies in your stomach causing havoc with no permission, your heart thudding like crazy as your eyes find his and fuck holding back now. You just want him to ruin you.
You pull at his silver chain, your other hand grabbing the back of his neck and he grunts the second your lips crash, all tongue and teeth with no coordination. You tilt your head to the side to get better access and the wet sound of kissing fills the room. Your clit is throbbing and you desperately need him to do something. Anything. "Please, I'm so wet." You whine against his lips and he moans at your neediness, grinding into your centre. His cock sliding between your folds, the head bumping into your neglected clit and your hips raise searching for more friction.
He leans back on his heels and hunches over you, one hand splayed on your tummy, the other wrapping around his dick as he taps the head against your clit and your legs spread completely, giving him full access as you squeeze around your own tits, needing to hold onto something. Your eyes roll back when he starts firmly rubbing the swollen nub, flicking from side to side and you feel like you're about to combust, your back arching off the bed as you moan loudly.
You open your eyes the second the friction comes to a halt, and the complaint dies in your mouth when you're met with the sinful sight of him coating two of his fingers in spit before they disappear between your legs and into your needy hole. "Shit, baby." He says in awe when they easily slide into you and your jaw drops at the fullness, your eyes threatening to shut from the pleasure, but you refuse to stop looking at him. His arm muscles are flexing when he starts fucking you open, instantly finding that sensitive spot that drives you insane, his other hand still, possessively pressing down on your lower abdomen to hold you in place, his hair matted on his damp forehead, his eyes focused on your dripping centre, bottom lip trapped between his teeth in concentration. He looks so hot, you could come just from looking at him and when his thumb comes into the equation, rubbing merciless circles around your clit, you feel yourself getting tighter.
“You gonna cum?” He asks in a whisper, his eyes meeting yours momentarily and you nod quickly, eyebrows creasing at the intense pressure in your belly.
"Uh-huh, don’t stop." You respond in a high pitched plea and his pace quickens, creating the filthiest squelching noises around his hand and your eyes close, half in ecstasy half in embarrassment. "Oh my god." Your fingers knead your tits harder when you're on the edge and a moan from him is what topples you over. "Fuck, I'm cumming." Your pussy feels like it's on fire as your walls spasm, your clit throbs like it's about to fall off and your legs can't stop shaking. His fingers are pistoning into you so hard and fast, that it feels like it slightly hurts but it feels so good at the same time. Too good. You sense that you're on the verge of peeing and your voice comes out in a broken squeal. "Shit, ah, stop stop stop!" Your hand grabs his wrist in a desperate state and he looks up at your face with widened eyes, like he's come out of a trance. He stops his ministrations but keeps his fingers buried inside you.
"Fuck, baby, I'm sorry." The hand on your stomach, moving to your ribs, caressing gently. "Did I hurt you? You- shit, I thought you were gonna squirt for a second so I kept going, I'm really sorry." His pupils are shaking as he explains quickly, taking in your sweaty, disheveled form and you feel so exposed that you make grabby hands at him, wanting him close. He instantly moves, supporting his weight on one arm, careful not to crash you and you sigh when you feel his chest flush against yours, warm and damp.
"It didn't hurt." You assure him, cupping his cheeks in your hands and he closes his eyes, sighing in relief. "I just felt like I was gonna pee." You confess bashfully and he chuckles, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply as you run your fingers through his hair. "I've never squirted before, so I freaked out a bit." You explain quietly. "Plus, I don't wanna ruin your bed sheets before we even get to the sex part."
He snorts and raises his head to look at you again. "Pretty sure they're already ruined." He says giving you a kiss on the cheek and you move to playfully push him off you, but a gasp escapes you when you feel his fingers slightly move, reminding you they're still buried inside your sensitive walls. "Unclench a little, you're squeezing." He whispers and when he kisses you, you slowly relax your walls around his digits, allowing him to carefully pull out and you whine at the loss, making him smile in the kiss. His hand cups your sensitive core, making you mewl at the comforting warmth. "You sure you still wanna keep going? We don't have to if you're feeling sore."
"I'm fine." You wrap your legs around his waist, holding him close. “Want you.” You whisper, hands sliding up his chest, coming up to bury in his hair again, as you bring his lips down to yours, urging him to kiss you stupid. And he does.
It’s slow, steady, passionate and you feel like mush in his arms, numb to the core, your lips moving in sync with his, taking what he’s giving you. You inhale and exhale heavily through your nose, refusing to break the kiss and you moan when he obscenely shoves his tongue into your mouth, licking messily and the conversation from earlier enters your mind suddenly. “Mm- I want mmf-” He interrupts you with another messy kiss before pulling away, allowing you to speak.
“You want what?” He asks quietly, lips still grazing yours as he catches his breath. Your eyes are on his glistening mouth, and he must sense your hesitation, because he presses again, hand caressing up and down your thigh in encouragement. “Tell me, baby, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Remember what we talked about earlier?” You try, too embarrassed to actually say the words.
“Earlier?” His eyebrows furrow in thought, not catching on straight away.
“At the café.” You whisper, your eyes drop to his mouth again, slightly hinting and when they find his again, you know he’s caught on.
“You- fuck.” He falters when your hips raise, the tip of his cock catching at your entrance momentarily before sliding between your folds. “You want me to spit in your mouth?” He asks carefully, after having somewhat collected himself, both arms coming up, trapping your head between them as he rests his weight on them. You nod, holding eye contact, hands traveling down his abdomen, fingers tracing his sides before trailing up his spine, bracing once having reached his shoulders, palms resting on the blades. “You fucking minx.” His hand cups your chin, fingers lightly squishing your cheeks, forcing your lips to pucker as he leans in to press a chaste kiss on them.
His index taps against your cheek gently, as his hold on your face loosens. “Open up.” He instructs, his voice low, eyes darkening and you feel your cunt fluttering around nothing. “Tongue out.” His fingers lightly shake your face from side to side possessively and your brain stops functioning, tongue sticking out as if on demand and you whine when you watch him gather saliva in his mouth, cheeks hollowing a little, before slowly letting it dribble down your awaiting muscle. Your eyes rolls back when you feel it and your fingernails instinctively dig into his shoulders. “Swallow.” He instructs again, and you obey with a desperate moan, revelling in his dominant demeanour. His hand wraps around your throat, feeling the movement and he kisses you again, grunting against your lips, as you struggle to keep up with him, mouth widening to take his tongue in and you feel the wetness smearing on your chin messily.
You realise no one has ever kissed you like Haechan, and you wonder if he’s always kissing his sexual partners like this. Has anyone else experienced this level of intimacy with him before? You instantly feel the jealousy brewing at the thought of someone receiving this kind of affection; this kind of pleasure from him and you surprise yourself, never having felt this possessive over someone before. Something switches in you.
“Fuck me.” You breathlessly mumble, not recognising your own voice and he moans in your mouth as your hand reaches down, wrapping around his cock, smearing the shiny drops of precum adorning his tip. His hips thrust forward into your touch and you pump him steadily a couple more times, offering some sort of relief.
He pulls away slightly, to look at you. “Let me grab a condom.” He says quickly before grabbing your ankles, unwrapping them from his waist.
“Right, yes.” You nod dumbly, feeling a little silly for having lost all sensibility because of him.
You watch him as he reaches blindly in the bedside table drawer; his eyebrows furrowing in concentration and his face lights up the second he finds one. You watch him as he sits back on his heels, ripping the foil with his teeth. You watch him as he rolls the latex carefully onto his hard cock, teeth sinking in his bottom lip as he pumps himself a few times, ensuring the condom is on properly, chest moving as he breathes heavily. You watch him as he moves closer, coating two fingers in saliva, before bringing them down to your slit again, rubbing up and down slowly before dipping them in and quickly pumping into you to prep you, even if you really don’t need it. You let him though, because you want to keep watching him for a little longer.
He looks ethereal, skin glistening in a sheen layer of sweat, his shoulders wide, his chest and arm muscles lean, bicep flexing subtly as he expertly slides his fingers in and out, scissoring them to stretch you for him. He looks like the epitome of sex and you can’t even bring yourself to moan as his palm rubs against your sensitive clit, your jaw dropping with a quiet, trembling breath when he starts jabbing at your already abused g-spot and your hands release the sheets in favour of holding your legs open, when they threaten to close.
“Think I’m gonna cum again.” You mumble in awe, eyes staying on him still.
“You think?” He asks, voice laced with sarcasm, pace quickening, urging you to unravel around his fingers for the second time tonight. “Go on, baby.” His free hand, presses against the back of your thigh, pushing your leg close to your chest, testing your flexibility and the second his eyes meet yours, you cum. Hard. “Yeah, good girl.” He praises softly and you let out a whine, allowing your eyes to finally shut, not being able to handle his intense stare, your back arching as your fingers dig into the backs of your thighs, legs uncontrollably shaking, walls clenching repeatedly around his hand, clit pulsing against the heel of his palm as he helps you ride out your orgasm.
He starts kissing up your trembling body, lips wet, tongue lapping up your sweaty skin and he doesn’t even give you the chance to catch your breath when he harshly sucks your nipple in his warm mouth as his fingers leave your heat to wrap around his hard cock, rubbing the head up and down your soaked cunt. Your hands come up to grab onto his hair, as you attempt to anchor yourself and you can’t help but moan loudly when he pushes in. And even though it’s only the tip, it’s enough to drive you close to insanity.
“Fuck!” You exclaim, forcing his head up so you can kiss him as he slowly bottoms out, distracting yourself from the stinging sensation.
You both moan when his pelvis meets yours, his pubic bone flush against your hypersensitive clit as he gives you a second to adjust. He slowly pulls out to the tip and thrusts back in, maintaining a slow, careful pace to make sure you’re feeling comfortable.
“Relax for me.” He exhales a shaky laugh against your lips and you squeeze even harder to tease him. “Fuck! Baby, what the f- don’t.” He warns with a grunt as he wraps an authoritative hand around your neck and draws his hips back a little, before slamming in with force, not a second later.
The loud noise that escapes your throat resembles a scream and your eyes roll back when he starts fucking into you hard and fast, wet slapping sounds echoing and you don’t even feel embarrassed at hearing how wet you are, the intense pleasure taking over your senses, completely clouding any coherent thought.
“Not so bratty now, are we?” He grunts against your jaw as the hand around your neck tightens slightly, causing your ears to start ringing and your eyes to water. He releases you just when you start feeling dizzy, allowing you to catch your breath. He lets out a dark laugh at your loud gasps and buries his hand in your hair instead, pulling at the roots, so your head lolls back on the pillows, giving him access to your neck.
“So fucking wet, fffuck, so good.” He slurs between sloppy kisses against your sensitive skin as his hips slow down, fucking you nice and deep at a lazy pace, torturing you. “You take me so well, baby.” His crude words causing you to clench around him as his tongue laps from the base of your neck, up to your ear, flicking the lobe playfully.
“Look.” He whispers, moist breath tickling your ear as the hand fisting you hair, forces your head forward and off the pillow, making you look down between your bodies and you obediently open you eyes. You take in the unholy visual of his cock slowly dragging out to the tip, coated in your shiny slick essence, a white ring forming at the base and your eyes threaten to roll back when he so easily slides back in, at the same torturous pace. “See how perfect you are?”
Your nails drag down his back, leaving scratch marks behind and he hums against your neck when they dig into the flesh of his ass. “Faster, please.” You breathe out and he loosens his hold, allowing your head to tip back down, his eyes finding yours as he maintains the slow pace.
"You sure, baby?" His tone mocking as he sits back up on his knees, looking down at your messy cunt practically sucking him back in every time he slowly pulls out. You reel at the sight of his feral expression, his eyes unfocused as they trail up and down your naked body, like he can’t decide what to focus on. You feel exposed to the core but your arousal wins and you moan loudly, back arching when his thumb slowly circles around your clit twice, stimulating the stiff nub.
"Hae, please." You're on the verge of tears and he must like the sound of your begging, because he doesn’t hesitate this time.
He leans down again, bringing his lips to yours, thrusts increasing in pace and force significantly but never losing preciseness, giving you exactly what you want. “Yeah, you want it hard? Fuckin take it.” He grunts, kisses turning sloppy, all tongue and teeth and you can’t stop moaning, mouth hanging open against his as he relentlessly slams his hips against yours.
“Yes, oh my god.” You exhale against his mouth, as he changes the angle slightly and starts fucking directly into your g-spot, barely pulling out before thrusting back in, his balls slapping against your ass and you’re pretty sure you’ve never been fucked this good before. “Fuck, Haechan, baby, please please please, don’t stop.” You blabber, completely lost in mind-numbing bliss, your legs spreading as far as they can go, allowing him to thrust as deep as he pleases.
“Fuck, Y/N, I need you to cum.” He whispers, tone laced with urgency, almost sounding like he’s in pain and he wastes no time; a hand slotting between your bodies, resuming the stimulation on your clit, as he supports his weight on one arm, thrusts unfaltering, unforgiving and just perfect. His fingers start rubbing rough, tight circles around the nub and your toes curl against his sides, arms securely wrapping around his shoulders, as your walls squeeze around him, indicating another orgasm approaching, and when his fingers along with the head of his cock rub against the right spot, you’re gone.
Your moan comes out broken, walls clamping down on him, legs pathetically attempting to close around him but failing as your thighs shake violently and you feel dizzy, a tear rolling down your temple from the intensity of your high.
He keeps fucking you into the mattress, thrusts turning a little sloppy now that you're squeezing around him, hips losing their steady rhythm and when the pleasure borders overstimulation, causing you to mewl, he abruptly pulls out, kneeling between your legs and over your spent body. He pulls the condom off quickly with trembling fingers and he moans as he starts jerking himself off, aiming for your abdomen as his free hand curls around your ribs, holding you exactly where he wants you.
“You look so good.” You exhale in awe as you observe him in the midst of his pleasure, his eyes shut, head thrown back, his pretty neck on display as he moans loudly and his hooded eyes find yours again for a second before they roll back into his head.
“Shit, gonna cum.” He shakily announces, your praise seeming to have worked wonders, as you feel the first spurts of hot liquid landing on your skin. You take in the beautiful sight of his shaking form, chest and neck flushed, drenched in sweat, eyebrows creasing in between, eyes still shut, jaw slack as he releases short breaths.
He’s milking himself when you look down and you can’t help but ogle at the sight of your skin covered in the sticky white mess he’s created, illuminated by the bedside lamp. You notice some of it has landed on your tits, some on your tummy and you’re pretty sure some of it is pooling in the dip of your belly button, causing you to bite back a smile.
“Fuck.” He breathes in relief as his eyes slowly open to look at you and he looks dazed, fucked out. His tan skin flushed, making him look delicious. Sweat drips down his temple, hands shaking as they rest on your thighs limply. “I think I blacked out for a second there.” He mutters in awe and you giggle at his crazy eyes, while he tries to regulate his breathing.
His cheeky smile has returned, and he leans in, taking a closer look at his work. “Damn, I did a number on you.” He teases, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sinful sight. “Pretty.” He whispers and takes your limp hand in his, lips kissing gently on the back of it, eyes looking up at you innocently, like he didn’t just fuck you stupid.
When he drops your hand, he leans down with no warning and you panic at his mischievous expression, as his head disappears between your legs.
“What are you doing?” You ask in confusion and he chuckles softly.
“Shhh.” He breathes against your folds as his hands hold your legs open and the second his tongue swipes against your heat, you squirm, trying to move further up the bed, but he tightens his arms around your thighs, holding you still. “Relax, just take it.” He whispers calmly before gently sucking on your clit. His tongue slides down to lap at your entrance, slightly dipping in, tasting you directly, before flattening and licking up to the bundle of nerves, making you mewl when he swirls around it languidly. He keeps going, alternating between sucking, licking and gently circling until your legs are shaking again. Your hands release the sheets, moving to desperately hold onto his hair, fingers pulling, not knowing whether to push him away or pull him closer and his moan vibrates against your clit, pushing you over the edge once more. You cry out pathetically, not able to form any words, cumming uncontrollably on his tongue as he refuses to let up until your whole body shakes from overstimulation.
“Please, I- I can’t- can't cum again.” You stumble over your words, as he licks against your entrance, slurping up your juices, the sounds incriminating and you don’t even have the energy to push him away anymore. You just accept that if he tries to make you come again, you’ll probably pass out. To your relief, he thankfully stops once he’s cleaned you up with his tongue.
You blink up at him when you feel his weight on you, his skin feels hot on yours, his cum smearing between you, and he doesn’t seem have a care in the world. The only thing he does seem to care about is shoving his tongue in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself, kissing you like he owns you and at this point, he might as well spell out his name on your body with his cum, because he has completely and utterly destroyed you and you know you’re irrevocably ruined for anyone else.
“So good for me, baby girl.” He mutters wetly, mouth open against yours, breathing heavy. “So fucking sweet.” He whispers almost inaudibly and you cup his chin in your hand, squishing his cheeks between your fingers, pecking him on his puckered lips.
“You’re fucking insane, Lee Haechan.” You weakly chuckle as he tries to kiss you again, his whine childish as your firm hold on his face prevents him from doing so. “Get off me, before I piss myself in your bed, you freak. You’re pressing against my bladder.”
_
After having gently cleaned you up with a warm hand towel and carried you to the bathroom so you can sort yourself out, he’s got you back in his bed, safely cocooned in his arms and under the covers. His front is comfortably pressed against your back and you’re basking in the warmth and the nakedness.
“Now I’m definitely sleepy.” You mumble with a content smile and he quietly chuckles in your hair, tightening his arms around you, holding you as close as possible, sighing in delight.
“Mm same.” He mumbles sleepily against your neck. “You comfortable like this?” He checks, and you feel giddy at his attentiveness.
“Mm-hmm, more than.” You nuzzle back into him, lazily stroking your fingers up and down the arm that’s wrapped around your middle, his palm casually cupping your boob; not squeezing, just gently holding. You feel him smile as he presses a sweet kiss on your shoulder.
A few moments of comfortable silence pass, and just when you think his breathing has started to slow down, he quietly speaks again.
“Y/N?” He asks tentatively and his serious tone worries you.
“Yeah?” You attempt to turn your head to look at him, but his tight embrace holds you in place and you presume he needs to not be looking at you when he says his next words.
“I think-” He pauses, collecting his thoughts and you have a feeling you know what he’s trying to get at, so you give him time, hand still gently stroking his arm. “Are we on the same page here?”
“Well,” You sigh, feigning uncertainty and the tensing in his arm almost makes you regret dragging this. “That depends Lee Haechan.” The teasing smile evident in your voice. “What page are you on?”
mark cant stop yapping about spiderman and you cant stop kissing him. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
“You don’t understand,” he says, wide-eyed, voice already three octaves too loud, “if Peter and Miles actually team up again and then 2099 shows up, that’s like—bro, that’s like—”
You hum softly against his lips, and he still doesn’t get the hint.
“—three different timelines! And—mmph—okay, wait—wait—babe,” he mumbles as you kiss him again, “I’m trying to explain the multiverse and you’re distracting me—babe—”
You kiss him harder.
Mark Lee, your sweet, nerdy, infuriatingly kissable boyfriend, is sitting on the couch in his Spider-Man hoodie (the Miles Morales one, obviously), gesturing with one hand and completely unaware of the way you’ve climbed into his lap like a lovesick koala.
His other hand? Firm on your waist, like it always finds its home there. His thumb’s rubbing lazy circles, up, down, up, down—like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Absent-minded. Natural.
And his lips—god, his lips—so soft, so pouty, so Mark.
“But if you think about it, like, Gwen and Miles—babe, I’m serious—they represent two different—mmhm—oh my god, you’re literally ignoring me right now,” he grins, nose scrunching as you pepper kisses along his jaw.
“I’m not ignoring you,” you murmur against his skin. “I’m just… appreciating you.”
“With your mouth?”
“Mhm.”
His laugh is all breath and heat, slightly shaky now, finally trailing off from his spider-rant. “You’re insane.”
“You’re talking about spider variants while I’m kissing you.”
“I was talking about variants,” he pouts, letting his head fall back against the couch, looking at you through thick lashes. “Now my brain’s melting. I had points to make.”
You kiss his pout. Then his cheek. Then his neck.
“Baby,” he groans, squirming just a little, “I had a whole theory—”
You slide your fingers under the edge of his hoodie, grip the fabric, kiss him again and again and again.
Now he’s not talking at all.
Just breathing in soft little stutters, kissing you back with those loser-lovey eyes like you put the stars in the damn sky.
“Your lips are so distracting,” you murmur against his mouth.
“You’re the distracting one,” he huffs, arms wrapping fully around you now, pulling you close, surrendering with one last grumble: “Spider-Man can wait…”
(He still tries to finish his theory ten minutes later—with you half-asleep in his lap, lips kiss-bruised and smiling.) finally some couple stuff !! *clap* *clap*
pairing: fwb! mark lee x tutor! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 29k+
synopsis -> sex helps him focus. focus he needs for your tutoring sessions. it was a win-win for mark lee when you proposed to add a stress-relief session to the schedule. the favorite fuckboy and the girl who doesn’t believe in love equals the ultimate friends with benefits set-up. it’s the perfect dream team! but uh oh…it seems like mark has been shot by cupid’s arrow. will mark survive all of your attempts at pushing him away?
warnings -> grab the tissues! (can be used for multiple reasons) pet name unlocked: kitten, so much dialogue, they’re both yappers, mentions of: periods, reader has avoidant-attachment issues, a little toxic, a lot broken, mark is so down bad it hurts me, angst, +18, crude language, fuckboys, a party, alcohol, starts off with a lot of smut! edging!!!, mark whines and whimpers and cries, oral (m+f), he loves eating pussy, nipple-play, fingering, blow-job, sex on the desk, rough sex, soft sex, unprotected sex, reader is on the pill, sensory play, overstimulation, a fake orgasm, mentions of: period sex, masturbation (m).
an -> third installment of the loverboy series is yours! i did so much research for this holy shit (shoutout to quizlet, friends with benefits, prom-pact and ariana grandes: eternal sunshine album). i don’t know anything about advanced music theory or history please i got it all off quizlet. if it’s wrong, do not come for me! important things to note -> you do not have to read stupid cupid or flying kiss to understand this story but 1) mark is the favorite fuckboy. he’s very upfront. tells you what he wants from the beginning, never leaving you doubting his actions. 2) jeno and bunny’s story is simultaneously happening 3) jaemin and his gf, angel, are happily together. have fun reading! with love, c.
“i don’t feel it,” your voice bites through the night air, cold and detached.
“i don’t love you.” you add with absolutely no remorse, just the tired truth of someone who stopped believing in happy endings a long time ago.
mark can’t help but think back to how exactly he got here — watching you walk away with the heart you shattered into a million pieces, drowning in the silence, wondering how he ever thought he could be the one to change your mind.
ᓚᘏᗢ one month ago. april 2. wednesday.
mark bursts into the study room like he was being chased, slightly out of breath and as usual, thirty minutes late to your tutoring sessions. you didn’t even bother looking up from your notes.
“you’re late. again.” you said flatly, highlighting a passage in the textbook as if his presence didn’t affect your mood at all. it did. the wasted time makes your irritation grow sharper. it was only three days of the week and he still couldn't show up on time.
“sorry, was busy,” he said, running a hand through his mess of dark hair, lipstick stain on his neck, smelling like cheap perfume and sex.
you arched your eyebrow, “that’s the third time, mark.”
he offers an apologetic smile, dropping into the chair across from you, pulling out his notebook, “i know, i know, she just…took longer to finish.”
you slammed your highlighter down, “just because i’m your friend doesn’t mean you can completely act unprofessional,” you roll your eyes, “this is my time you’re wasting too.”
he looked at you, your signature eyeliner and maroon lips making you look sharper, meaner, ready to pounce at any minute.
a mixture of guilt and fear flickers briefly across his features before he sighed and slumped forward, “y/n, i’m sorry. really. it just helps with the stress you know? clears my head so i can focus.”
“mark,” you leaned in “is your sex life really more important than your three failing classes?,” you remind him of the reason why you were here in the first place. he doesn’t respond and the silence was answer enough. you look at him, brain already calculating ways to solve this problem, until you got to one conclusion — it’s a ridiculous idea but it would be the most effective.
“fine,” you said, tapping your pen against the table, “we can have sex,” you propose.
mark whipped his head towards you like you’ve just grown two heads, “what?!”
you shrugged like it was the most normal suggestion in the world, “i can’t have you missing another session, you need to pass these classes,” you reason. “i have a 100% success rate mark, i’m not letting you ruin that because you need to get your dick wet…so show up earlier, we add a stress relief session then start tutoring right away,” you explain like you’ve been thinking about this the whole week.
mark chuckles, an eyebrow raised. sounds like a pretty great plan to him — too great…actually.
“what’s the catch?,” he asks, eyeing you suspiciously, elbow on the table as he leaned towards you.
“no catch, i just have one rule” you smirk, pointing a finger up. he nods, urging you to go on.
“you can’t sleep with anyone else,” you say simply.
this makes him laugh.
“i don’t go exclusive, y/n.”
“please,” you scoff, “i don’t want to date you mark,” you say clearly, “i just don’t want to catch a disease.”
you were very aware of mark’s title — everyone’s favorite fuckboy, leader of the dream fraternity, co-captain of the university’s basketball team and can play guitar. everyone wants a piece of him. and almost everyone has gotten a piece of him.
“i’m clean!,” he argued, looking offended.
“yeah? for how long?,” you shot back, a teasing smirk on your face.
he exhaled, raking a hand through his hair, “fine…then i get to add a rule too.”
“that’s fair, what’s your rule?,” you ask.
“you can’t fall in love with me.” a smirk on his lips.
this makes you laugh.
“well, isn’t your lucky day, mark lee,” you say with a sly smile, “i don’t believe in love.”
he studied you for a moment, confusion flickering behind his eyes, a subtle memory from freshman year playing in his mind until the smile on his face faded into something quieter, “i’m serious, y/n,” he says with conviction.
you raise a brow, “and i’m serious too mark…the day i fall in love is the day money starts raining from the sky.”
he watches you then lets out a short laugh, “okay, just wanted to be clear,” he nods, a grin creeping in, “so…friends with benefits then?”
“exactly,” you hold your hand, “deal?”
mark laughs before accepting it, sealing the deal with a firm handshake, “deal.”
without warning, you yank him towards you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that steals his breath — it’s quick, sharp, deliberate. before he can respond, before he can even think about deepening it, you’ve already pulled away, a smirk on your lips as you start packing your things in your bag.
“this room’s only reserved for an hour and you just wasted it,” you say over your shoulder.
“my apartment. friday. 6PM. if you’re late we’re going straight to studying.” you warn him before leaving him there feeling like he just won the lottery.
it was the perfect situation for him — he’ll pass his classes and get to have sex without having to do all the extra work of chatting up a girl and trying to impress them just to get in their pants. it hasn’t even started yet and he already felt like a winner.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 4. friday.
mark knocks on your door at exactly 6:00 pm on friday evening. his backpack hung on his shoulder.
“huh…so you can arrive on time,” you tease, leaning on your apartment’s door.
“what can i say? i’m stressed and i need to be relieved,” he shrugs, a childish grin on his lips.
“alright, come on,” you grab his arm, dragging him past your living room and straight to your room.
“so…how do we do this?,” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps inside, standing in your room awkwardly, backpack still on his shoulder. he looks around, noticing your bare walls and how everything seemed to be neat and organized.
“what? sex? aren’t you supposed to be the expert?,” you quip, raising an eyebrow in amusement, snapping his attention back to you.
he rolls his eyes, “well usually, i flirt with the girl first before i get in their pants,” he reasons.
“nu-uh, we don’t have time for that,” you cut in, pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you in your red lacy bra and the tiny black pajama shorts that hung low on your waist.
mark’s eyes widen slightly, glint with amusement, unabashedly checking you out, “dang dude, you’re fucking sexy.”
“is that how you talk to every girl you’re about to have sex with?,” you chuckle.
“that’s how i talk to my friends,” he smirks, earning a snort from you.
“are you gonna take off your clothes or are you just gonna keep gawking?,” you tease, lips curled into a smirk. mark rolls his eyes, finally setting his backpack down by the edge of your bed and removing both his t-shirt and sweats with ease, leaving him in his black boxers, still standing across from you — it was your turn to check him out. he’s lean, more toned than you expected, abs on display, the outline of his cock prominent through his boxers.
“nice,” you mutter, making him raise a brow in amusement. in one smooth motion, you slide down your shorts and unhook your bra, tossing it to the side somewhere as you stood proud and tall, in your red matching panties, not shying away from his gaze.
your confidence (tits) draws him in, stepping forward, closing the distance. both his hands come up immediately, cupping your breasts, thumbs grazing smoothly over your nipples with open fascination. you hitch your breath, the sensation of his fingertips making your pussy clench around nothing.
mark almost can’t believe what’s happening right now, “this is silly,” he breathes out, a light chuckle slipping past his lips, his hands still massaging your boobs.
“my boobs?,” you ask flatly, a little offended.
“no, your boobs are great, dude,” he says quickly, “i meant this situation is silly, i’ve never had sex with a friend before,” he says, still rolling your nipples in between his fingertips.
“you can always back out, we can skip this and go straight to tutoring,” you say, giving him a chance to change his mind.
he lets out a dry chuckle, eyes flicking down between you, “y/n, you’re kidding right? my dick is hard as shit and i’m playing with your boobs…we’re not going straight to fucking tutoring.”
you grin, biting back a laugh, “i’m very aware that you’re playing with my boobs and if you don’t plan on fucking the shit out of me in the next minute, i’m putting my clothes back on,” you warn him.
he doesn’t wait for a second warning. his boxers hit the floor and you follow suit, slipping your underwear to the ground. grabbing a condom out of his wallet, he rolls it on smoothly. then, with no hesitation, he makes his way back to you, lifting you off the ground. mark was a lot stronger than you thought he was, picking you up like you were as light as a feather. your back hits your mattress with a bounce as he hovers over you, eyes dark with intent, that devilish, childish grin sitting on his lips.
then his mouth crashes onto yours in an instant, messy and hungry. the kind of kiss that’s all teeth and heat and no hesitation. you tug on his hair, eliciting a groan from him, urging him closer as your tongue meets, battling for dominance. his hands are everywhere, gripping your thighs, hips, waist like he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of your skin.
“hurry up mark, you’re on the clock,” you pant, fire curling low in your belly.
“you said fuck the shit out of you right?,” he growls against your throat, voice low, barely restrained.
“if you can,” you tease, challenging him to pick up the pace.
he was tired of the mocking. mark aligns himself against your entrance and with no warning, no gentleness, he slams into you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs — the stretch was delicious, filled with pain from the lack of foreplay, groans bouncing off of each other’s mouths, “fuuck y/n, you feel insane” he grunts as he thrusts with a rhythm that makes the bed squeak.
you wrapped your legs around him, forcing him in even deeper, harder, pussy sucking him perfectly as you calculatingly start clenching impossibly tight for him, “h-holy shit,” he groans, sweat dripping from his temple, “-quit doing that,” mark warns but doesn’t relent his unforgiving pace, chasing the edge like he’s starving for it.
all the while, you just wanted him to get there – the faster he finishes, the faster you can start tutoring. your hands wander throughout his body, leaving goosebumps all throughout his skin until they land on his nipples, you rub him until he was whining and groaning against your mouth, “fuck-mm close,” he manages to say in between his heavy pants, “me too,” you lie.
the pleasure in your stomach was building but you weren’t at all close to the finish line.
“yeah?,” he hisses, thrusts getting messier and messier as he fights back the urge to cum, waiting for you. his lips latch on to your neck, licking and kissing.
you decide to end his torment, “i’m cumming,” you announce, exaggeratedly, forcing yourself to clench around him as much as you can, watching him topple over. he grunts beside your ear, his release finally taking over as he spills into the condom.
“oooh, yeahh,” you moan, faking your orgasm as you push him off of you and into the bed beside you.
mark barely has a moment to catch his breath, chest still heaving from his orgasm, when he turns sharply toward you, narrowing his eyes, “wait…did you just fake it?,” he asks, feeling betrayed.
“uhh, no,” you mutter out, focusing on the ceiling, pretending to catch your breath.
mark shuffles beside you, clearly unconvinced, “that’s not how girls cum, y/n”
“that’s how i cum!,” you argue and mark shakes his head. he wasn’t stupid. he’s been with enough ladies to know that that was a fake orgasm.
he shakes his head, frowning, “no way, i feel like i just used you,” he says, the words leave a sour taste in his mouth — mark never leaves a lady unsatisfied, which is the reason why he kept on showing up late to the past three tutoring sessions. it doesn’t matter how long it takes, he’s not leaving the bed until they are done…until you are done. it’s a point of pride. call it ego or decency but either way, he doesn’t half-ass pleasure. how else do you think he got the title of the favorite?
“it’s fine mark, we need to start our session,” you say, sitting up. but before you could get further, mark tugs you back into the pillows.
your eyes widen in slight shock, “what are you doing?”
“pretty sure friends with benefits means were both benefiting,” he smirks, “i’m not moving on until you cum,” eyes glittering with playful determination, earning an eye roll from you.
“we don’t have time for this,” you scoff, trying to push him away. but he was a lot stronger than you, grabbing your hands and pinning you down the mattress.
“give me ten minutes,” he says, voice low. you look at him amused, “you think you can make me cum in ten minutes?,” you mock, an eyebrow going up.
“just shut up and reap the benefit,” he bites back as he starts trailing kisses down your neck, leaving no room for arguments.
“no hickeys, mark,” you warn him. he ignores you but doesn’t leave a mark anyways, lips trailing lower and lower, stopping for a moment to suck on your nipples, your back arching towards him. he takes a mental note of the way your body immediately responds every time he gets near your breasts.
that familiar pleasure starts to pool in your core again, unmistakable and creeping in fast. and when your hands go lax in his grip, he knew he won this time. he looks up at you with an amused glint in his eyes, hands slowly letting go of your wrists as he let them roam all over your body, mouth still worshipping your breasts, watching your every reaction, taking note of your satisfied little hums, the softs gasps and the way your lips part unconsciously.
he travels lower and lower, tongue leaving a warm, wet path behind. then, he pauses “hmm, what’s this?,” his fingers ghost over the tiny artwork placed on the right side of your hip, just above your underwear line.
“a cat.”
“cute,” he says with a grin, kissing over your tattoo, “why a cat?”
“i don’t know, i was drunk,” you were growing impatient, the frustration was getting to you. you’re pretty sure he’s already used up half of his ten minutes. now’s not the time for small talk.
“hurry up, mark,” you say, taking matters into your own hands and pushing his head lower – exactly where you needed him.
mark chuckles, the warmth of his breath making your thighs twitch, “feisty,” he teases, “the cat is fitting.” you’re ready to fire back with a smart remark but the words get caught in your throat when he slowly licks a strip between your folds.
“mmm, you taste so fucking sweet,” he praises, kitten-licking in between your folds before finally dragging his tongue up to your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud. a moan slips from your lips, all thoughts of tutoring and snarky comebacks dissolve, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his tongue lapping against you.
you haven’t been eaten out in so long, your last and only boyfriend absolutely hated going down on you and the other one night stands you had never seemed like they knew what they were doing – always leaving you to finish what they started.
mark settles comfortably between your thighs, his eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss as he continues sucking, licking, spitting, completely consumed with the kind of hunger that makes it feel like he’s the one being pleasured. your hips instinctively move, grinding against his face as you tried to reach the high that was slowly but surely building inside you, “fuckk mark, f-feels so good,” you whine against his touch.
you feel him smirk against your clit before he slides two fingers in, following the curve of your pussy, learning the way your body molds. his mouth doesn’t stop, still locked onto your sensitive bud, sucking with relentless precision. and as soon as he found that spot, you can't help but shut your eyes in pleasure.
“oh goddd, mark,” you cry out, your body arching off the bed, head flat against your sheets as your fingers made it’s way to his hair, lightly tugging, making sure he stays exactly where he is. he lifts your legs over his shoulders, adjusting his angle, pushing his fingers in deeper as his mouth continues its worship. he eats you out like a man starved, the noises of your juices squelching filling up the room and it felt so, so good.
you can feel the heat rising through your body. mixtures of ragged pants and high-pitched moans tumbling out of your lips helplessly as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside you. then his free hand slides up to your torso, pinching your nipple just enough to tip you over the edge, completely at his mercy, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, im cumming, im cumming,” you gasp, repeating it like a prayer, fingers digging into the sheets until you’re knuckles were white, trying to ground yourself on something. your orgasm completely washes over you, body trembling as you were left gasping for air, jaw slacked, eyes rolled back, toes curled.
mark doesn’t let up, drawing out every aftershock until you’re twitching, overstimulated. you push his head away and only then does he pull back – grinning, breathless, face decorated with your slick.
“now that’s how girl’s cum,” he says proudly, licking his fingers clean, looking smug as hell.
you roll your eyes, trying to snap out of the haze, “you said ten minutes, that was definitely longer.”
“whatever kitten, we still have twenty minutes left of the tutoring session,” he smirks.
“kitten?,” you repeat, confused.
“it’s fitting right?,” he shrugs. you shake your head, reaching for your clothes with a playful scoff, ignoring the way your legs still feel like jelly. twenty minutes was not enough time but you grabbed the flashcards you had meticulously prepared earlier anyway.
“fine…time for music theory,” you say as mark groans dramatically beside you.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 6. sunday.
mark: wyd? come to the dream fraternity party
kitten: can’t. busy.
mark: but i need to relieve stress…
kitten: mark, it’s only been two days.
mark: yeah two days too long 😩
kitten: we’re literally seeing each other tomorrow
mark: why are you blue balling me? 🤕💔
kitten: im not. you can still use your hand! 🤗
mark: it doesn’t feel as good ☹️ not warm enough ☹️
kitten: go heat up a sock and figure it out 🫶
mark: are you sure that rule of yours is final? a really hot girl just walked in and my dick is pointing towards her direction 👀🍆🥵
kitten: go ahead 🙂↕️
mark: bro, really???
kitten: yep! but don’t expect to get your dick anywhere near me tomorrow 🙂↕️🙂↕️
mark: nvm 😑
kitten: see you tomorrow 😇
mark begrudgingly walks up the stairs, ignoring all the girls who were glancing his way. he can’t risk it, the deal had just started and it was too fun to spoil — settling into his sheets, he pumped himself up and down until he was spilling into his hand.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 7. monday.
when mark walked into your apartment, he was ready to pounce, eyes already scanning you like you were his favorite dessert. but he stopped short, confusion flickering across his face – you were wearing layers upon layers, “uhmm, you do know it’s spring right?,” he says.
“i know,” you say, a playful smile on your lips as you lead him towards your bedroom.
“so what’s with all the extra layers?,” he trails behind you, suspicious.
“we’re gonna play a game,” you say simply.
“noo, y/n, the deal was i get here, we have mind blowing sex, then we study,” he groans.
“yeah, well that didn’t work out last time,” you point out, remembering the fact that it took the two of you almost the entire session just to finish, “so i decided, we’re gonna mix the two together,” you finish, a sly smile on your lips.
“what’s the game?,” he narrows his eyes, though he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in him.
“for every question you get right, i take off a piece of clothing,” you say, explaining the rules, “and for every question you get wrong, you remove one of yours.”
he perks up immediately, spark dancing in his eyes. mark loves a good game. loves it even more when he wins — he sits at the edge of your bed, already looking far too cocky for someone who’s about to get mentally grilled. you sat on your computer chair across from him, flashcards in hand and fully clothed.
“alright, i’ll start off easy,” you begin, flipping through the flashcards you barely used during the last session, “what’s a major key with 6 flats?”
he laughs, “please, a G flat.”
“correct,” you nod, peeling off the scarf around your neck and dropping it to the floor. mark smirks. if all of your questions were this easy, you were going to be naked in no time.
“next, what do you do to write an aeolian scale?.”
“you use the natural minor of the note given,” he says with ease, relaxed and confident.
“lucky guess,” you mutter, slowly removing your cardigan.
“i’m not that clueless,” he explains, finding it all amusing. his eyes dropping to the now visible thin tank top you were sporting.
“then why are you failing three of your classes?,” you shot back.
“because the assignments are dumb and i don’t have time to do them, i already know how to apply them in real life,” he shrugs, “why do i need to know all these terms?”
you study him for a second, “mark, you can’t expect to skip steps and magically pass all of your classes,” you say.
“yeah, i’m learning that the hard way,” he pauses, his shoulders tense, the stress catching up to him once again, “now ask the next one so i can suck on your tits,” he smirks.
you roll your eyes, asking the next question anyway, “in scale degrees, major scales, what are the augmented triads?”
“trick question,” he smirks, “there are none.”
“correct,” you smile at him, removing one sock.
“you’re taking off one sock?? that barely counts!,” he groans like a spoiled child.
you shrug innocently, “still clothing.”
he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “okay fine, give me the next one.”
you raise your eyebrow, “what’s a hemiola?”
mark frowns, racking his brain for an answer, “uhhh…”
you grin, tapping your foot.
“something about a repeating melodic phrase representing a theme?,” he asks, head turned like a curious puppy.
“wrong. thats a leitmotif,” you correct him, “shirt’s off, mark lee.” he groans but obeys, tugging it over his head. you do your best not to stare too hard at his abs but he catches you.
“define consonance and give an example,” you grin wickedly.
“seriously?” he asks. “this is cruel.”
“take off your pants if you can’t answer,” you tease him. he mutters under his breath about how unfair this was before his pants come sliding off, leaving him in his boxers.
“what is a long note divided into shorter, usually melodic, values?,” you continue, holding up the next card.
“oh! i know that one, it’s a diminution,” he says proudly. you remove your other sock.
he narrows his eyes, “you’re cheating.”
“nope. you’re just losing,” you tease.
you flash the next card, “alright, what is existing or occurring within the world of a narrative rather than as something external to that world?”
“...i hate you,” he mutters as he gives up on pretending to answer, accepting defeat and sliding off his boxers. his semi hard cock on display.
you laugh, fully dressed except for the missing cardigan and socks, “awee, look at you…all naked and we’re barely halfway.”
mark glares, though there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, “this is the most academically humiliating foreplay i’ve ever experienced.”
you laugh, “where is the tenor clef sign located?,”you give him an easy one, knowing that he needs to have motivation to keep going.
“one space above the alto clef,” he says. you hum, pleased, stripping off your leggings, showing off the white lacy underwear you wore just for him. his eyes drop instantly to the undeniable wet spot of your arousal and you part your legs slightly, inviting him, teasing.
“you sick little, kitten,” he swallows, “this is actually turning you on?,” he asks, mildly confused and little turned on.
“what can i say? i love humiliating men,” you smirk, earning an eye roll from him, “what’s a cluster?”
“a chord consisting of at least three adjacent notes of a scale,” he answers, voice low, tense. more determined now to get the answers correct.
“good boy” you purr, lifting the tank top over your head, that little praise makes his mind go absolutely crazy, his cock twitching. your sheer white bra does nothing to hide your hardened nipples and mark fights back the urge to pull you into his lap and fuck you senseless, his boner getting harder within each passing second, restraint visibly cracking.
“define neoclassicism,” you ask, voice steady, brows raised.
mark blinks, then answers slowly, “uhh a general revival or interest in classical cultures and usage of themes and styles from ancient greece and rome?”
you look up at him, impressed, “can’t believe all it takes is wanting to see my tits to get you this focused,” you grin, unclasping your bra and tossing it right into his lap. he catches it midair, eyes instantly zeroing in on your now bare-chest. you roll your chair closer to him, spreading your legs and placing them on either side of him, effectively caging him in. mark’s breath hitches – it was getting real hot in here and he was fully naked.
he reaches for your breast but you slap his hand away, “touch me and the session ends. we’re done.” you warn — having control turns you on more than you care to admit. the way his eyes darken but obeys anyway. the tension practically pulsing between your bodies. he looked so small in between your legs and it makes you want to break him even more.
“hurry up and give me the next one,” he mutters, jaw tight, trying his hardest to keep his hands to himself. it was torture. having a sexy half-naked girl right in front of him and not being able to do anything about it. your breasts were on full display, sitting prettily on your chest, your panties were practically dripping and he wanted nothing more but to taste you. wanted nothing more than to hear you moaning under him once again — you were a cruel vision of pleasure he’s not allowed to touch.
“a phrygian is which degree for the key?”
“uhh fifth?,” he guesses.
“wrong,” you say, lips curling in amusement. he groans, cock twitching.
“a mixolydian is which degree for the key?”
“third!,” he tries this time.
“wrong again,” you say, nearly laughing now. his patience was starting to blur. he’s one wrong answer away from losing his mind and you’re relishing every second of it – enjoying every grunt that passes his lips. his cock twitching so close to your core, making you clench.
“you got them mixed up,” you correct him before asking the next question, “a lydian is which degree for the key?”
he groans. he was barely holding on. he shuts his eyes, pausing, taking a minute to think about it, “...fourth?”
you lean in, voice silk and smoke, “are you asking me or are you telling me, mark lee?”
“i-i’m telling you,” he says, voice shaking with the amount of restraint he was trying to hold on to. you were so close now, heat practically radiating off of you. you smirk up at him, tossing the flashcards to the side and smashing your lips on his. he responds immediately. lips chasing yours, urgently and needy.
“correct,” you whisper in between the kiss. his hands immediately latch under your thighs as he pulls you into his lap. you feel the hot, hard press of his cock against your soaked underwear.
“take these damn panties off,” you murmur against his ear. he grunts as his fingers slide beneath the lace, pulling down the last barrier between you.
“fuuckk, you’re dripping for me,” he praises, dragging his fingers through your slick, rubbing up and down your folds before sliding two deep inside of you, making you moan against his lips. this time, his fingers immediately find that spot that makes your toes curl.
“r-right there, mark…d-don’t stop,” you whine, the tension between you rising as your hips start riding his digits, matching the rhythm of his fingers curling inside you. each thrust sends sparks through your belly, pressure building fast. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast but precise circles that have your head falling back, the grip on his shoulders tightening as you continue to bounce on his fingers. his lips close around your nipples, tongue flicking, sucking furiously, drawing out the high you can’t hold back — your orgasm came crashing down embarrasingly fast, leaving you breathless.
“can’t believe humiliating me got you this fucking soaked,” he smirks, breath hot against your skin, “you’re such a dirty girl, kitten,” he teases, licking his fingers clean. before you can recover, he flips you over with practiced ease, ass up and back arched just the way he likes it. you hear the familiar crinkle of foil as he tears open the condom wrapper, then feel the thick heat of him pressing against your entrance before he slides in, deep, the stretch making your teeth clench — the wait was worth it. you were so wet for him…so warm he almost busted as soon as he entered.
“you’re cumming on my cock this time,” he growls, determined, as he adjusts his member, searching for the angle that makes you scream. as soon as he found it, his fingers dig into your hips, thrusting into you from behind, sharp and relentless, your face pressing down on the sheets as the slap of skin echoes throughout the room.
this new angle hits you perfectly, “f-feels so good,” you manage to gasp, voice shaking with every snap of his hips as your hands continue to grip the sheets for stability, moans growing louder with each movement.
he growls in response as he leans over your back, lips brushing your ear, “this what you wanted, kitten?, to tease me until i snapped?” you can barely form words, nodding helplessly, body jolting forward with the force of each thrust. his hand snakes around to press against your lower belly, holding you still as he drives deeper, harder, making sure that you can’t fake anything this time.
“cum,” he demands, his breath hot against your neck as he starts sucking on your shoulder, “cum all over my cock.”
“fuck mark–i’m so close!,” you cry out, voice cracking under the pleasure, building fast and unforgiving. your knees feel weak beneath you but his grip keeps you grounded, keeps you exactly where he wants you. sweat sticks to both of your bodies now, the heat almost unbearable. then, without warning, he pulls you up, your spine arching as he pressed you against his chest. one arm wraps around you tightly, holding you in place while the other dips between your thighs, fingers finding your swollen clit, circling in perfect sync with the relentless thrust of his hips.
“c’mon, kitten” he breathes against your neck, voice low and rough, “give me another one,” he grunts. you cry out, whimpering, overwhelmed — your release finally taking over as breathless whines of his name slip from your lips.
you came all over his cock, body jerking in his arms, head falling back against his shoulder. mark holds you through it, grinding deep inside, chasing his own release with a sharp muffled groan against your skin. for a moment the room is nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and the faint creak of the mattress, savoring your shared orgasms until he finally pulls out, flopping backwards onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, arm draped over his eyes. you let yourself melt into the pillows, limbs heavy and boneless, chest still rising and falling in the aftermath. he lies beside you, chest glistening with sweat, rising with each breath.
“well,” mark pants, breaking the silence, “if we keep studying like this, i’m definitely passing all of my classes with an A+”
you laugh breathlessly, turning your head to the sound of his voice, “A+ huh? that’s bold of you.”
“please,” he says, cracking one eye open to look at you, “you saw me, I was focused, determined…inspirational,” he exaggerates, a playful smile on his lips.
“you got half of the questions wrong,” you point out, “we’re far away from an A+,” you tease.
he smirks, “fine by me, that just means more tutoring sessions,” he throws you a wink and you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
you kick him out of your apartment as soon you both calm down, mark leaving completely satisfied. this is, by far, the greatest deal he has ever had to make.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 9. wednesday.
you sat cross-legged on the bed, flashcards in hand, watching mark settle into your desk chair with boyish excitement written all over his face. he leaned back, arms draped lazily over the armrests. you weren’t wearing a ridiculous amount of layers today, which meant he was going to be able to fuck you faster than last time.
“so,” you begin, flipping through the stack, “today’s game is a little different.”
his brows lift in curiosity, an eager smile playing at his lips. of course it was. he should’ve known you always came with surprises. always keeping him on his toes.
“for every question you get right,” you say, pausing just for dramatic effect, “i suck your dick.”
mark’s eyes widen a little too fast, the thought of your mouth around his cock so appealing. this was going to be too easy, “you’re joking?,” he breaks into a smug grin.
“i’m not,” you smirk, making your way over to him and sinking to your knees in front of him. you look up, expression all wide eyes and faux innocence. he knows better by now. “but don’t get cocky,” you warn, smirking as you settle between his legs, “i’m not moving if the answer is wrong.”
that wipes the grin off his face, just a little, “i’m not getting any of them wrong.” he came prepared this time, actually paying attention in class and reviewing his notes in order to be able to be rewarded by you.
you chuckle as you tug his sweats down, revealing his already semi hard cock, “no underwear?,” you asked, an amused smile on your face.
“why bother?,” he shrugs, a chuckle leaving his lips. with no warning, your fingers wrap around his member, stroking slowly, giving him a preview of what’s to come — mark immediately groans at your touch, head tipping back slightly at the sensation of your warm hands, cock already twitching in your hand. you looked so tiny around him and he’s already struggling to keep his composure. then your tongue glides along the side of his shaft, slow and deliberate, before swirling around the tip, collecting his leaking precum. the taste lingers on your tongue as you look up at him through your eyelashes. he was too relaxed, too comfortable, eyes focused on you with a smug on his lips. without breaking eye contact, you take the tip of his now fully hard cock into your mouth, sucking gently. it earns a low grunt from deep in his chest, his thighs tensing beneath your hands, but just when he leans into the sensation, you pull away completely, lips slipping off him with a soft pop.
frustration flashes across his face as you casually reach over and grab the stack of flashcards beside you and he’s reminded that this was the game. perhaps, this is not as easy as he thought it was going to be. he sighs in defeat and all you do is wave the flashcard lazily in your hand, eyes glinting with mischief. mark sits up straighter, his dick incredibly hard and throbbing in front of you, twitching with every passing second.
“alright,” you begin, voice sweet, innocent and absolutely lethal, “what is existing within the world of a narrative rather than as something external to that world?,” you repeat the question he got wrong last time.
mark squints, trying to focus, despite the way your fingers are slowly tracing circles on his inner thigh, not quite touching him. “diegetic or source music,” he answers. you raise an eyebrow, impressed, a hum of approval slipping past your lips.
“correct.” before he can smirk, you lean forward again, lips wrapping around him once more, this time a little deeper. his head falls back instantly, a low grown escaping. you suck him in slow and warm, letting the reward sink in and just as he starts to melt, you pull away again with a soft gasp of air, reaching for the next card like nothing happened.
he looks down at you, flustered, chest rising faster, “kitten, you’re insane.”
you flash him a dangerous smile, “define mickey-mousing.”
he doesn’t answer right away, jaw tight, trying to stay focused while his cock stands there, glistening and so so hard. “a film technique that syncs the accompanying music with the actions on screen,” he says, breathing hard.
“look at you, actually paying attention,” you tease before leaning in again, placing a kiss to his tip, taking him once again, just a little deeper, a little wetter. his whole body shudders and he mutters something that sounds like a prayer. you were only three flashcards in. he doesn’t know how much of this edging he could take. he hopes, god, he hopes he knew all the answers. when you let go again, you smile sweetly, tapping the next card against his thigh, making him clench slightly.
“what are the notes of a D major triad?” — “D, F, A,” he manages to say.
“hmm, wrong, those are the notes of D minor triad,” you correct him, leaving his cock neglected as you sit back on your heels, folding your hands in your lap. “no mouth for wrong answers,” you tease as he groans, head falling back dramatically.
“you’re actually evil, kitten.”
you only smile, reaching for another card. he glares at you like a man on the verge of a breakdown, “hurry up, i'm going to die.”
you ignore him, “list all major intervals,” you ask, resting your elbow on his knee like this is the most casual game of flashcards in the world. like his dick wasn’t right in front of your tits — the image has his cock twitching extra hard. he had to get this one correct. he racks his brain for the answers, recalling what he learned in class.
“it’s major second, major third, major sixth and major seventh,” he answers shakily.
your hand curls around the base of his cock again, making him suck in a sharp breath “correct,” you take him in all over again. he exhales hard, threading his fingers into your hair, grounding himself. you’re slower this time, deliberate and precise, letting the praise build in your mouth just like the tension between you. he did give you four correct answers. when his hand tighten a little too hard, you pull off again.
“fucckk, i hate this,” he whines shakily.
“scale the degrees in order,” you smirk.
“tonic, supertonic, mediant, subdominant, dominant, submediant, leading tone,” he answers quickly, determined, voice breathless with need.
“wow…all correct,” you say, a light shock in your tone and a proud smile tugging at your lips. he doesn’t even get a second to bask in it before your mouth is on him again, wet, warm, perfect. he moans, hips twitching up slightly and you let him, just for a second. the reward is intoxicating. and you have half the mind to continue sucking him until he was writhing under your touch. but you pull away once more, wiping your lips with a devilish smile.
“alright, next one,” you say cheerily, like this is all just a friendly trivia night.
mark looks like he might cry.
“why are you doing this to me?,” he gasps.
“don’t act like you don’t like it,” you say, “besides it’s working, you’ve only missed one question so far,” you say proudly.
“yeah, because i’ll literally die if i miss another,” he whines — this went on for a good thirty minutes more. mark only getting a couple wrong, until you were down to your last flashcards and he was teetering at the edge. ready to bust every single time you put your mouth on him but not quite getting there.
his cock is so red, throbbing, leaking to the point it hurts. a couple drops messily on his thigh, a couple on his stomach but never enough to reach his full release. there were tears streaking down his cheeks, his lips quivering. he was absolutely gutted. absolutely vulnerable.
“what’s the natural minor scale pattern?” — “minor diminished major minor minor major major,” he answers, getting the words out as quickly as possible.
this time, instead of wrapping your mouth around him, you reached for the condom you had ready, sitting pretty on your desk, anticipating this moment. his breath hitches as you tear the wrapper open with your teeth, wrapping it on his hard cock, mark practically growling under your touch. you smile sweetly, removing your shorts and crawling into his lap, knees pressing into either side of his hips. the heat of your soaked underwear brushing against his cock makes him hiss through his teeth.
he can’t take it anymore.
“what are the chromatic intervals?” — “minor, diminished and augmented intervals,” he whispers, barely hanging on.
“good boy,” you praise him as he breathes heavily under you. pushing your panties to the side, you lined him against your entrance. his breath catches, fingers finding your hips as you start to sink down onto him, inch by inch, teasing slowness, warm and tight until he’s fully buried inside you. his cock stretched you just right. a strangled moan escapes both of your lips.
“holy shit,” a low, wrecked sound escapes his throat, as he grips your hips tightly, trying his best not to unload right there, “thank you,” he trembles, breathing shakily.
he was obviously not going to last long. and it was so extremely hot. you discard the flashcards as you rolled your hips once, slow and deep, each movement designed to drive him out of his mind. mark’s hands are everywhere now, on your back, thighs, gripping your ass as he helps guide your motion, pushing up into you with desperate need. everytime you drop your hips, he lets out another choked curse, eyes glued to the way your body moves against his. you feel his cock twitch inside you, a telltale sign that he was incredibly close to coming undone.
“you gonna cum for me?,” you whisper against his ear, teeth gently grazing the lobe. he nods frantically, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes. he’s never felt this kind of pleasure before, the kind that makes him lose absolutely all sense of logic, just nodding like he was some sort of yes-man.
“-fuucck kitten, yes, d-don’t stop, p-pleasee,” his whines encourage you, dragging your hips in a deep circle that has you both gasping. it doesn’t take long. the tension you’ve built the entire session finally snaps as he groans your name, hands clutching you, hips buckling up hard, coming with a gasp buried into your neck.
you don’t stop bouncing. continuing to fuck yourself into his cock, rubbing your own clit.
“k-kitten, it hurts,” he whines. you block all of his pleas of stops, all of his whimpers, the way he’s fully crying out, fingers gripping his own hair, until your thighs are shaking, orgasm taking over, a loud moan slipping from your lips as you cling to him, both of you gasping, bodies slick and trembling.
you absolutely wrecked him — mark’s vision blacks out for a minute too long. his arms loosely wrapped around you as he tried to catch his breath. hair sticking to his skin. that was the best fucking orgasm he’s ever had and he’s had a lot.
and just like the past two tutoring sessions, mark was out the door as soon as he got dressed and it doesn’t get any better than this.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 11. friday.
mark enters the university’s basketball court, searching for your frame. you’d texted him to meet you here, a lot earlier than the usual tutoring session. the court was empty, echoing slightly and he spots you instantly, sitting on the bleachers with a book in your hand — he wonders what today’s game is, a little worried about the public location you chose.
“hey dude,” he redirects your attention to him, “are we about to indulge in exhibitionism?,” he teases, an eyebrow going up.
you laugh, closing your book. “no mark, we can’t have sex today,” offering him a sheepish smile.
he looks at you like you just delivered the worst news he could ever hear, “is everything okay?,” he asks, taking a seat next to you.
you nod, “everything’s fine, i’m just on my period,” you say casually, turning toward him.
his eyes widen slightly in acknowledgment before a grin breaks out of his face, “you know…,” he leans in, whispering, like you weren’t the only two people in this room right now, “a period only stops a sentence,” he teases.
you roll your eyes, lightly shoving his face away, “nu-uh mark lee, no way,” you say crashing all his dreams of period sex down the drain, a light smile on your lips.
“why not?, i heard somewhere, it helps with all the cramps and stuff,” he continued, still trying to convince you.
“i’m on my second day, everything’s too messy,” you say flatly, dismissing the idea with a wave of your hand. “—anyways that’s not why we’re here,” you rise from the bleachers, grabbing one of the basketballs on the side and tossing it to him.
mark catches it easily, “we’re gonna play basketball?”, he asks, a brow raising.
“yup, i read somewhere that physical activity helps with memory retention, so we’re gonna play a game while i tutor you,” you explain, standing a little below the hoop.
“you can play basketball?,” he asks, clearly amused, as he starts dribbling the ball in front of you.
“i’m no co-captain of the basketball team or anything but i’ve got a few moves,” you reply, stealing the ball from him with a cheeky grin, “and…if you win, you get to choose what we do during the next session.”
his brow raises, a smirk on his face, mind already racing of things he wanted to do to you. he could have you in his lap as he fingers you until you cry for him. he could have you bent over your desk as he fucks into you. he could spend the whole day eating you out. the possibilities were endless.
“alright,” he says, already feeling competitive, “game on.”
mark dribbles lazily as he awaits your question. you narrow your eyes, “the classical era dates are?”
mark answers quickly, “1750-1820,” like it was a piece of cake. he really is getting better at paying attention in class.
“correct. take the shot.” he does and it bounces off the rim, a curse slipping from his lips. you catch the ball with a grin.
“the romantic era dates are?,” you ask, already dribbling towards the other side. mark gets the answers correct again as you ducked under his arm, tossing the ball into the net.
“okay, showoff,” he mutters playfully, jogging to grab the ball. the game goes on for a solid fifteen minutes. the two of you jogging back and forth. you call out questions, dates, composers, and mark fires back with surprisingly accurate answers. it was a good game between friends, a good session between a tutor and her student.
mark was winning now with several points ahead of you. he hasn’t missed a single shot since the first one, while you were just getting lucky every time you made the ball in your net. he can’t help but find it adorable though – the way your face would light up every time you made a shot. the way you would do a mini celebration, a happy little dance. it was so different from your usual serious, focused, studious side. this side of you is loose, giddy, warm and he’s having way more fun than he expected to.
“alright,” you say breathless but still trying to keep up with him, “dates of the modern–”
you don’t get to finish your question. a sudden wave of pain crashes through your abdomen, so sharp it knocks the air right out of you. you double over mid-step, the ball slipping from your hands and bouncing off to the side, a yelp coming slipping from your lips.
“w-what’s wrong?!,” mark practically bolts to your side as you inhale, trying to catch your breath.
“sorry, just a really bad cramp,” you say, shutting your eyes as the pain traveled all throughout your body. he watches you for a second or two, eyes scanning your figure, registering the pain before he closes the distance, crouching in front of you. he has no idea what to do. he’s never dealt with a girl on her period before. his hands hover for a moment before resting gently at your sides, fingertips against your lower abdomen in slow circles.
you flinch, surprised at his touch, “what are you doing?”
“don’t massages help?,” he asks softly, big brown eyes filled with worry. his touch is careful, like he’s afraid of making it worse. you don’t have the heart to tell him it doesn’t really help, not with cramps this intense. still, the gesture alone tugs something warm in your chest. so for a moment you just let yourself sink into it, leaning against his chest for support like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your head rests there, tentative at first, then heavier. it’s a moment of vulnerability you haven’t shown anyone for a long time – not since your ex made you feel like needing comfort was a flaw, like softness was a burden.
mark stills when you rest against him, almost like he’s holding his breath. then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms come around you, careful and steady, not sure if any of this is okay. he doesn’t say anything, just holds you, warm and solid, his chin brushing the top of your head as you breathe through the pain. no teasing, no jokes, no snide remarks – just quiet presence.
eventually, you gently pull back, and he feels himself straighten as if waking from a trance. “i think i have to cut the tutoring session short today,” you say apologetically.
“kitten, don’t even worry about that,” he says immediately. the nickname — usually tossed around with a grin, lands softer now. you don’t think too much about it, brushing off the feeling as soon as it came.
slowly, you got up from the floor, pushing through the lingering pain, “i’m gonna go home and die now,” you say with a weak laugh. he chuckles quietly, standing with you.
“i’ll walk you home,” he offers and you turn it down immediately.
“it’s okay, mark,” you make your way back to the bleachers, gathering your things. “i’m a big girl,” you add, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “i can take care of myself,” you shoot him a smile as he follows you out the court.
“you sure?,” he asks, eyes scanning your face like he’s still not convinced.
“yeah,” you say gently, “thank you, though. i'll see you on monday,” you lean up and press a light kiss to his cheek, quick, grateful. then you turn to leave, not waiting for his response.
behind you, he stays still on the court, watching your figure walk away like he’s not quite ready to let the moment end. the kiss on the cheek lingering on his skin.
once he got back to the dream house, mark still can’t help but wonder if you were okay. he’d showered, changed, even tried zoning out to whatever song was playing through his speakers but his thoughts kept circling back to you. the image of you doubling over in pain, your face twisting as you tried to play it off, like it was nothing, kept replaying in his head like a song stuck on loop.
and he hated it – hated seeing you hurt. hated the way you pretended it wasn’t a big deal. hated the way you apologized for needing a break and absolutely hated the way you waved him off, like his concern was too much.
he told himself it was normal. this was normal. he is your friend. it’s normal to be worried about your friends. that’s allowed.
when he walked into the living room and found jaemin sprawled across the couch, glued to his phone and jeno halfway through a protein bar, he didn’t stop to think before blurting out, “what do you do when angel and bunny are on their periods?”
the question dropped like a brick. jaemin blinked, his gaze dropping from his phone to mark, “uhh why?,” he asks, a curious grin on his face.
mark shrugs, flopping down onto the couch “nothing, just curious.”
there was a beat of silence, then jaemin replied, “well, angel’s gonna murder me for saying this but she gets needy…wants me glued to her side the whole time with extra cuddles and kisses…heating pads are a must,” jaemin chuckles, “oh and sex helps too,” he says with a wink.
mark huffed a quiet laugh, “what about bunny?,” he turns to jeno.
jeno choked on his water, “uh–what? bunny and i don’t have sex,” he says flustered.
mark eyes him suspiciously, “yeah, i know. that’s not what i meant,” he says slowly, “i mean she’s your best friend and you’ve known her since forever right, you should know what she’s like on her period?,” he asks, a playful grin on his lips.
“oh..right,” jeno mutters, “uhm she’s the complete opposite, she locks herself in her room like she’s going into hibernation mode, she just texts me with a list of snacks she wants and i leave those at her door and leave,” he explains.
mark chuckled, but it faded quickly. his mind was racing with a million thoughts of how he could make you feel better. what were you like? did you want to be left alone? did you want snacks? cuddles?...is cuddling even allowed?
jaemin tilted his head, studying him. “wait…is this about your girl?”
mark blinked, “she’s not my girl.”
jeno gave him a long, skeptical look.
“she’s really not!,” mark repeated, more defensively this time, “we’re just friends and i care about my friends well being, okay? that’s all,” he convinces himself more than he does them. before they could say anything else, mark stood up, headed for the door.
⟢
when your phone buzzed, you squinted at the notification from your cocoon of blankets, blinking away the throb of cramps that hadn’t quite given up yet.
mark: hi friend
mark: i’m outside
mark: just want to make sure you’re okay lol
you hesitated, considering pretending to be asleep but something in you tugged toward the door. that soft, stubborn part that wanted not to feel alone tonight. curse these hormones. you cracked it open to find him there, hoodie half zipped, a plastic grocery bag in hand.
“hi,” he said, a little breathless, “i brought you some things.”
you opened the door wider, letting him in, “i told you i was okay.”
“i know but as your friend i had to make sure,” he practically shoves the bag in your hand as you inspect what’s inside. the bag was filled with different kinds of snacks, chocolates, candies, and three boxes of heat patches.
you took the heat patches out and raised a brow, “three?”
“listen,” he said, flopping lightly on your couch, “jaemin said they were ‘a must’ and i panicked,” he says casually and you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept up. it’s been a while since the last time you’ve let anyone do anything for you.
“thank you,” you breathe, the words soft and sincere, stripped of your usual teasing edge. the smile you give him isn’t your usual sly smirk either, it’s quieter, gentler and it makes something in mark’s chest flutter unexpectedly. he looks at you a second too long, heartbeat catching like it’s suddenly forgotten how to work properly.
minutes later, the snacks were spread out on your coffee table, a heating patch working its magic under your hoodie and to all the boy’s i've loved before playing on your t.v. mark sits beside you, a careful few inches of space between your bodies. he didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to cheer you up with jokes or distractions. he was just there – steady and warm and quiet.
when the credits roll, he finally speaks, voice low, “you know,” he says, glancing over at you with a soft smile, “for someone who doesn’t believe in love, i wasn’t expecting you to put on a romcom,” he turns his body towards you as you sat end to end on the couch.
you laugh, shifting slightly under the shared blanket, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a tired smile, “please, your favorite movie is spiderman…do you believe he’s real?”
“how do you know spiderman’s my favorite movie?,” he asks, a light smirk on his face.
“sophomore year, film elective class, you were totally geeking, practically bouncing up and down next to me,” you remind him, exaggerating the detail a tiny bit.
mark huffs a laugh and nudges your knee with his, “ok but it’s different…spiderman is a fantasy character.”
“exactly,” you say, your voice softening, “so is love.”
the words aren’t bitter. just…matter-of-fact. like something long accepted and carefully folded away.
mark turns his head toward you, studying your face in the dim glow of the screen. shadows play across your features, softening the hard lines you've spent building — he thinks back to the first time you met during freshman year orientation. you were the first person he’d ever talked to, bouncing up to him in a soft blue sundress and a smile too big for the room. you introduced yourself with sparkles in your eyes, asking him if he believed in soulmates, like that was a completely normal ice breaker. you were glowing then, all wide-eyed and wonder. all heart. spilling stories about your high school boyfriend like love was the most natural thing in the world. he hadn't even told you his name yet, and there you were, already peeling yourself open for him, talks of forever from your pink lips. you were all blush-colored hope and reckless honesty. he remembered thinking you were kind of intense. too trusting. overly romantic. he hadn’t understood the way your whole world seemed to spin on the axis of love.
now, years later, that sparkle has been replaced by a colder fire, a guarded kind of strength he’s grown used to. the kind that keeps everyone at arm’s length. the kind that never let’s anyone close enough to see where it hurts. your smile — once easy and disarming, has taken a brittle edge, still beautiful, but sharpened by something heavy and unspoken. you don't talk about soulmates anymore. you don't talk about love at all, not unless you're tearing it down.
he noticed the change during the last semester of freshman year. people whispered about your breakup, but no one knew the details. just that it ended and something in you shifted. like someone had quietly reached inside and flipped a switch — it became more evident when even the way you dress has changed. your light, gentle dresses were replaced by blacks and deep reds, structured silhouettes that made you look untouchable. strong. sharp. sometimes he wonders if you’re hiding behind those clothes or they just mirror what’s left…he wonders when exactly the world taught you to stop believing in forever.
“what made you say that?,” he asks finally, voice low, careful not to press too hard but needing to understand.
you hesitate, eyes not meeting his just yet. debating whether its safe to give this piece of yourself away. and maybe it was the vulnerability of the night. maybe it was your hormones messing with your brain, like you’ll tell yourself later. but right now, you find yourself answering him.
“it’s just…” you exhale, like the words are caught in your chest, “love doesn’t last. people swear it’s forever and then suddenly, it’s not. one day you’re holding hands and dreaming together, you have a ring on your finger and the next they’re telling you that you’re too much. too needy,” you blink slowly, memories flickering behind your eyes, “that he only loved me because it was easy. and the second it got hard, he left.”
mark stiffens beside you, “you were engaged?,” he asks, surprise threading through his voice.
“shocking, right?,” you force out a dry laugh, bitter around the edges, “i almost fell for the scam.” your voice is steady, each word carefully measured, telling the story without letting it touch you. but your eyes betray you, they've gone distant, unfocused, like you’re watching a memory you wish you could turn off. there’s a smile on your lips but it’s all muscle memory. empty. the kind of smile people put on when they’re used to pretending they're fine.
mark’s jaw tightens. there’s a sharp flare of protectiveness in his chest, something hot and furious aimed at the ghost of a man he’s never met.
you continue, voice barely above a whisper, “so yeah, spider-man, love, same category…fiction.”
the silence that follows is thick, heavy, but mark doesn’t rush to fill it. he sits in it with you, lets it stretch out between the two of you without trying to clean it up. the pain in your voice isn’t loud, but it’s there – woven through your words like thread through fabric. he doesn’t throw some cliche about how the right person will come along. does not insult you with hollow optimism that people usually responded with. he doesn't try to talk you out of your truth or tape over a wound he can't even see the full shape of.
instead he nudges your knee again, gentler this time. a small touch, reassuring.
“i don’t think you’re too much,” he says quietly, the words careful and real, “not even a little.”
you look at him then. you don’t say anything for a while, neither does mark. and he’s not sure if that was something he was even allowed to say. you’ve built so many walls that even kindness feels like trespassing…then, in true fashion, you break the weight with a teasing smile, “who’s your favorite spiderman anyway?,” you ask.
the shift it so perfectly timed, so you, that it makes mark huff a laugh. he knows its your way of giving you both room to breathe again and he's grateful for the shift.
“tobey,” mark says with zero hesitation.
you groan dramatically, hands flying to your face, “no way, everyone who says they’re favorite spiderman is tobey is blinded by nostalgia! his spiderman was a creepy stalker!,” you argue passionately.
you lower your hands just in time to see mark laugh…really laugh. the kind that crinkles his eyes and pulls a genuine sound from his chest and it makes something bloom in yours.
“okay well, who’s yours then?,” he asks playfully. “andrew.”
he scoffs, “nope, his peter parker was great but his spiderman was not ‘spidermanning’ at all!,” he argues back, the made-up word slipping out so confidently it makes your brows lift.
you roll your eyes, a smile on your lips, “i didn’t say i liked him for the spiderman of it all.”
“oh?” he says, eyes gleaming with curiosity, “then what?”
you shrug, slow and teasing, “he’s the prettiest one…and,” you lean in a little closer, mark watching you, “i like looking at pretty things.”
his smile falters for a split second, eyes flicking to your lips.
“do you now?,” he murmured, voice lower now, the space between your faces shrinking by the second.
“mhm,” you mutter and then, without overthinking it, you close the space and kiss him softly, slowly, carefully, like testing the weight of something fragile, unsure if it’s meant to be held at all. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. it’s not like any of the others you’ve shared before – not playful, not messy, not reckless. this one feels like stepping into something unknown.
it doesn’t last long. just a few seconds. just lingers enough to feel real.
when you finally break apart, neither of you speaks right away, just looking in each other’s eyes like you unlocked something dangerous. the stillness lingers, dense and a little too loud.
you're the one to break it, typical you, peeling the weight away with a crooked smile, “i’m still not down for period sex” you tease. he forces himself to laugh, trying to push away the tension that lingered in the air.
“fair enough,” mark says, standing slowly, “you should rest anyway and maybe lay off the tobey slander,” he says.
you laugh softly, leaning your head against the couch cushions as you watch him move around your apartment like he belongs here, “i’m right about him.”
he chuckles, grabbing his phone and keys, “text me if you need anything, seriously. even if it’s just to complain about life,” he says warmly, a small smile visible on his features.
“thanks for tonight, mark,” you say as you get up, stretching your limbs and walking him to your door.
he pauses in the doorway, like he wants to say something else, but instead he just nods, “of course, that’s what friends do.”
and then he leans in again, placing a soft kiss on your temple. his voice is quieter this time, almost tender, “goodnight, kitten.”
you freeze, just for a second, but your response comes automatically, “goodnight, mark”
and with that, he’s gone, the door closing with a soft click. you’re left in the quiet and for the first time in a long time, your apartment doesn’t feel quite so lonely. and still, despite the warmth lingering on your lips, despite the comfort of knowing someone cares, there it is, crawling up your spine and tightening in your chest — fear.
⟢
the walk back to the dream house was quiet. mark’s hoodie sleeves are pushed halfway up his arms but the cool night air doesn’t do much to ease the heat still lingering in his chest. the night loops in his head like an endless record.
the kiss. he’s never been kissed like that. like it was more than two lips touching, chasing the lust.
that kiss was cautious. it had weight. like it had been carved out of something deeper, something neither of you knew how to name. he was sure of it. it’s the way you looked at him, like you completely trusted him, even for just a second. and maybe it didn’t last. maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow and bury it under sarcasm and boundaries. but that look…that look is stuck under his skin now.
he exhales slowly, staring down at the sidewalk. his footsteps echoing in the quiet — you were vulnerable tonight. he knows that. he could feel it in the way you curled in on yourself when the cramps got bad, the cracks between your jokes, that look in your eyes when you talked about your ex. mark noticed it all. that’s the problem. because he doesn’t know what the kiss meant or if it even meant anything at all. maybe it was just comfort. a soft, fleeting thing you reached for in the moment. maybe you’ll wake up and decide it wasn’t real. if that’s the case, he’ll happily play along, laugh it off, bury it.
but his chest still feels tight. he can’t wrap his head around the fact that you said love was a fantasy. and you still kissed him that way. like he mattered. like he was more than just your friend, more than just a body in your bed.
his mind is all over the place. thoughts going back and forth. he swallows hard, jaw tightening. all this thinking wasn’t supposed to happen. you were never supposed to mean anything. for god’s sake, he was the one who said that you couldn’t fall in love with him with. he meant it, too. back then, it felt like the safest thing to say. a wall, not just for you but for him, too.
he doesn’t do love. he’s always been good at lines. at keeping things in neat boxes. clean. uncomplicated. no drama. bodies, not hearts. moments with no meaning, only pleasure. he knows how to care just enough to make it feel good and not enough for it to matter. he’s practiced, efficient, detached.
but something about tonight is cracking through that. and he’s not sure he’s ready to face it.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 14. monday.
when mark entered your apartment, he hadn’t known what to expect. he’d spent the entire weekend mentally pacing, replaying friday night over and over, dissecting every word, every glance, every breath between you. and then he’d forced himself to stop. to push any thoughts of you away, telling himself it didn’t mean anything.
but still, when you opened the door, his heart thudded in his chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.
then you smiled, that same guarded expression, the one that never quite reached your eyes. you looked the same you had last week, composed, cool and out of his reach. he knew right then, that he was right. that moment was fleeting and completely over. erased.
“hey, earth to mark lee, you there?,” you wave your hand in front of him, snapping him out of his daydream.
“yeah, sorry, what was the question?,” he asked, blinking.
“dang dude, you weren’t lying when you said sex helps you focus,” you tease him. today was another no sex session, seeing as you were still on your period.
he chuckles, letting out a groan and burying his face in your pillows, “i can’t belive god gave you periods, this has been the longest week of my life.”
you sat cross-legged on your bed, mark sprawled out beside you, “i told you i can always give you a blowjob.”
his nose scrunches up, peeking at you from the pillow, “no. not after your last blowjob session.”
“it wasn’t that bad,” you feigned innocence.
“kitten,” he deadpanned, lifting his head to glare at you, “you edged me so hard, i cried.”
“and?” you grinned, shameless, “didn’t it make the orgasm like 10x better?”
“at what cost, though?,” he asked dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart, “i saw my soul leave my body.”
you laughed, reaching over to poke his side, “but you survived.”
“barely,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, sitting up, facing you now, “you really enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”
“only when you make it so easy,” you said sweetly, “besides, you didn’t complain that much.”
mark let out a long exaggerated sigh, head tilted towards you, “you’re lucky i like you.”
it slipped out carelessly. there was a beat of silence. the two of you holding your breaths at the words he uttered out.
for a second, neither of you moved. mark cursed himself internally. really? now? after a weekend of telling himself it meant nothing…he says that? out of all the things he could’ve said? he really needed to get better at thinking things out before saying them.
the memory of friday night replays in your mind. the slow kiss, the quiet way you looked at each other, the parts of yourself you weren’t supposed to show. you didn’t know why you let it happen but you did. what you do know is that you crossed a line and you had to make things clear.
you shifted slightly, voice coming out softer than before, “listen, mark…about friday night,” you bring up and you feel him freeze slightly.
“i really am grateful for the snacks and having a friend there but…,” you hesitated, searching for the right words, “i was all up in my period feelings and did some stuff i usually wouldn’t...”
you glanced at him, “if that makes sense?”
“no, i get it,” he said quickly, too quickly. “don’t worry i didn’t read too much into it,” he lies.
“cool,” you said, giving him a sheepish smile, “so…we’ll just forget about it?”
he ignores the way you can’t say the word kiss. he ignores the way he can’t bring himself to say that word either. both of you dancing around the “stuff” that happened.
he looked at you for a beat, then cracked a grin, “forget about what?”
you chuckle, shoving his shoulder and reaching out for your notes, resuming the session like nothing happened. like your heart hadn’t skipped a beat. like his hadn’t just cracked a little more under the pressure of pretending.
before the silence could settle over you, you change the topic, “you know, you kinda remind me of peter parker.”
mark raises an eyebrow, amused, “oh yeah? how?”
you lean back, teasing, “you’re always acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders but somehow manage to crack a joke when it counts.”
this surprises him a little bit. he hadn’t realized how much you could actually see through him during these past tutoring sessions. how close you’d been paying attention. he doesn’t dwell on it, afraid of what other feelings it may unlock.
“i didn’t know i was that dramatic,” he finally says, playing it off with a small laugh.
“you’re not,” you say, meeting his eyes for a brief moment, “but you carry more than you let on.”
mark looks away, lips pressing into a faint line. he wants to keep the mood light, to make another dumb spiderman joke but your words hit a little too close. and that unsettles him more than he cares to admit. he clears his throat, “well, does that make you mj or gwen?,” he flirts.
you smirk, “neither. i'm your guy in the chair.”
mark laughs, eyes crinkling, “you mean like ned?”
“exactly. reliable. sarcastic. smarter than you and absolutely not dying in anyone’s tragic love arc.”
“bold of you to assume,” he says with a grin, shaking his head. you grin back, flipping a page in your notebook. you go back to explaining the notes in front of you and he listens, nodding at the right times.
on the surface, everything settles back into easy rhythm — banter and bullet points. but under all the teasing and laughter, one thing stayed unspoken. neither of you had really forgotten. not even a little.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 16. wednesday.
to say mark was excited was a complete understatement. clearing things up with you absolutely helped, he wasn’t left wondering the maybe’s. he blamed the momentary feeling on that night and it was done. explained. buried deep in a box somewhere.
today was all about his reward and he was absolutely ecstatic. he’d been counting down to this ever since your little basketball game ended in his favor. he knew exactly what he wanted as soon as the proposition was brought up. this was his moment – his perfect payback for that blowjob that ended in tears and torment.
so when you asked him what he wanted and he replied with, “i want to cut tutoring short today and have my way with you,” you had no other option but to oblige.
which is how you ended up here now, seated between his legs, thighs parted, panties long gone. your slick glistened in the warm light of your bedroom, a blindfold wrapped securely around your head – completely open, completely at his mercy. the cloth stays firm over your eyes, heightening every sense. you feel everything. his breath on your shoulder, the heat of his thighs beneath yours, the stillness between touches. you sat there, waiting…then you felt it.
something cool and slender lightly tracing along the inside of your thigh. your breath catches, legs twitching at the unexpected contact, “what is that?”
mark hums thoughtfully, as if considering the question, “just something i found lying around.”
it moves again, gliding upward, skimming where you needed him most. he circles the object around your clit without pressure, ghosting enough to make you clench. you shift your hips, trying to chase the feeling, but he’s already pulling it away.
“mark,” you grit out, jaw tightening.
“shh,” he murmurs, nibbling on your ear, “let me enjoy my reward.” you swallow hard, heat pooling in your stomach. you were sure this torture was going to last forever and you knew he was doing this on purpose. teasing you to the edge, just like you did to him.
the thing, whatever it is, drags lightly over your folds now, collecting wetness as it goes, “so fucking wet and i haven’t even touched you yet,” he whispers beside you, making goosebumps rise throughout your neck. you’re about to snap a snarky remark when his fingers suddenly replace the object, two of them sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness, pressing just enough to build pressure but not nearly enough to satisfy.
“fuck,” you gasp, fingers clutching his thigh as your hips jerked. he lets you have his digits, inserting two of his fingers and curling them just where you need him the most but before you can even enjoy it, he pulls back.
you whine as he withdraws, leaving you empty and throbbing, “we’re just starting, kitten,” you hear the smirk in his voice and it’s absolutely annoying — to be vulnerable this way and have no control.
mark brings the mystery object back, the cool tip sliding up your folds again, this time more deliberately. you squirm, desperate for friction. the blindfold has turned your entire body into a nerve – every inch sensitive, every second unbearable. then you feel his hands again, large and warm, settling on your thigh, the other slipping into your shirt and gliding up your torso, fingers leaving a blaze of fire until he reaches your breast.
you inhale sharply when his fingertips ghost over one nipple, already peaked and begging for attention, “you’re always so sensitive here,” his voice cuts through the silence, your breathing becoming heavier and heavier. his thumb brushes over the bud, a whine slipping from your lips. he has you memorized by now. the little ticks that turn you on. which was a lot for mark, considering most of his past sexual partners had only been for one night.
something brushes over your nipple – cool, round, smooth. you’re not sure if its the same object and it’s driving you insane, “what the hell is that?,” you ask, your voice breathless. mark doesn’t answer this time, just littering kisses along your neck, letting the object speak for him. it circles your nipple slowly, deliberately, then he flicks it lightly, sharp enough to make you gasp and arch forward, your head resting against that space between his neck. his free arm comes up to your waist, keeping you locked against him.
“you’re not allowed to squirm yet,” he murmurs near your ear, voice thick with satisfaction. he switched to your other breast, teasing it with that same cold precision. the contrast between your flushed skin and the chill of the object is enough to make your toes curl. you needed more.
you writhe, frustrated, “mark, please,” you beg for something…anything.
“shhh kitten,” he soothes, mouth brushing the shell of your ear, “be patient.”
his mouth returned to your neck, warm and wet, while the mystery object rolled lazily across your breast. your aching cunt left throbbing and dripping. you feel the hard press of his cock through his sweats and still he makes no move to satisfy either of you. he trails lower, teeth grazing your shoulder and just when you think the cold object might return to your nipple, it doesn’t.
instead, his fingers return, sliding down your slick folds. two strokes. three. then gone again.
“mark,” you gasp, body twitching under the restraint of his arm. you can’t think of any other word but his name — so caught up in the thrill of it all.
“you keep saying my name like i’m gonna feel bad,” he says with a chuckle, “i’m just repaying you.” then he brings the cold object down again, dragging it teasingly along your inner thigh before brushing it just over your clit, making you shudder in his hold, as he smirks behind you.
“kitten, you wanna know what i’ve been using?,” he whispers, smug and quiet. you nod quickly, barely able to breathe. he brought it up in front of your face, knowing full well you couldn’t see it and said, clearly amused, “your pen.”
you groan, “there’s no way it feels that good,” you managed to say. he just laughed quietly, brushing your hair back from your face, “the power of a blindfold,” he whispers. you barely had time to process his words before he was shifting behind you, leaving you sitting on your bed alone. a mixture of confusion, excitement and slight fear at the thought of what he has planned.
mark makes his way around, standing at the foot of your bed as he watches, loving the way you had no idea what’s coming to you. his hand makes contact with your shoulder, making you jump slightly as he pushes you down to your sheets, your back making contact with your soft pillows. you sucked in a shaky breath, wonder traveling throughout your body. then he hovers over you, kissing the hollow of your throat as he carefully pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere, exposing your tits to the cool air. he lets his tongue graze, tracing a path down the center of your chest until his lips find your nipple again. you gasped as his mouth closed around it, sucking, warm and wet. the suction paired with the flick of his tongue in a rhythm that made your spine arch.
“fucking perfect,” he muttered against your skin, teeth grazing before he soothed the sting with another kiss. his hand moved to the other breast, thumb circling lazily around the peak, squeezing just enough to make your hips buck.
but he didnt move lower, “you like being edged, don’t you?,” he whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction.
you whimpered, nodding, desperate, frustrated.
“use your words, kitten,” mark demands.
“yes,” you gasped, “please, mark, just–,” your plea broke off into a cry when his mouth trailed lower, down your stomach, leaving goosebumps behind. he stopped just above your mound, breathing you in like you were the only thing in the world.
“you smell like heaven,” he praises. then his hands gripped your thighs, firm and possessive, pulling you open further – his mouth on you in a second, hot, wet and needy. his tongue dragged through your folds slowly, deliberately. one long, teasing lick. then another, circling your clit, keeping you on the edge. you moaned, loud and desperate, your hand flying to his hair instinctively. he groaned at the contact, encouraged. finally, he gave your clit the attention it had been begging for, flicking, sucking, licking until your thighs were trembling.
and just when your stomach starts to clench — he pulls back.
“no–,” you gasped, “don’t stop, please—”
but he had already moved his mouth, licking the inside of your thigh, soothing and tortuous all at once.
“not yet,” he said, voice dark and patient, “you don’t get to come until i say so.”
you could cry from how badly you needed him. he was relentless, bending your body to his rhythm, his pace. his tongue returned, more insistent now, fingers slipping inside you this time, curling just right and every time that heat started to spiral, his mouth would pull away, his rhythm would slow and the wave would slip just out of reach.
it was torture – delicious, devastasting torture.
your breath came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. the blindfold making it worse. every sound, every touch, every breath he took, every swipe of his tongue felt magnified. and mark was loving every second of it. the way he had all control under his fingertips.
“you keep sucking in my fingers,” he murmured, voice thick with arousal. “you wanna cum that badly, kitten?”
you nod furiously, broken whimpers slipping past your lips, your pride long gone. then you felt it again. that same, cool rounded object from earlier. your pen.
he dragged the tip of it along your folds, now slick and pulsing from his touch, watching the way your legs twitched with each pass, “bet you’ll never look at this thing the same again,” he whispered near your hip. the pen collects your dripping arousal, “such a mess,” he breathes out, tongue surprisingly latching onto your folds again, sucking your juices. you whimpered as he slides a finger inside you again, slower, deeper, making you feel every second of it.
“you feel how close you are?,” he asked, voice gravelly, dangerous. you nodded frantically, choking on a breath only for him to pull back again.
“mark, please, i’m sorry,” you cry out desperately. wanting so bad to finally be relieved. the edging was too much. your clit was throbbing so painfully and you needed him so badly. he leaves you untouched for a second too long, watching you squirm for him.
then with absolutely no warning, mark slaps his hard cock against your cunt, making you moan out in pleasure. he slides his member up and down your wet folds, teasing your entrance and for a moment you don’t even care that he’s not wearing a condom. his skin felt so fucking good againts yours. you just wanted him inside you. you felt the tip of him nudge against you again. but he didn’t push in. he just stayed there, teasing.
you whined, toes curling into the sheets, body arching up, “please….”
he chuckled, low, quiet, “i love hearing you beg,” he said, his tip brushing over your clit, solid and hot against your slick, “makes it real tempting to give in.”
“i could take you right now, kitten,” he whispered, voice wrecked with restraint, “you’d be so good for me, so ready,” he hums against your skin.
you gasped, barely holding onto your sanity, practically sobbing, “please do it, mark, please i need you,” you were soaked, throbbing, voice breaking with utter desperation — that was all he needed to hear. mark wraps his member and not even a second later he finally thrusts into you, sliding into your hole with ease. your body was so prepared for him, walls completely squeezing around his cock so perfectly, so warm.
he yanks off the blindfold from your face and for a moment the room spins with light and clarity until his brown eyes come into view. your tear-filled eyes meet his and the heat in his steals your breath. he was breathing just as hard as you are. just as worked up. he brings your legs up to your shoulders, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, holding on to him like he was your lifeline. he was in so deeply, his cock hitting that spot over and over again. you were trembling, panting hard, jaw clenching as you fought to keep your eyes open. mark hovered above you, his thrusts unrelenting, his own breath ragged, the heat between you unbearable. you moaned his name like it was the only word you’ve ever learned, your voice dissolving into desperate, broken sounds.
“i’m gonna—mark, i’m gonna…,” your grip on his shoulder tightens, nails digging into his skin.
“—go on kitten,” he growled in your ear, voice thick with hunger, “cum for me.”
that was it. the pleasure tore through you like a wave, your whole body arching as your orgasm finally hit you. hard. jaw going slack, vision blurring, eyes rolling back as you practically saw stars. the way your pussy pulsed around him sent mark over the edge, “fuck kitten, such a good girl,” he managed to say in between breaths, before he was groaning in your neck, spilling into the condom. his movements slowed as he rode it out, then he collapsed gently on top of you, both of you shaking, skin slick and flushed.
you stay there for a moment or two, trying to even your ragged breathing. then…laughter bubbled from your lips. light, uncontrollable, like something cracked open inside you and it sounds like music to his ears.
“what?” his head lifted slightly, brows drawn, cock still inside you.
you giggled again, still catching your breath, “h-holy shit, mark” you gasped, eyes glassy with aftershocks, “i don’t think i’ve ever came that hard before.”
he gave you that crooked, self-satisfied boyish smirk and you almost regret complimenting him. then slowly, he pulled out of you, making your body ache with the sudden absence.
carefully, he brushed the tears from the corner of your eyes, “you okay though? i wasn’t too much?”
your heart tripped in your chest. you hated that it did.
you nodded, keeping it casual, ignoring the way his concern made something twist painfully inside you, “yeah. i’m good.”
he nods, settling beside you as you laid there, still catching your breath, your limbs buzzing, body sore in a satisfying way. mark hadn’t moved much either, his arm casually draped over your thigh, chest rising and falling steadily with you. neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t awkward. it was warm. settled. easy in a way it probably shouldn’t have been. it was too dangerous. you needed to break it.
“i’m hungry,” you said, voice still scratchy.
mark glanced over at you, a brow raised, “i just gave you an orgasm of a lifetime and the first thing on your mind is food?”
you gave him a lazy grin, “we burned a lot of calories from that, we deserve carbs”
he didn’t comment on your use of we. or the way that there was a we now makes his heart skip a beat. but the fact that he liked the sound of a we was far worse. that box he buried somewhere deep inside, suddenly popping up.
“you’re ridiculous,” he says, forcing out another laugh.
you reached for your phone on the nightstand, “pizza okay with you?,” and he realizes you’re inviting him to stay. you’re not kicking him out like you usually do after a session.
he pushes it a bit further, wanting to see how far this invitation goes “as long as i get to pick the movie this time.”
you narrowed your eyes at him like he’d stepped on thin ice and he’s afraid he pushed it a little too far, misread the moment, until you say, “and what movie are you picking?”
a smile curved his lips as he grabbed his shirt and sweats off the ground, putting it on, “spiderman. obviously,” he says, already making his way to your living room couch.
you blinked at him then grabbed the first clothes within reach, your shorts from the far corner and his hoodie slung over your desk chair, “which one?,” you called through your room, putting the clothes on.
“there’s only one right answer!”
“andrew’s?,” you teased, walking out of your bedroom. he froze for a second. you, in his hoodie, smiling like that. that same smile from freshman year. his brain short-circuited. you were making this whole forgetting thing really hard.
“hope you don’t mind,” you said with a small laugh, “i have no idea where you threw my shirt,” you chuckle.
“that’s fine,” he replied, maybe a little too fast, “and no not andrew’s”
you snorted, “fine, i’ll order pepperoni and you can fangirl over your web-slinging childhood hero,” you smirk, calling papa john’s.
mark grinned as he turned on the t.v. and started searching for the movie, “hey, that’s spiderman, protector of new york, thank you very much.”
you settled beside him a few minutes later, pizza box on the coffee table, movie playing, quiet jokes exchanged through bites of crust and cheese. somewhere between tobey maguire’s awkward charm and halfway through the pizza box, the space between you disappeared. this time, there was no gap. no careful leaning away. your thighs brushed his and neither of you moved. neither of you said anything. but maybe, just maybe, you both felt it — that same quiet something that had been growing since that friday night. still unspoken. still unnamed.
and mark realizes that he could get used to this.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 18. friday.
the door barely clicked shut before mark had his hands on you – rough, needy, all control. he didn’t waste a second. not a single hello, not a single warning. his mouth crashed into yours, all hunger and heat, urgent and commanding, steering you straight to the bedroom with the kind of focus only frustration could fuel.
“m-mark, what’s wrong?,” you managed to ask, concern laced in your voice.
“need you. now,” he growled, voice low, flat with no room for playfulness. you didn’t even make it to the bed. he spun you, yanked your shorts down, shoved you onto your desk chair. one hand ripping open a condom, the other dragging your panties aside and in one swift motion, he was inside you.
you gasped at the intrusion, fingers gripping your desk table, not at all prepared for him. there was no easing in, no pause. just raw, relentless need. and he didn’t care. he couldn’t care. he had too much to burn off. he thrusted in and out of your hole with a desperate rhythm that had you gasping his name between moans. the sound of skin slapping echoing through your bedroom walls.
“fuuuck, kitten, just what i needed,” he groaned, fingers digging into your hips like he was holding on for life. you were sure his fingerprints would mark your skin. he pulls you back onto him with every snap of his hips, like he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get close enough.
“mark, fuck,” you gasped, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. but he didn’t slow down. he was absolutely locked in, chest heaving, only focused on reaching that high.
“everything’s fucked,” he muttered between gritted teeth, slamming into you hard, “i just needed this…needed you.”
you felt him twitch inside you, pace stuttering for half a second, just enough to send that familiar heat spiraling through your core. the roughness, the force, the way he clung to you like you were the only thing that mattered – it pushed you straight to the edge. your body tensed, a cry spilling from your lips as your orgasm washed over you. you clenched incredibly tight around him and that’s all it took.
“shit, i’m cumming,” he groaned, choking on the sound as he slammed in one last time, hips jerking, fingers still digging into your flesh like he’d break without the contact.
for a moment, all that filled the room was the sound of your breathing – heavy, wrecked, uneven. he stayed there, buried deep, his forehead resting against your back, arms still wrapped around your waist like letting go would make the world crash in again. his breath fanned hot across your skin, heavy and uneven but slowly starting to settle.
you blinked through the haze, heart still racing, legs barely steady beneath you. you turned your head slightly, voice hoarse but gentle, “mark, what was that?”
he didn’t answer at first. just exhaled, slow and ragged. then he pulled out with care, discarding the used condom and pulling his sweatpants back up. his hands steady you as he gently placed your panties back in place. he turned you to face him, guiding you to sit, and then leaned in to press a kiss to your lips – soft, slow and achingly tender. the complete opposite of everything that had come before.
“are you okay?,” you asked, reaching out to cup the side of his face, searching for the answers in his eyes. he allowed himself to lean into your touch. almost like he needed it to breathe, eyes fluttering close for a second.
“jeno got in a fight,” he sighs heavily, voice low, almost defeated.
he sank into his knees in front of you, resting his head in your lap. without thinking, your fingers immediately thread through his hair like they belonged there, like this was normal. his arms wrapped around your waist with quiet desperation, “it got recorded, reached the dean in seconds and i had to go clean it up, make sure we don’t get shut down,” he says tiredly.
you just listen to him, letting him unravel.
“and finals are on monday, i think i’m ready…we’ve been studying really well, my quizzes went okay but it’s also my last chance…if i don’t pass these classes, i'm off the basketball team.”
his arms tightened around your waist like he was bracing himself.
“it’s just been…a lot, everyone thinks i’ve got it all together. they don’t even know i’ve managed to screw it all up…i’m failing my classes, the team…everyone,” his voice broke on the last word, barely more than a whisper.
his eyes shut again, like he couldn’t bear to have anyone see him like this — mark, who was everyone’s favorite. mark, who always made confidence look effortless. mark, who everyone admired, who never looked tired. mark, who was here, on your bedroom floor, falling apart.
and you realized now just how much he’d been carrying and how alone he must have felt doing it. he was a mirror of your own reflection. so you ask him the one question you wished people asked you.
“do you want to talk about it?,” you whispered, thumb softly brushing along his cheek.
his jaw tensed beneath your touch and you thought he might pull away. shove the vulnerability back down and wrap himself in that playful charm he wore so easily when you were sitting across from him at study session or tangled up in the sheets. but instead, his shoulders slumped. he starts, voice low and rough, “i thought i could fix it, just grind harder, push through like i’ve always been able to…but things just kept stacking up. practices, papers and now this thing with the fraternity.”
you’d seen the cracks, of course. you weren’t oblivious. him being late, the bags under his eyes, the way his shoulders stay tense no matter how relaxed he tried to seem. but he always played it off and you never pushed.
“i couldn’t tell anyone,” he continued, softer now, “i’m the leader, the co-captain…i'm supposed to know what to do. everyone leans on me, if i fall apart what happens to the rest of them?.” he lets out a bitter, humorless laugh.
“and i couldn’t tell you. you’re already helping me so much with tutoring and the sex and i didn’t want to drag you into my shit. especially since…this thing between is isnt supposed to include this, right?”
you didn’t respond right away because he was right — there were walls between you that needed to stay up. this was supposed to be easy. you were supposed to be each other’s safe option. the ones who didn't come with emotional trauma. the ones who wouldn’t ask for more. the ones who never pried, just notes, flashcards and casual sex without the weight of feelings or expectations.
“we’re still friends mark,” you said gently, “and friends don't let you go through the hard stuff alone.”
your voice was soft, but steady. you offered a small, honest smile and he finally looks up, meeting your eyes, letting himself be seen. he didn’t say anything after that, just looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.
you didn’t break the gaze, didn’t try to fill the silence. you just stayed there, fingers still gently curling in his hair. letting him be here. letting him breathe. and he did – his head rested in your lap, arms still loosely wrapped around your waist like he didn’t quite know how to let go. didn’t want to let go. you could feel the weight of him, every little thing he’s been holding in, slowly settling.
no one rushed to define what this moment meant. no one tried to make a joke to cut the lingering tension — it was just quiet. stretching between you full of things unsaid. of a certain kind of understanding that didn’t need to be spoken out loud. and for now, this was enough.
just two people, sitting in their own wreckage, breathing together, pretending they weren’t crossing a line.
eventually, you felt the need to offer him something more than quiet comfort. something normal. something safe.
“what do you say, we skip tutoring session for the day and watch spiderman 2, i can order chinese this time?,” you say, finally breaking the quiet.
his eyes flicked up to yours. there was a pause, like the suggestion took a second to land. then slowly, the tension in his face bagan to ease, a smile tugging on his lips, “and what about finals week?”
“mark you know it, you’ve gotten every single question right our last two sessions,” you reassure him, “there’s not a single doubt in my mind you’re going to pass,” you smirked, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
that pulled a real breath of relief from him, a soft laugh, muffled against your lap, “we’re watching tobey’s spiderman 2, right?”
for the rest of the night, there was no tutoring, no expectations, no pressure. just honey walnut shrimp, fried rice, spider-man swinging through new york city and two people, curled up on the couch, who weren’t quite sure what they were but certain that this comfort, this closeness, was something they wanted.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 20. sunday.
mark: dude
mark: [1 image]
mark: saw this and thought of you
kitten: ???
kitten: mark. that’s just a cat.
mark: she has your eyes!!
kitten: bro 😭😭
kitten: she looks like she’s ready to attack u
mark: exactly
mark: just like you! 😼
kitten: seek help
kitten: and good luck on your finals markkk
kitten: you're gonna kill it
mark: what’s my reward if i pass? 🫣
kitten: freedom from me 🙂↕️
kitten: sex with anyone you want! 🙂↕️🙂↕️
kitten: any day you want!! 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
mark stared at your texts, thumbs hovering over the screen, his grin being wiped off — it was exactly the kind of thing you’d say. playful, detached, safe. like he hasn’t seen the most vulnerable parts of you. like you haven’t seen the worst parts of him.
his stomach churns in a funny way. it didn’t hit him until now that passing his classes also meant your tutoring sessions were over. no more flashcards, no more learning each other’s bodies, no more movie nights and greasy take out foods. no more you.
he set his phone down beside him, letting his head fall back against the pillow. suddenly, the finish line didn’t feel like a victory lap. it felt like a goodbye. and sure, you would still be around, he would still see you in passing, on campus, in random parties – you would still be his friend.
the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. if he was being completely honest, he didn’t want to stop seeing you. he didn’t want this to end just because the excuse to stay had run out. he wanted to be on your couch, watching spiderman. you still had six of them to go. he wanted the greasy takeout, the shared silence, the casual way your leg would brush against his like it didn’t mean everything.
he wanted to keep learning you. your favorite color, your favorite songs, your favorite everything until there was nothing left to learn. and even then, when all the learning is done, he just wanted to be there.
he wanted to be allowed to stay. to be able to wrap his arms around you and not wonder if he’s crossing a line. to show up with all your favorite snacks, and this time he knows what they are. to kiss you and not feel that sick, sinking guilt in his stomach when it meant more to him than it ever should have.
he started typing: what if i don’t want freedom from you?
he stared at it for a second. then deleted it.
typed again: sooo i still get to bother you after finals, right?
he deleted that one too.
mark: haha, nice 👍
he sighed, tossing his phone face-down onto the bed like that would somehow quiet the tightness in his chest.
your phone buzzed again. his response felt off or maybe it was just all in your head. you shook the thoughts away and turned back to your laptop, reviewing for your own classes.
you weren’t going there. you couldn't.
you refuse to be too much again. too needy.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 21. monday.
when mark stepped out of his last class of the day, he found you immediately, leaning against the wall, a drink in your hand, smiling at him.
before he could even think about it, his feet were already moving, carrying him, each step closing in towards you as he pulled you into a hug. his face nestles in the crook of your neck, a quiet sigh of relief slipping past his lips. he just wanted to stay here for a while. wrapped in the calm only you seemed to bring.
you froze, just for a moment. the hug catches you off guard. you’ve never been this touchy in public. you could feel the eyes on you, see a few raised brows in your peripheral vision. still, after a beat or two, you gave in, arms looping around his waist, one hand still gripping the cup of milk tea you got for him.
“it wasn’t that bad, was it?,” you murmured near his ear. he chuckles against your neck, the breath of air tickling before leaning back just enough to look at you, his hands still lingering on your hips like he’d forgotten to let go.
“i’m pretty sure i aced it,” he said, all confidence and charm.
you raise a brow, “so why did you just hug me like the world was ending?”
his smirk flickered, replaced by something quieter, heavier “you said once i passed, this would be over.”
he tried to keep it light, but the words tasted bitter, “figured, i should take what i can while i still can.”
you push away the feeling rising in your throat, glancing down at the drink in your hand, shoving the emotion aside “here, i got this for you, a mini reward.”
he takes it with a soft laugh, fingers brushing against yours, just a moment too long. his eyes stayed on you as he took a sip and something about the way he looks at you makes your chest twist — it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. not in daylight. not out here, in the open, where it could be mistaken for something real.
“people are staring at us,” you murmured, gaze dropping.
he doesn’t even glance around them, “let them.”
you tried to deflect, lips tugging into a smirk “what? and ruin your chances with all your girls?”
but he didn’t laugh. he didn’t play along. didn’t take the out this time.
“maybe i only want one girl.”
the breath caught in your throat. your heart stuttered. you looked up at him, eyes searching, desperate to find some hint of irony, some trace of a grin. anything that would let you write it off.
“hmm,” you force out a chuckle, thin and cracked, “you? mr. i don’t go exclusive,” you teased, your voice barely holding steady.
he smiled, but he didn’t deny it. that was when the panic set in.
“i have to go, i still have a class to get to,” and before he could respond, you were already walking away. you didn’t look back. you couldnt.
mark stayed where he was for a while, just watching your figure get smaller and smaller, drink in his hand, feeling the warmth of your body still clinging to his skin. people moved around him in chatter, footsteps on concrete, but it all blurred.
he meant it — he didn’t just let those words slip for no reason. he’d thought about it all night, maybe longer, and when the words came out, they didn’t surprise him. and it didn’t surprise him either how quiet you went, how fast you looked away, how quickly you pivoted back to safe ground, barely entertaining the thought.
you were the girl who didn’t believe in love. he knew that. and you could continue pretending that this was nothing. you could continue to shove it down with a joke, whatever you needed to do to keep him at arm’s length.
but he was done playing along. he wasn’t going to pretend anymore.
he wanted you to have all his mondays, wednesdays and fridays. even the tuesdays and thursdays. and every last goddamn saturdays and sundays. if you’d let him.
⟢
mark’s words echoes in your ears, clear and sharp and impossible to shake as you lay in your bed, wide awake.
you replay the moment in your head, over and over. the way he held you like you were something to hold onto. the way his fingers didn’t let go right away.
the way your heart betrayed you.
you hated how easy it would be to believe him. to want more. to hope. again.
but love had already burned you. already ruined you. it hollowed you out, left you scattered in pieces you barely recognized. you gave and gave until there was nothing left to give and even then, you still tried to be enough. you made yourself smaller, more manageable, easier to love. and you hated it. hated who you became when love took over – clingy, dependent, pathetic, insecure.
the kind of person who lost herself in someone else’s orbit and called it devotion. the kind of person who mistook being needed for being desired. the kind of person who became the version they needed until the real you felt like a distant memory.
it took everything to rebuild yourself from the wreckage love left behind. you had to learn how to be alone again. how to stop apologizing for needing anything at all. you had to teach yourself to exist without someone else’s hands holding you together.
you swore to yourself you’d never be that girl again.
but here you are, heart stuttering at a single sentence from a boy who was never supposed to matter this much. all your careful walls cracking, your breath catching, body already leaning toward him like muscle memory.
and even after all the warning signs going off in your head, every scar whispering don’t, you can’t help but want him.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 23. wednesday.
there was a knock on your door. you didn’t have to look through the peephole to know who it was.
you consider not opening it. pretend you weren’t home. an internal conflict going on between your mind and your heart. one half of you aching for him, the other half gripping onto the remaining boundary you had left.
you sigh, dragging your feet across the door, fingers hesitating on the knob.
“kitten, i know you’re there, the light is on,” mark’s voice announces through the other door. the nickname didn’t feel harmless anymore. it felt like a hand reaching through a door you were trying desperately to seal shut. a reminder of the closeness you’d let happen. the thing you swore wouldn’t need again.
“i brought food,” he added, tone lighter this time. like this could be another normal night of movies and food and silence where feelings should go.
you hated how much you wanted it. hated how you unlocked the door and pulled it open, meeting the brown warm eyes that was so dangerous. he was in one of his hoodies that always looked too comfortable, takeout in his arms with an expression that you couldn’t quite read. or maybe you didn’t want to.
“i thought we could watch spider-man 3, it’s the last tobey one,” he said, raising the food like it was some sort of offering.
you stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in and he walked in like he always did. like he belonged here, in your space. he removed his shoes, placed everything on the coffee table, sat on his side of the couch like everything was normal. like nothing happened. like those words didn’t leave his mouth and had you stuck on him ever since. like he hadn’t said something too big for this setup you had.
and you let him. you followed the script too. you dimmed the lights, grabbed the blanket from the side of the couch and pulled it over both of your legs, hit play on the movie.
for a while, neither of you said a word. until the movie reached a lull and you realized not a single joke has been said between you. you sneak a look at him only to find he was already looking at you.
“why are you looking at me like that?,” you whisper into the night air.
“like what?,” he deflected, smile barely there.
you raise a brow, giving him a pointed look, but your heart is already thudding, “like that,” you murmur.
mark’s smile fades into something quieter. something real. his eyes didn’t leave yours, “maybe i’m just trying to memorize you,” he said softly, like the words had been sitting on his tongue for days. it was quiet and honest. and it wrecked you.
your chest tightened. heat crept up your neck, blooming beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the good kind. it was panic, nostalgia, longing, everything you’d spent years trying to outrun. you blinked fast, trying to swallow the ache, the confusion, the hope. you couldn’t hold his gaze.
then his hand moved, gentle, almost afraid, thumb brushing over your thigh, “does this really have to end after finals?,” he asked. his voice wasn’t playful. there was something almost broken in it. something that wanted more.
you look down at his hand. it’s warm. steady.
you forced your voice into something light, something distant, “what do you mean mark?,” you play dumb, “you can still come over, we can still hang out and watch movies.”
“you know that’s not what i mean, y/n,” his voice cut clean through you. he looked at you like you held the whole world and you hated it. because you’ve seen that look in someone else’s eyes before and you remember how that story ended.
“i want you.” he said. he’s always been upfront, the kind of guy who goes for exactly what he wants. honest. no confusion. he wasn’t going to stop that just because what he wanted now was a little different than usual.
“—not just the movie nights. i want to be able to kiss you without wondering if i’m crossing the line. i want to hold your hand. i don’t want to have to leave.”
you could hear it in his voice, that he meant every word. that he was laying himself bare. your lungs were full of things you’ve never said. fears you never voiced.
“do you want me because you want me,” you whispered, “or because you need me?”
the room went still. mark blinked, caught off guard. his face twisted in confusion. he didn’t understand the question. “what’s the difference?”
you nodded once, slowly, even though he didn’t get it. especially because he didn’t get it. that was all the confirmation you needed. the quiet confirmation of every fear you've been carrying. your thoughts spiraled, fast and breathless – he saw you as the person who kept him from falling apart, not the person who could be loved on her own terms. you didn’t want to be a need. you wanted to be a choice. wanted to be loved for your fire, your flaws, your silence, your mess. all of it.
you pulled the blanket off, stood up, walked toward the kitchen under the disguise of grabbing water but you really just needed the distance, needed to breathe.
behind you, mark didn’t move. the space where you’d just been now empty and echoing. the movie played on, some forgotten scene washing the walls in flickering color, fading into the background. all he could hear was the question that you’d asked. the silence that followed after he said the wrong thing. the way you walked away like you were holding yourself together with a string.
he stood slowly, following you into the kitchen, footsteps soft like he was afraid he’d scare you off if he made too much noise. you were standing there, back to him.
“i didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice low, careful.
when you didn’t respond, he continued, “i don’t need you like a fix,” he stepped closer, gently, slowly. and then, he lets his confessions stumble into the night air. all of the words he’d been dying to tell you.
“i want you like—,” his voice broke slightly, “like i want to wake up with you next to me, i want to know your favorite things, i want your sarcasm, your bad jokes, i want to be the one you call when your day’s gone to shit or when someone tells you a funny story and you just have to share it with someone, i want all the parts you hide. that’s what i meant.”
he was so close now. you closed your eyes and it terrifies you how much you wanted that too.
“i’ve been through this before, mark,” you said, barely above a whisper, “i gave someone everything and he only loved me because he needed me, because it was easy at first. not the real me. not the mess. not the scared, guarded, overthinking, too-much me.”
mark stepped closer until there was barely space between you.
“y/n, i’m not him,” he says, voice full of conviction, “let me prove it. if it takes time, i’ll wait. if you need space, i’ll give it. but please stop acting like none of this is real, stop acting like this was all just tutoring and sex. don’t shut me out because someone else couldn’t handle you. because i can. i want to.”
you stared at the floor. every wall you’d built over the years was trembling in your chest, all of them threatening to collapse and you were desperately trying to keep them together. he was saying everything you’d ever needed someone to say. yet you can’t find it in yourself to believe him.
your fear was louder than your hope.
“i need space,” you breathed. it was all you could manage. your voice almost gave out on the last word.
mark stilled, his throat bobbed as he swallowed. then he stepped back. just once. and said, gently, “okay.”
he didn’t try to kiss you or hold you or close the space between you with anything physical. and that, more than anything, told you this wasn’t about need.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 25. friday.
the knock came again. you hadn’t expected it, your heart climbing straight into your throat.
you hadn’t spoken since that night. you told him you needed space and to his credit, he gave it. though as soon as he left you wanted him back. you couldn’t even understand your own emotions anymore.
he didn’t call. didn't text and even though it’s only been two days — the silence had been deafening.
your hand hovered near the doorknob again, just like it had before. like you were caught in a loop.
“y/n?,” his voice was softer this time. not playful, not teasing, just quiet and raw, “i…i got my results.”
you closed your eyes, just listening to his voice and the way he was able to shut down all the other voices in your head.
“i haven’t checked it yet,” he added after a beat, “i didn’t want to do it alone.”
something in you cracked and you opened the door. mark stood there, phone in hand, eyes tired and bloodshot like he hadn’t slept well in days. he didn’t step in this time. he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. you didn’t say anything. just stepped aside, letting him in. he walked in slowly, like he was afraid he might wake something fragile in the room. you followed him to the couch, sat next to him, close enough to touch but not touching.
he sat with his phone in his palm, screen still black, staring at it.
“just open it,” you said quietly, finally breaking the silence.
he turned to you, eyes searching, “i can’t do it,” he says, handing you the phone “you open it for me.”
you grab it from him, clicking the school’s app and reloading the screen, waiting for the results. the second felt too long, mark’s legs anxiously bouncing, you looked up at him with an expression he couldn’t read and his throat catches.
then in one second, your grin grew wider, “you passed!,” you cheered, laughter bubbling from your lips. he hasn’t realized how much he missed that sound until now. the past few days have definitely been an emotional turmoil.
mark blinked, “i..i did?,”
you nodded, laughing again, eyes shining, “you did, mark! look,” you say, shoving the phone in his face.
for a beat, he just stared at you, like he didn’t quite believe it. then it all hit him at once, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding finally exhaled. relief, pride, disbelief all crashing into his chest in one wave.
and before he could stop himself he pulled you into his lap in a mini victory, both of you laughing, excited, happy. his arms wrapped around you tight, burying his face into your shoulder like this was the only place he ever wanted to be. you hug him just as tight, now straddling him, arms curled around him as you both bask in his victory, your laughter’s harmonizing in the air.
after a few seconds, your body relaxed into his and for the first time in days, it felt easy again, natural. like muscle memory. like this was where you both belonged.
“i knew you could do it,” you murmured near his ear, voice soft. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still holding onto your side like didn’t want to let go yet.
and maybe it was the adrenaline in your system. maybe it was the look on his face. or maybe it was the way his hands lingered on your waist. but you didn’t think.
you leaned in and kissed him.
it was gentle, like asking a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to. he kissed you back with no hesitation, no second guessing. just the feeling of your lips in his, warm and certain.
mark’s hand cup your jaw like you were something breakable and important all at once. there was a slight tremble in his touch, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him this close. terrified that one wrong move would send you running.
the kiss wasn’t desperate, it wasn’t rushed. it was everything that hadn’t been said, missing each other in a way neither of you had admitted.
your hand curled into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you steady. your body swayed forward without permission, knowing what it wanted before your mind could catch up. his forehead dropped to yours and for a moment, neither of you said anything.
“i missed you,” you whispered, voice shaking. his eyes fluttered shut at the words, something raw flickering across his features. he kissed you again, slow and intentional. like he needed you to feel every unsaid thing he did not know how to say.
the kiss deepened, soft lips parting, breath mingling. his hand moved down, tracing your spine as he pulled you closer and every inch of your body hummed with anticipation. you tugged on his black shirt, tugging it over his head. you helped each other undress with quiet urgency, fingertips brushing skin, lips reconnecting in between.
mark grabs your thighs, gently lifting you up and turning you over to lay you down on the couch. he hovered over you, eyes dragging slowly down the length of your body, memorizing every line, every curve.
“you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, brushing your hair from your forehead.
your throat tightened.
he trailed kisses over your jaw, your neck, the slope of your shoulder, your breasts. every kiss feeling like a promise. his hands were everywhere, trailing over your waist, the dip of your hip, down your thigh, slow and warm and reverent. he took his time. worshipped every inch like he didn't want to miss a second of this.
he knew exactly where to touch you. knew the spots that ignited that fire in your stomach. he pushes your panties to the side and when his mouth finally found the place between your legs, you gasped, back arching. he groaned at the sound, at the taste of you, gripping your thighs gently, keeping you open for him. he watched your every reaction, paid attention to all of your sinful moans like it was his favorite song. his tongue moved, licking and circling and sucking until you were gasping his name, eyes fluttering shut, legs shaking around his shoulders.
your fingers laced through his, grabbing onto him like he was the last thing keeping you there. and when you came, it hit hard, head thrown back, toes curling. he stayed right there, drawing it out, licking through every wave. he kissed his way back up your body, slow and open mouthed until you pulled him back to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.
“mark,” you whispered, breathless, “bedroom.”
you didn’t have to say it again. mark grabbed your thighs, picking you up with ease, his bare chest warm against yours, legs wrapped around him, heartbeat thudding in rhythm with your own as he carried you to your bedroom. the air between you is charged and fragile in a way it had never been before. as soon as your back hit the mattress, you pulled him down to meet you. lips meeting again. but it wasn’t like the other times. there was no reckless rush, no frantic need. this kiss was deeper. slower. like he wanted to taste every part of you that had been out of reach until now.
his weight settled over you, grounding, familiar but all too different. he kissed you like he was afraid this might be the last time. touching you like he was memorizing you all over again, not your body, he already knew that – but you.
the way you sighed when his fingers brushed over your hips. the way your breath hitched when his lips settled over that sensitive spot below your ear. the way your hands roamed over his back, curling at the base of his spine like you didn’t know how to keep him close enough.
then suddenly, he stopped. bracing himself on his forearms, forehead pressed to yours, “wait,” he murmured, breathing hard, like it physically hurt to not be touching you.
you blinked, disoriented by the sudden break in heat as he curses under his breath, “i-i didn’t bring a condom…i didn’t expect to–,”
“i-i should have some,” you turned quickly, reaching for the drawer of your nightstand only to find your box of condoms empty.
you looked at him. he looked at you. a beat of silence passing in between you.
his hand found yours, warm brown eyes boring into yours, “we don’t have to.”
“do you want me?,” your voice cracked a little and that’s when you realized your throat was tight, feeling more vulnerable than ever.
“of course i do, kitten,” he said, placing a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist, “but i want you, not just this.”
“i want you, too,” you whisper like you were sharing a secret. his breath hitched. whole body stilling. you saw the moment he gave in, the exact second his restraint cracked.
“i-i’ll pull out,” he mumbled, still trying to be careful.
“i’m on the pill mark,” you said softly, “you can stay inside.” something in him faltered, his breath hitched, eyes darkening. he kissed you again, slower than before, more tentative, like he needed to make sure you meant it.
he lines himself up against your core, giving you one last look for confirmation and when you nod, granting him permission, he finally gave in to what you both wanted. he slid into you slowly, carefully, his forehead pressed to yours, breaths tangling. you felt the tremble in his arms, the shudder that worked through him as he sank fully into you – making you feel full, whole, complete.
you both stilled, letting the moment settle.
you’d done this before. countless times. fast, rough, unspoken. but it had never felt like this. this felt like new territory. this felt like falling.
this wasn’t about sex. this was about every word you’d left unsaid.
your hands roamed up his back, fingernails grazing over the muscles there and his body responded to every touch, arching into you slightly. you could feel every vein on his cock, every twitch, every pulse. he moved slowly, deeper than he had before, watching your face for every flicker of reaction.
mark’s hand came up to brush the hair from your cheek, as he littered kisses from your cheekbones, along your jaw, every inch of skin he could find, “i was made for you” he whispered.
your chest ached, eyes burned. you didn’t know what to do with those words so instead you pulled him closer and kissed him hard. desperate to shut him up. to shut yourself up. to make the ache go away. every movement was slow, sensual, too vulnerable. every inch of your skin between you whispering i missed you, don’t leave again, please feel what i’m feeling.
his hand laced with yours, fingers locking tight, fitting together like two connecting pieces of a puzzle. it was all too much. the way he stayed close, nose brushing your cheek. the way he murmured your name under his breath like it was the only word he knew.
you whispered his name when that coil in your stomach started to tighten, the pressure ready to be released, tension curling through your body. he kissed your temple, your cheekbone, your mouth, over and over again as you came undone beneath him. your legs trembled, breath hitched, back arching as he talked you through it, murmuring praises in your ear.
he followed soon after, body shuddering against yours as he gave in, marking your walls, a grunt of your name spilling from his lips. and even then, he didn’t let go of your hand. he stayed inside you long after, face buried in the curve of your neck, body heavy over yours in the best way. neither of you said anything, just basking in the warmth of each other’s bodies.
you’ve never felt fuller. the feeling of skin on skin. of a truth too big to name yet.
and when he pulled out, you felt the loss of him like a jolt. your body throbbed, empty and aching. he reached for the tissues on your bedside table, gently wiping away the mess you two made.
you swallowed hard, “mark-”
his eyes searched yours, desperate and open and unguarded in a way you’d never seen before. he was just as scared as you. scared that you would push him away again, “please,” he begs, “don’t make me leave.”
“i don’t know how to do this,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t know how to accept this.” you couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word. that one word lingering in both of your tongues.
mark’s face softened, something inside him cracking at your words. he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again, “we can figure it out,” he says, “but we don’t have to figure it all out tonight…for tonight let's just…stay here.”
your eyes stung. he wasn’t asking for promises. he wasn’t demanding answers. he was just asking you not to run. not yet. you nodded and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. neither of you said anything after that. he shifted beside you, pulling you into his arms, your body curling naturally into the space against his chest. one of his hands wrapped around your back, the other held your hand like he was scared you would just disappear.
you laid there, wrapped in him, your heart a mess of silence and scars. listening to the beat of his heart. trying to believe this could be real.
“i don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered into his skin.
“you already do,” he murmured, raw and honest, brushing his lips to your hair.
“i’m sorry.”
“there’s nothing to be sorry for, kitten. i’d rather be hurt with you than feel nothing without you,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head. your eyes fluttered closed at that, too tired to hold everything in your chest. too afraid of what would happen when morning came. but for right now, in this moment, you let yourself stay.
and somewhere between his breathing and the ache in your chest, you fell asleep in his arms, tangled up in a mess of limbs, heartbreak and that word you both can’t say.
ᓚᘏᗢ april 26. saturday.
mark woke up to the soft morning light filtering in through your bedroom window, stretching across the sheets like a quiet whisper. the space beside him cold. his hand reached out before his eyes even opened, instinctively searching for you, but the space was empty, only leaving behind the shape of your figure.
his brows furrowed as he sat up slowly, blanket slipping off his chest. the room felt too still. like the warmth had left with you. he got up, heart tightening as his bare feet hits the floor, pulling on his sweats as he stepped into your living room — empty.
no note. no text. no sound of the shower. just silence. the kind of silence that presses on your ribs and makes everything feel heavier than it should.
mark exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. this wasn’t new – this disappearing act of yours, distant and cold. but it hurt more today. especially after last night. after they way you kissed him like you meant it. the way you held him like you wanted him. the way you made love to him like you loved him.
he sat down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. the victory of passing his finals felt like a faded memory now. and maybe you were just getting breakfast? maybe you were getting coffee? maybe you went out for a quick walk? but deep down, he knew better.
because when someone leaves without saying goodbye, it’s never just about getting coffee – it’s about fear. about retreat. about trying to stuff last night back into that box. a box where it doesn’t fit anymore.
he didn’t know what would happen next but he made you a promise and he’s determined to keep it. even if you never let him this close again. even if this was the last night he’d get to love you the way he wanted to. but he wouldn’t push. he wouldn’t beg. he wouldn’t ask you to feel more than you were ready to. he knew your walls were built from heartbreak and survival and he would never try to tear them down.
but he’ll show up — quietly, steadily, solid where you expected everyone to vanish. he wouldn’t ask for anything in return. not your love, not your certainty, not even your presence. just the chance to exist nearby. just the permission to care.
you didn’t have to earn his love by loving him back.
and if someday you turned around and realized you didn’t want to be alone anymore. he’d be here, welcoming you with open arms.
⟢
you hadn’t meant to leave like that. not really.
you told yourself it was just a short walk. just some air. just to clear your head before the morning got too loud and the reality of your actions settled in too deep.
your lips still felt the ghost of his. your skin still hummed with the way he touched you like he knew you — not just the version you showed him on movie nights and tutoring sessions, but the messy, terrified, too much version you’d spent years trying to hide. he kissed you like he wasn’t afraid of her. and that pushed you further down your fears.
you didn’t know if you were allowed to believe in it. so you left. not to hurt him. never too hurt him. but to protect yourself. protect him from you. to build the distance before you both could fall all the way in.
you couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face when you told him he passed — a mixture of excitement and bittersweet emotion clearly on display. the way he hugged you like you were home. and then, god, you kissed him. and for the first time in forever, kissing someone didn’t feel like an escape. you swallowed hard. you were so afraid of these emotions. of needing him.
you went back home when the sun was down, mark nowhere to be seen, except for a note left on your coffee table, written in mark’s handwriting:
“call me if you need me.”
just simple words that made your chest ache.
if. not when.
he wasn’t expecting you to need him. wasn’t asking you to lose yourself again, to shrink, to bleed out the softest parts of you just to keep him. he wasn’t trying to save you or fix you or unravel you for the sake of making you his.
he left you a choice, control fully in your hands. a door, cracked open.
if you need me.
not a condition. not a plea. just kindness wrapped in restraint. not loud or overwhelming. not all-consuming. just patient. just quiet. just there.
ᓚᘏᗢ one week later. may 3. saturday.
you never contacted him. you didn’t know how to face him.
some days, you’d go home to take-out waiting for you by the door, still warm, like he’d just left. there were messages left in your phone. messages that you read over and over again, finger hovering above the keyboard. a reminder that mark was still there. that he still cares.
you just didn’t know what to do with that.
“c’mon y/n, come to the party at the wayv frat tonight,” your best friend, yeri, says through the phone, her voice bright and pleading.
“yeri, i don’t really feel like partying,” you sigh, voice low and dull.
“y/n, you can’t push us away too, we’re your friends,” she says more firmly now.
you told her all about it a couple nights ago, over the fried chicken mark left at your doorstep, the soju in your fridge and a loose tongue that couldn’t keep your pain in any longer.
you spilled everything. what happened with mark, how it started, how it ended and yeri almost killed you with your own pillow. you can still hear her voice now, going through every stage of disbelief like it was a full-blown performance.
she went from, “are you kidding me?! mark lee?!,”followed by a dramatic gasp and a mischievous smirk, “was he good?? was he big?,” then came the pause, wide eyes, jaw dropping surprise “he said he only wanted one girl!!?? THE mark lee?? wanting one girl???,” and then her voice cracked, eyes misting as she whispered, “he wanted to know your favorite things?!?!” like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.
and then she strangled you with your own pillow when you got to the end of the story.
she was very much #teammark at the moment.
she was tired of your self sabotaging, your walls, your stubbornness — the way you rejected affection like it was poison. the way you flinched from being needed. from being loved. she understood it came from a place in your past. she never dismissed that pain. but she firmly reminded you that you can’t let your past haunt you forever. that the echoes of what hurt you, the ghosts that whisper you’re unlovable or unsafe, should not define the life you’re living now. she gave you an entire pep talk talking about how you can’t keep holding someone with one hand while the other is clinging to everything that once went wrong. and maybe the love in front of you isn’t perfect, maybe it’s messy and complicated and terrifying but it’s here and it’s real and it could be everything only if you let it.
“look,” yeri cuts through your train of thought,, “mina, doyeon, and ningning will be there too, okay, “you’re the only one that's going to be missing.”
you hesitate.
“he probably won’t even be there,” she adds quickly, “the dream frat most likely has their own party going on tonight.”
you don’t believe her. especially since you knew the dream frat was still under observance from that fight jeno threw.
“i don’t know…,” you say.
“c’mon,” she says, softer this time, “it’s the end of finals, we deserve to let loose and have fun,” she tries, one more time.
you exhale slowly, already halfway convinced.
“...fine.” you mutter, earning a bubbly scream from the other side.
⟢
the music is loud the moment you step through the door, laughter spilling down the hallways, the scent of cheap beer and fruity vape lingering in the air. you’re already regretting the black dress hugging your body, the heels, and the fact that you let yeri talk you into this.
“shots first!,” she yells over the music, dragging you toward the room. you spot familiar faces, mina waving from across the room, doyeon chatting up a pretty girl, ningning locked in an intense game of beer pong with a guy in sunglasses — it’s all the usual chaos. familiar. almost comforting.
you let the noise wash over you, grateful for the distraction until yeri stiffens beside you. you know before you even turn. he’s here — mark lee, leaning casually against the wall across the room, red cup in hand. he’s mid-conversation with a boy you knew, xiaojun – music major, member of the wayv fraternity, also a guy you tutored.
he was laughing, looking relaxed until he saw you.
and everything stops.
almost like you were the only two in the room.
his smile falters. eyes lock with yours. like he didn’t expect you to be here. doesn’t know what to do now that you’re both standing in the same room again.
you forget how to breathe for a second.
“y/n…,” yeri starts, but you shake your head, breaking away from his gaze.
“i’m fine.” you’re not.
but that’s what you tell her, forcing a smile, “let’s get those shots,” you manage to say as you and yeri slip into the kitchen. looking for something to drink. preferably something strong.
⟢
he hadn’t planned on staying long. he hasn’t really been in the mood for parties this whole week. it was too loud, too crowded, too many people and none of them were you.
but chenle, haechan and jisung kept dragging him out night after night, insisting he just needed to “get back out there.”
it hasn’t worked — he wasn’t interested in anyone else, no matter how pretty his friends say they were. all he could think about was you.
he sees you in the spiderman figurines he had in his room. he sees you in the half-eaten pizza box that the boys had ordered, where he could practically hear your laugh. he sees you in his notes. in every damn song that plays. in the stray cat that kept curling up on their lawn. the basketball court. the library. every corner he found himself in is a memory of you.
and sex has been different since that night. not after what you’d shared. not after what it felt like to be wanted like that, to want like that. he didn’t even know if he could go back to casual anymore, especially after feeling intimacy that intense.
so yeah, the plan was simple, he was gonna show up for a bit, make his rounds, say hi to his friends then dip. lock himself up in his room. back to waiting for your call.
he didn’t expect to see you but there you were, walking through the crowd.
and he wished he looked a little better. put a little more effort into his outfit. but truth to be told, he didn't think he had anyone to impress. his light stubble has grown in. he was only in a plain white shirt and black jeans. he didn't even bother styling his hair.
one second, he’s laughing at something xiaojun said, the next the breath gets knocked out of him — you walked in like you didn’t want to be there but still looking so effortlessly beautiful. the walls you’ve been hiding behind standing tall all around you.
every instinct tells him to go to you but his feet stay planted, the grip on his cup tightening.
“dude,” xiaojun says, mid-sentence, eyebrows raising, “are you even listening to me?”
mark doesn’t answer, he watches your eyes sweep the room and then land on him.
everything else disappears.
he doesn’t even hear the music anymore. the crowd becomes nothing more than a blur of faceless shapes, none of them worth noticing.
you still have that look in your eyes. that haunted, guarded look he’s seen too many times. the one that says i want to let you in, but i can’t afford to be hurt again.
you break the contact first, of course you do. he can’t help but continue to stare.
“okay,” xiaojun says suddenly, setting down his drink. “that’s it. i’m introducing you.”
mark’s head snaps toward him, “wait, what?”
“don’t know what happened to you, man but you’ve clearly lost your game,” his friend shrugs, already grabbing mark by the sleeve, “i got this. stop being a pussy, i’ll be your wingman.”
mark resists, suddenly very aware of his surroundings, planting his feet, “no…xiaojun, wait, you don’t understand–”
“she’s super chill,” xiaojun interrupts confidently, “smart as hell, kind of terrifying at first glance but definitely nice. i got you, don’t worry.”
“xiaojun…seriously–” mark hisses, digging his heels in, heart pounding in panic now, “we already…we know each other.”
but xiaojun didn’t hear him. too excited. too focused at playing matchmaker and hauling him toward the kitchen. “you can thank me later,” he grins, “just let me cook.”
mark’s stomach sinks. his hands are clammy. he’s seconds away from bolting. and then you turn around, cup in hand, mid-sip, just as xiaojun barrels into the kitchen with mark reluctantly in tow.
“y/n!,” xiaojun calls cheerfully. mark looks like he’s been dragged into hell itself, his eyes sending you an apology and you can’t help the way your brows lift.
“oh my god,” you whisper under your breath, choking on your drink and mark has to physically stop himself from reaching out to check if you are okay. you curse the fact that you let yeri leave you alone just a few seconds ago.
xiaojun beams, “i want you to meet my friend! this is mark. mark this is y/n..she used to tutor me back in the day. super scary, very smart,” you can’t help but raise a brow at his description, “anyway, you two should totally talk,” he wiggles his eyebrows.
mark gives you a look like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. his voice comes out tight, strained, like it hurts to speak, “hey.”
you glance at mark. he glances at you. and somehow, without saying anything, you both decide to play along.
“nice to meet you,” you say coolly, extending a hand like you haven’t seen every inch of him in moments you’re trying very hard to forget.
mark straightens up, his face schooled into a neutral smile. he takes your hand and his touch lingers just a little too long, bringing up feelings you tried so hard to push away, “same here.”
xiaojun beams, totally buying it, “see? told you i got you,” he whispers, making you quip a brow.
mark doesn’t look away from you, “so…you used to tutor xiaojun?”
you nod, keeping your expression composed, “yeah, freshman year. he was failing basic algebra.”
xiaojun gasps in mock offence, “i had a C-”
“which is failing,” you shoot back without missing a beat.
mark chuckles under his breath, eyes crinkling, “sounds like you were a tough tutor.”
“that depends on who i’m tutoring,” you say, like you didn’t spend the past month tutoring him.
xiaojun claps his hands together, clearly pleased with himself, “this is going great. i’m so good at at this. i should charge people.”
“oh yeah,” mark says, playing along, nodding solemnly. “you should definitely monetize your matchmaking business.”
“maybe i will!,” xiaojun grins, painstakingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension thickening between you two, “anyway, i’m gonna go and leave you two alone. you guys get to know each other. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!,” he winks and disappears back into the party.
and just like that, the mask drops. the space between you crackling.
mark raises an eyebrow, “nice to meet you, huh?”
you shrug, “you started it.”
he smirks faintly, “you didn’t have to shake my hand like we were at a networking event.”
“well, you didn’t have to look so charmed by it,” you shoot back and for a second it all feels too normal. just two friends caught in their playful banter.
⟢
ᓚᘏᗢ now.
“it’s good to see you,” he says, a little quieter now, smirk fading just slightly. you falter at that but instead of running, instead of deflecting, you hold his gaze.
“so,” you say, attempting a half-smile, “do you come here often, mark?”
he chuckles but the sound fades quickly. the amusement doesn’t last in his eyes. you were doing it again. masking your feelings behind a joke. trying to find an out. trying to stall the inevitable — and he stopped playing this game a long time ago. has stopped holding back.
“you didn’t call.”
your smile drops, “mark–,”
“that night,” he cuts in softly, but there’s something raw under his voice now, “i woke up and you were gone.”
the kitchen feels smaller. the party noise beyond the door fades to a muffled hum.
“i didn’t know what to say,” you murmur, voice almost lost under the thump of bass in the other room.
“you didn’t have to say anything,” he says, “i just wanted you to stay.”
you look away but mark steps forward. not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him.
“i kept checking my phone,” he goes on, “every morning when i wake up, every night before i go to bed. i watched you read my messages and i thought maybe you just needed time.”
“—i waited,” he continues, voice shaking now, “i left food by your door, i didn’t even care if you didn’t text back, i just wanted you to know i’m still here.”
you press your lips together, holding everything in.
“i didn’t want that night to end,” he goes on, quieter now, “and maybe i was stupid for thinking you felt the same way but–”
he breathes in, eyes locking onto yours. you try to tell him to stop but your voice betrays you. and mark could no longer hold back the words he’s been wanting to say.
“i fell in love with you.”
your heart stutters. that one phrase making you want to run.
“and i’m still in love with you,” he finishes, like a final breath. like he’s cutting himself open and bleeding honesty, the words slamming into your chest.
“we only had two rules, mark,” you managed to whisper, voice quiet and broken.
mark takes a shaky step closer, heart in his throat, “tell me you don’t feel it then,” he said quietly. his voice wasn’t angry, just tired, broken, desperate.
“look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me…that you don’t feel anything when i look at you like this and i’ll stop. i’ll leave you alone.”
you freeze. you didn’t answer right away. because you did feel it — you felt it in your chest, in your stomach, in the way the world always seemed to go a little quieter when he was around. you feel it in the ache that never went away after that night. you feel it in the way he says your name like it’s something holy. but that truth was too dangerous. too real.
so you hardened your voice, you shove it so far down you almost believe the lie yourself.
“i don’t feel it.”
you looked him dead in the eye, even though it nearly broke you. mark’s face falls but you don’t stop there. you lift your chin, meeting his gaze and finally twisting the knife in both of you.
“i don’t love you.”
his face didn’t crumble. didn’t twist in pain. he just stilled – silent, hollow stillness. the words knocking the breath from his lungs in one brutal blow. his eyes search your face like he’s trying to find a hole in your armor – something to tell him you don’t mean it.
you walked away, leaving him in the kitchen and disappearing into the crowd before he can see the way your hand trembles. before he can see the way your heart is breaking too. every step away from him felt heavier than the last. your throat felt like it was strangling your heartbeat. every breath scraped your ribs like regret trying to crawl out of your chest.
you told yourself not to look back. not to care. this is for the better. he deserves someone better. someone who knew what they wanted. someone who can give him the love he has to give without flinching.
you did the right thing. for the both of you.
you ignore your friend’s calls. focused only on trying to get as far away from this place as possible. and yet, as you passed through the living room, something ridiculous stopped you cold — someone was messing with a money gun. dozens of dollar bills floating all around you, spinning through the air like confetti in slow motion. you scoffed before you could stop yourself, bitter and breathless at the irony.
you pushed forward anyway, trying to control your tears, making your way through the bodies and out into the front lawn. you manage to make it a couple feet away.
but then…fingers, warm and gentle, wrapped around your wrist, turning you towards his tear-filled eyes as he caught up to you, breathless.
“what are you so afraid of?” mark asked, eyes wide, wild with a mixture of hope and desperation.
“what is it that terrifies you so much you’d rather lie to my face than admit what we have?”
his words cracked something open inside you. that was it. the last of your resolve breaking apart. your defenses collapsed.
“you, mark!,” your voice broke, full of too many emotions you could no longer control, “i’m afraid of you!”
he blinked, startled. you didn’t let the silence catch up.
“i’m afraid of what you make me feel,” you said, voice unraveling.
“i’m afraid because i’m in love with you too. and i don’t want to be!”
the tears came fast and hot but you no longer cared about the strong front you’ve been trying to keep up.
“—because the last time i fell in love, it destroyed me. i gave everything to someone who promised they’d stay and they left. and i had to build myself back up from nothing and i swore i’d never let myself feel like that again.”
mark took a slow step closer. like he was approaching something sacred.
“i don’t want to become her again,” you choked out, “the girl who wakes up wondering if today is the day everything falls apart. the one who clings too tightly. the one who ruins everything because she wants too much.”
“you’re not her anymore,” he said softly, like he was holding your heart in his hands., “you’re stronger now. you know who you are. and if things fall apart,” his voice cracked, his own tears falling, “i’ll still be there, i’m not going to leave you.”
you shook your head, tears falling freely, “you don't know that! what if i mess it up? what if i’m too much?”
“then i’ll stay anyway,” he said, voice trembling with conviction, “i’ll stay and remind you every single time that you're not too much. that you’re worth loving.”
you looked up at him, ready to break again but his words make you freeze, “and i’m scared too.”
mark swallowed hard.
“i’ve never been in love before,” he said. “not like this. not even close and i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m scared i’ll say the wrong thing. that i’ll mess this up. that i’ll love you too much or not enough or in the wrong way”
he let out a shaky breath, gaze locked on yours.
“but i’m willing to learn. i'm willing to fall. because i'm scared of losing you the most and i’d rather be scared with you than go my whole life without you in it…without trying.”
his eyes bored into yours, wide and unguarded, filled with that same fear you’d been carrying. you realized then that you weren't so different. just two souls wanting to love and be loved, both terrified of what it might cost.
and if he was brave enough to jump, you weren’t going to let him fall alone — with that, the last wall inside you crumbled and you reached for him.
mark pulls you into his arms like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. there, under the stars and distant music, you clung to him, allowing yourself to want him. your chest heaved against his, tears soaking into his t-shirt. and still, he held you tighter.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice hoarse, “i’m just…i’m so scared.”
“i know,” he murmured back, “it’s okay. i’m here.”
he rocked you gently like your pain had a rhythm only he understood. he didn’t know what else to do but hold you.
eventually your tears slowed. your breathing evened out. your fingers loosened from their desperate grip. you stayed in his arms a moment longer, heart pressed into his chest. committing it to memory like it was a song you never wanted to forget.
then you pull back, just enough to look up at him. your lashes were damp, eyes still glassy, “i meant it,” you said, barely above a whisper, “i love you.”
his eyes searched yours, not for doubt, but for the truth. and when he found it, unguarded, soft, scared, real, his hold on your waist tightens just a tiny bit like he couldn’t believe this was real and not something he’d dreamed up in all the nights he spent missing you.
mark leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you don’t. his lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, then deeper, steadier, like exhaling after holding his breath for years. you kissed him back like it was the only thing you knew how to do — your heart had spent so long trying to run away from this very feeling and now it was collapsing into it with both arms wide open.
no more running. just you and him and the promise of something real. not something that had an expiration date marked by final exams and end of sessions.
he smiled against your lips. you pulled away, the smallest, tearful laugh catching in your throat.
“so…what do we do now?,” you asked, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, though your voice was still soft. still fragile from everything it had admitted. and your eyes only had room for his reflection.
mark raised a hand, thumb gently brushing a tear from your cheek, “well,” he said, his voice low and full of warmth, “i would love to take you out on a date.”
and this time, when you smiled…it felt like the beginning.
ᓚᘏᗢ the next day.
mark knocks at your door at exactly 6:00P.M. a little more dressed up than usual, his face freshly shaved, hair styled perfectly, a bouquet of white roses behind his back.
you open the door and his breath catches. the red dress you're wearing stops just above your knees, hugging your curves in all the right places. its bold and subtle all at once, elegant neckline, bare shoulders.
you see the shift in his expression instantly, eyes widening, lips parting slightly.
“kitten,” he breathes out, recovering just enough to let a smirk tug on his lips “are you trying to cancel our date?”
your brows furrow in amusement, “what?”
he lets out a soft laugh, eyes still tracing the length of you. “how do you expect me to not want to have my hands all over you until this is off?” he says, a hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you gently against him, already losing his inner battle.
a playful smirk appears on your lips, “hey, buy a girl dinner first,” you say, pressing your palm to his chest to push him back, just a little.
he chuckles, deep and warm, eyes twinkling as he finally brings the bouquet around “for you, kitten.”
you take the flowers with a soft, surprised smile “these are beautiful mark, thank you,” you say quietly, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, just a quick one, before slipping back into your apartment. he stays at the door, watching as you make yourself into the kitchen, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. you rummage through your drawers for the vase you rarely use, dusting it off before filling it with water. carefully, you begin arranging the flowers on your coffee table. mark steps inside, closing the door behind him. his arms wrapping around your waist in a back hug.
“you ready?,” he murmurs, a kiss brushing the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.
“mhm,” you smile, reaching down to pat his hand before lacing your fingers with his. his grip is warm, sure. he leads you to the door, locking it behind you as you both step out of your apartment.
“this is kinda weird,” he chuckles as you walk towards his car.
“what? holding my hand,” you say, about to pull your hand away only for his grip to tighten.
“i didn’t say it was bad,” he says quickly, pulling you closer, “i’ve just never held hands with my girlfriend before.”
you chuckle, some things never change.
“oh, i didn’t know i was your girlfriend now?,” you smirk, teasing, a brow raising.
his smile instantly drops, “please say sike,” he mutters, suddenly serious. you burst into laughter and the tension in his shoulder melts. he watches you in awe, like your laugh could break every bone in his body and he’d still ask to hear it again. a smile taking over his features.
“sike,” you say sweetly just as he pokes your side, making you jump. he opens the passenger door for you with a smug look and you slide inside, cheeks warm, heart racing.
mark planned the most romantic, classic first date imaginable. like something ripped right out of a movie montage. candlelight dinner, soft jazz humming in the background and a corner table in a quiet, upscale restaurant where the lighting was dim and golden, casting everything in a dreamy glow. the flicker of the candle between you danced in his eyes, making him look warmer, softer than usual. the low murmur of other diners fading into the background. he pulled out your chair for you like a real gentleman. you ordered your food, sat across from each other, feet brushing beneath the table, half accidental, half deliberated. it was playful and sweet. he smiled every time it happened like he was trying to make you blush without saying a word. and it worked — you couldn’t remember the last time a date felt this intentional, this thoughtfully put together. like someone had wanted to impress you.
“wow, you really did your research, huh?,” you tease him, eyebrows raised, an amused smirk tugging at your lips.
“only the best for my girl,” he winks. you rolled your eyes at the line but the flutter in your chest betrayed you.
the food arrived and for a while you just existed in the moment. complimenting the dishes, laughing about how his plate looked fancier but yours tasted better. he slid a perfectly sliced piece of steak onto your plate without you asking and you absentmindedly twirled a forkful of pasta and held it out to him like it was second nature. like it was something you’ve been doing for years.
then halfway through the meal, mark leans in a little. his elbow resting on the table, chin in hand like he couldn’t help but watch you.
“i don’t know enough about you,” he says suddenly.
you looked up, caught mid-chew and more caught off-guard, “you’ve literally seen me naked, i think you’re doing fine.”
mark laughed — that warm, boyish sound that always cracked you open a little more than you liked to admit. he leaned back slightly, shaking his head, “yeah but i mean know you. like the little things. the stuff people forget to ask but matters more than they think.”
you blinked, slowly setting your fork down, “ok…what do you want to know?”
he lights up like a kid on christmas day, “what’s your favorite color?”
“really, mark?” you laughed, because of all the things he could’ve asked, it was a question as simple as that.
“hey! it’s important especially since i want to buy you gifts,” he shrugs, taking a bite out of his (your) pasta.
you rolled your eyes, smiling anyway “okay. pink.”
mark blinked, surprised. he never would’ve guessed. “pink?”
“mhm,” you said, spearing a bite of the salad in between you, “not like neon pink though but soft pink.”
“didn’t see that coming,” he said grinning. “but it kinda fits…you act all tough but you’re secretly a softie.”
you narrowed your eyes, “careful.”
“just saying,” he chuckled, reaching for his drink.
“alright,” you said, pointing your fork at him, “your turn, favorite color?”
“blue.”
you tilted your head, chewing thoughtfully, a playful grin on your face, “blue because it’s the color of the sky?”
he grinned, “that was the reason…at first,” he said, voice softening, “then you walked up to me, wearing a soft blue sundress during freshman year and the reason changed.”
your fork froze halfway to your mouth. for a second, the air felt heavier, quieter, like the words had rearranged the molecules around you. your eyes widen a little, lips parting as your expression falters between surprise and amusement.
“you remembered what i was wearing?,” you ask in pure disbelief.
“how could i forget?,” he shrugs like he didn’t just confess something that would stay with you for the rest of your life.
“wait…are you saying you’ve had a crush on me since freshman year?,” you asked, your tone teasing.
mark rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning, “i may have had a tiny crush on you back then,” he admits. the smile on your face growing with every second.
the rest of your evening unfolded like a dream you didn’t want to wake from. full of quiet laughter, sharing of favorites and the reason behind them. every answer was like turning a page, revealing another layer neither of you had taken time to read before. between conversation, his hand would find yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there. he’d brush your knuckles with his thumb, every movement gentle, deliberate. and every now and then, he’d lean over and kiss you. soft, unhurried kisses that made your skin hum and your stomach flip.
by the time you slid back into his car, the air between you was warm and charged, not with tension but with something more open, more vulnerable. he let you have the aux, learning your favorite songs on the ride back. both of you singing along, sometimes out of tune, sometimes laughing too hard. his hand was in yours the whole drive home. you kissed at stop lights. playful pecks that turned into lingering moments. the city moved around you, but you both felt disconnected. stuck in your own world with a population of two.
when he finally pulled up to your place, you were still laughing about something stupid he’d said. and then it got quiet. the kind of the quiet that meant something more. mark walked you to your door, hand still wrapped around yours like he couldn’t let go.
“tonight was really fun,” you said softly , your arm looped around his neck, fingers playing absentmindedly with his hair.
“yeah?,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple, lingering there for a beat, “would you say i’m you know…boyfriend material?,” he teased, smirking against your skin.
you huffed a laugh, playfully nudging him with your shoulder, “that was so bad.”
he tilts his head to look at your properly, the mischief fading into something gentler, more sincere, “i had the best time.”
you met his gaze, leaning up to kiss him – slow and sweet. his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss for a heartbeat before you pulled back, breathless but smiling.
“goodnight, mark,” you whispered, not quite ready for the night to end.
“goodnight kitten,” he said just as softly.
you slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. but your skin still buzzed with his touch, lips still tingling with the memory of his kiss. you leaned against the door, eyes closed, heart racing as the entire night replays in your mind.
outside, mark stares at your door, already missing your presence. he started to bring his fist up for a knock, but then the door opened. again.
he blinked, startled.
you were standing there, eyes already locked on his. you didn’t say a word. neither did he.
because in the next second, he crossed the threshold and kissed you – hard, fast and real. all the restraint of the evening gave way to need. he kicked the door shut behind him, hand blindly finding the lock as his other arm wound around your waist.
you make the familiar steps to your bedroom, lips never leaving his, a quiet gasp escaping you when he lifted you slightly, walking you backward until your knees hit the bed.
and when you made love, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. it was slow, tender. his hands memorized you all over again. his lips marked every inch of your skin. you whispered his name like it meant something new now. he held you like he never wanted to stop.
the morning came and you were still there, wrapped tightly around his arms. body molded perfectly against his like you were always meant to fit there. fingers interlaced like your hands had made a silent promise sometime in the night to never part. mark could see the pink and purple marks blooming where his lips and hands had wandered. he watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest — you looked peaceful, like all the weight you usually carried had melted away in the dark, if only for a little while. and in that quiet moment, with the world still hushed around you, he knows that it’s all worth it.
and if he had to do it all over again – the mistakes, the heartache, the waiting. he would. every single time, without hesitation, if it always leads him back to this. back to you. the only thing he’s ever been sure of.
ᓚᘏᗢ
loving mark made you realize that love didn’t have to be a fantasy. it wasn’t all sunshines and rainbows and happily ever afters. but it also wasn’t terrible, screaming at each other at 3am, being left behind on the kitchen floor, crying your eyes out.
it didn’t happen overnight either. there was still fear lingering in the back of your head. but this time you don’t let it take control. this time you don’t let it overpower.
because love with mark is staying, even when you were scared. especially when you were scared. it was comfort and safety. the kind that wrapped around your heart and told you it was okay to let your guard down. it was peace. the kind that didn’t demand you to be anything other than what you were. it was someone showing up at your apartment with your favorite snacks, settling in beside you on the couch while a romcom played and cramps left you curled under a blanket. no pressure to talk. just presence. it’s laughing at terrible jokes until your stomach hurt. arguing about which spiderman was the best. agreeing to disagree, even if you were clearly right. it was fighting over which greasy takeout to get and pretending to be annoyed when he ordered your favorite anyway. it was celebrating the happy moments, the sad moments and everything in between. it’s sticking around when things got hard. still choosing each other when the weight of the world made everything feel heavy. it was learning each other and unlearning old patterns. being patient. building something new, one honest conversation at a time. it was asking, “do you want advice or do you just want me to listen?” it was hearing the answer and respecting it.
it wasn’t about fixing each other or needing someone to fill a space inside you. it was about wanting to be there. it was about choosing to stay again and again and again.
𓏲 the end.
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18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content
bonus: mark x kitten coded -> video one, video two, video three
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an: and 3/7 is done! i hit the 1000 text block limit thing on here and it was awful. it’s not my fault they’re both yappers and i write way too much when mark is involved! i hope i was still able to convey the tension and longing in those long ass paragraphs >.< …. anyways, this was supposed to end the moment she walked away but i couldn’t do it! i had to give mark a happy ending, he deserves it!. kitten was so hard to write like why am i writing a character with past trauma and real, raw, emotions that are hitting too close to home… this is supposed to be a fun, silly rom-com. but i hope you liked her! i hope you liked them. thank you for reading! <3
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ㅤ𝜗ৎㅤAND THEN I GO AND SPOIL IT ALL BY SAYING SOMETHIN' STUPID LIKE, "I LOVE YOU"ㅤ.ᐟ
synopsis 💬 ／ㅤyou're sure there's something going on with your best friend, as a test — or perhaps as a tease — you send them a rather riskier ootd than usual.
──ㅤ7dream x f.readerㅤ21 screenshotsㅤsuggestiveㅤpathetic & horny menㅤexplict languageㅤ.ᐟㅤevent masterlist
he has spent four lifetimes repenting for his sins and searching for you. in the fifth, he finally gets it right.
★ tags: romance, angst, hurt/comfort, reincarnation!au, past lives!au. mentions of death & sins, character death, war, injuries, historical inaccuracies, profanity, alcohol consumption, implied sexual content, etc. title from hozier’s song of the same name. 8.7k words.
SEOUL, KOREA.
EARLY WINTER, 1936.
It’s become a habit now, for Mingyu to walk the alley behind Hwaryeohan Cha-jip every morning. He tells himself he’s just passing through, just out for air, but his feet always take the same turn—past the ink shop, past the frozen rice fields. The snow came early that year, dusting the rooftops of Bukchon in white. Mingyu walks until he finds the teahouse, half-tucked between two aging hanoks, with its faded wooden sign and wind chimes made of porcelain spoons.
You work there. He’s known this for a week now.
You sweep the floors with your hair tied up in a red ribbon, humming songs no one else seems to know. You boil water in the back room, your sleeves rolled up past your elbows, wrists red from the heat. Sometimes you lean out the window to shake out a cloth, and Mingyu watches from across the street, heart in his throat, as if looking at you might somehow unmake the curse.
It doesn’t.
The Fifth King’s words still echo like older thunder in his ears. One lifetime for every sin, the king had said. He doesn’t remember what he did to deserve this; only that it was enough to curse him with memory, and longing, and you.
You, who never remembers him. You, who are always just out of reach.
Still, this life feels different. He’s not a lonely musician. He’s just Mingyu. Just a man in a wool coat with frayed sleeves and too many lifetimes folded into the lines around his eyes.
Somehow, that compels him to step inside.
The bell above the teahouse door is delicate and cracked, like it’s been broken and glued back together a dozen times. It tinkles faintly as he enters, and you glance up from behind the counter. He orders ginger tea. It’s too hot, a little bitter. He drinks it anyway.
You don’t say much to him at first, just slide the cup forward with a polite nod, fingers dusted with flour, and return to kneading dough in the back. Mingyu sits in the corner, watching steam curl from the rim of his cup, pretending to read a book he’s read a thousand times before.
He returns the next day. And the next.
Sometimes you smile at him. Sometimes you ask if he wants something sweet with his tea. He always says yes, just to hear your voice again.
“Do you work nearby?” you ask one morning, wiping your hands on your apron.
“No,” he says. “I walk a lot.”
You tilt your head. “Even in the snow?”
“Especially then,” he says, and you laugh. The sound cuts through every century he’s lived without you. It makes something ancient in him ache.
You tell him your name one day. He already knows it, of course, but he pretends it’s the first time. He says it softly, rolls it on his tongue like a promise.
He brings small things sometimes: a book of poems; a silk ribbon the same colour as the one you wear; once, a tiny jade rabbit charm that he leaves near the register when you’re not looking. You find it later and keep it in your purse. You never ask if it’s from him, and he never tells you.
Some days, he helps. He carries water from the well; repairs a broken chair leg; teaches you how to fold paper cranes when the shop is slow. You sit across from him at the low table, your hands awkward at first, and he watches you fold the wings silently.
You crease the edge of the paper with your thumbnail, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Mingyu doesn’t laugh, though the sight of you furrowing your brow over something as simple as a paper crane is enough to pull a smile to his mouth. He leans forward and gently adjusts the angle of the folded wing.
“Like this,” he says quietly.
Your fingers brush, briefly, barely. It’s nothing—but to him, it’s everything.
After that, you start leaving out an extra cup when you brew tea in the morning, even before he walks in. He tells you that he prefers ginger tea with honey, that he likes his bread warm and his jam unsweetened. Sometimes he hums under his breath when he reads, even though his eyes don’t always move across the page.
He learns that you braid your hair when you’re nervous, and that you’re saving up for a trip to Busan, and that you talk to the teapot when you think no one’s listening.
Sometimes, when it snows harder than usual, you don’t get any customers and the city stays quiet. On those days, you sit across from each other on the heated floorboards, sipping tea and listening to the wind rattle the windows.
Once, you fall asleep like that—cheek pressed to your folded arms, exhaustion shuttering your eyelids. Mingyu doesn’t wake you. He watches the snow gather on the windowsill and thinks about how peaceful your face looks in this life.
He wonders if this is enough. If friendship is enough.
You wake, embarrassed, and he just smiles and tells you to rest more. You blink at him, still sleepy but shake your head, so he asks if you want to learn how to fold a lotus next. You do.
PARIS, FRANCE.
SUMMER, 1890.
It’s your honeymoon. At least, that’s what the world thinks.
The hotel is charming in the way French hotels are supposed to be—wrought-iron balconies, velvet drapes, and wallpaper the colour of old pearls. The floorboards creak under his feet, and the hallways smell faintly of orange blossoms and candlewax.
Below, the Seine coils through the city, meandering long and slow. Gondoliers shout in lilting voices from the water. The bouquinistes have already opened their green boxes along the banks, selling secondhand poetry and crumbling maps to tourists who still believe Paris belongs to lovers.
Maybe it does. Just not to the two of you.
Mingyu stands by the window, shirt half-buttoned, tie discarded somewhere near the settee. The silk catches on the carved wooden leg. The breeze lifts the edge of the curtain, letting in the sound of clattering dishes from the café downstairs.
The light falls soft on your face where you sit at the vanity, brushing your hair in long, even strokes, the red ribbon that you’d used to tie your hair back wrapped around your wrist. Your nightgown is lace-trimmed and far too sheer for the cool morning. He thinks it must be uncomfortable, but you wear it anyway, spine straight, chin lifted, always composed. You don’t look at him. You haven’t looked at him all morning.
There are two coffee cups on the table. One is untouched. You didn’t like the roast, but you won’t tell him that. You’ll let it sit there and grow cold because indifference is your sharpest weapon, and you know exactly how to wield it.
The lace shifts again as you move, bare shoulders catching the gold light. It’s almost enough to make him forget; almost enough to believe this life could be different. Maybe, if he just reached out—if he touched your shoulder, softly, just once—you’d remember something. The way your fingers once curled around the fabric of his hanbok, or the way you said his name.
It’s your honeymoon, and you can barely stand to be in the same room.
TOKYO, JAPAN.
SPRING, ONE WEEK AGO.
Mingyu promises to take you to see the cherry blossoms after work.
You’re half-asleep on the sofa when he tells you, legs tucked beneath you, your blouse rumpled and your slacks creased at the knees. Your fingers are curled around a mug of ginger tea you’ve forgotten to sip from, the steam long faded. The apartment glows in the evening light—low and golden, brushing everything it touches with warmth. It rests on your cheek, your collarbone, the line of your neck.
The window is cracked open just enough for the air to carry the sound of birds and distant footsteps. Someone laughs downstairs—the neighbour’s kid, maybe, or a passing couple. In the kitchen, the rice cooker clicks off with a soft chime, and the smell of jasmine rice begins to mingle with the faint perfume of laundry soap and honey.
The sakura have started blooming early this year, soft clouds of pink dusting every street, like the city’s been dipped in blush and left to dry slowly. He noticed them that morning on his walk to the train: the way petals clung to the sidewalk like confetti, the way one landed on the shoulder of your coat and you didn’t notice.
“Don’t forget,” you mumble without opening your eyes, voice warm and worn out, lips brushing the rim of the mug. Your feet are bare, and you wiggle your toes sleepily when he sits beside you.
“I won’t,” Mingyu says, and he means it.
He never forgets, not in this life.
He reaches over and gently lifts the mug from your hands, careful not to spill it, and sets it on the coffee table beside your phone and a half-finished crossword. Your handwriting is in blue pen—curvy, a little impatient. He glances at it, then turns his attention back to you.
“You should change out of your work clothes,” he says.
“M’comfy,” you whisper, not moving an inch.
He laughs softly. “You say that. Then you complain about the wrinkles in the morning.”
You hum noncommittally, already slipping towards sleep. Your head tilts until it rests against his shoulder. He shifts a little to make it easier. Your hair smells like lemongrass shampoo and the rose spray you use in early spring. Mingyu leans his cheek gently against the top of your head.
“Are we going tomorrow or Saturday?” you ask.
“Tomorrow,” Mingyu says. “I want to go before the crowds come.”
“You hate crowds,” you agree, nodding.
“You hate them more.”
You smile. “Smart man.”
Mingyu slides his arm behind your back, warm and solid and steady. He closes his eyes and listens—to your breath, to the tick of the clock on the wall.
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA.
EARLY SUMMER, 1972.
Mingyu slings his arm over your bare waist, and thinks that this might be the life.
Maybe the Fifth King took pity on him. Maybe this is a loophole, and it comes with jazz and heat and the way your lipstick smeared against his collar an hour ago. Maybe it’s not a trick. Maybe, for once, he gets to stay.
Your breath is steady now, but your skin is still flushed, slick with the last traces of sweat. The cotton sheets stick to your thigh where it’s thrown over his hip, and your fingers twitch against his ribs, still restless in sleep.
He lets his hand drift up the slope of your side, slow and gentle. He watches your lashes flutter, the corner of your mouth twitch as you stir.
“Are you awake?” he asks.
You hum without opening your eyes. “Barely.”
He presses a kiss behind your ear. “Should I stop?”
“If you’re asking that, you already know the answer.”
So Mingyu doesn’t stop. His hand moves, slow and familiar now, tracing the curve of your hip. You shift closer, still half-asleep, until your leg slides between his and your mouth brushes against the underside of his jaw.
It’s easy like this. Too easy.
Your bodies know each other even if your minds don’t. There’s no fumbling anymore, no pretending. Just heat and breath and the memory of his name whispered into the crook of his neck, again and again, like you’re trying to brand yourself into him. Maybe you are.
He holds you afterward, and listens to the rain starting up again outside the window—soft at first, then steadier. Jazz spills in from the bar two floors down, muffled by distance and glass, but still there. Like everything in this city, it lingers.
“You’re staring,” you say eventually, not unkindly.
“I do that,” Mingyu says.
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
You make a soft sound in the back of your throat, somewhere between amusement and disbelief, and burrow deeper into his chest. Your fingers trace a line over his collarbone, idle and absentminded, like you’re not really thinking about what you’re doing.
“You always act like you know something I don’t,” you mumble. “Like you’ve been waiting for me to figure it out.”
Mingyu swallows. “Figure out what?”
“Whatever it is you keep hiding behind your eyes,” you say. “You always look so sad, Mingyu.”
His arm tightens around you just slightly.
You’re not wrong. You never are, not in any life. Even without memory, your intuition is as sharp as it’s always been. You’re like a compass that always swings toward the truth, even when the truth is something you have no idea about.
Mingyu considers lying, or laughing it off. But you shift again, and your thigh brushes against his. You’re close—so close, close enough that he almost lets the truth slip past his teeth. You’ve died in my arms before. You’ve looked at me with your last breath. I’ve been cursed to find you again and again and again.
Instead, he says, “Maybe I just like the way you look when you sleep.”
“Poetic.”
“I try.”
You lift your head to look at him. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and a tiny crease on your cheek where it pressed against the pillow. Your mouth is a little swollen from kissing, and your voice is hoarse in the way that drives him insane.
“You know this isn’t forever, right?” you say, softly, like you’re offering him a kindness by saying it first.
“I know,” Mingyu says.
You nod, like that’s what you needed to hear. “Good.”
But you don’t move. You don’t pull away. You rest your chin on his chest and look at him like you’re memorising the shape of his nose and the colour of his eyes.
“God,” you whisper after a while. “This would be so much easier if you were an asshole.”
Mingyu laughs and says, “I can be, if it helps.”
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “You’re good. That’s the problem.”
He kisses your forehead and tries not to think about the way your voice cracked.
JOSEON, KOREA.
WINTER, 1798.
It is snowing the first time Mingyu sees you, and your name forms on his mouth like habit.
It’s not the name you carry now—not the one assigned to you by court records and a royal appointment, or the one embroidered into the hem of your hanbok in gold thread. It is the name you’ve had in your previous lifetime. The name he’s whispered into your skin, into your dying hands.
Mingyu doesn’t say it aloud. He doesn’t dare.
He watches you from the far side of the courtyard, where the snow has muffled the world and the stone paths disappear beneath white. His breath fogs in the air. A court servant speaks beside him—something about a grain levy in Jeolla—but Mingyu isn’t listening. He couldn’t, even if he tried.
You walk gracefully, holding a lacquered tray to your chest, with your back straight. Your hair is pulled into a sleek bun, adorned with a single ornamental binyeo shaped like a plum blossom. It is the sign of a new concubine: favoured and untouched. The wind catches your sleeve and flutters it gently, and his chest clenches at the sight of your wrist. A thousand memories flicker through his mind like reeds in the current.
Yet, your face is unfamiliar in this first life. Younger, and softer. Your eyes don’t carry memory. You don’t look at him with recognition or contempt. You don’t look at him at all.
You pass through the courtyard, and Mingyu stands frozen under the shadow of a ginkgo tree, as though time itself has collapsed.
Later, in his private study, he asks about you. He pretends it’s nothing—an idle inquiry wrapped in courtesy, spoken to the right eunuch over warm rice wine.
“The girl who came last month,” he says, carefully. “The concubine gifted by the Governor of Gangwon. What do we know of her?”
“The new Lady?” The eunuch says your new name, the one that doesn’t feel right in Mingyu’s mouth. “She is quiet and well-mannered. Literate, I believe, though she comes from no family of rank. She entered the palace under the northern court’s petition—her village suffered a flood, and her people sought mercy. The Governor offered her as tribute.”
“Tribute,” Mingyu repeats, tasting the word like ash.
“She was chosen for her beauty,” the eunuch adds. “Nothing more.”
PARIS, FRANCE.
SUMMER, 1890.
You married him because you had to.
It was a bargain struck behind closed doors, a compromise made with fathers and fortunes and convenience. He had wealth, and you had a family in debt. It was all very civilised, very French. The papers printed your photograph beside a headline that called it a union of elegance and fortune. They didn’t print the part where you refused to meet his eyes.
At dinner, you speak to him in French, formally, like a woman who doesn’t wish to be misunderstood, and doesn’t care to be known. You order for yourself. You never ask if he’s read the books you quote. You let the silence stretch until it breaks and sip your half-finished wine instead.
Mingyu lets you. He nods when appropriate, smiles when it seems polite, swirls his wine, and pretends not to watch the way you cut your food too carefully.
He thinks about how different your voice sounds in this life. How your laughter is a stranger to him. He remembers the you who laughed easily, the you who danced barefoot in the snow, the you who wrote him letters in the margins of books and left pressed flowers between the pages. That version of you isn’t here.
In this lifetime, you wear gloves to dinner and never once let your fingers brush his.
But you’re beautiful. God, you’re beautiful.
It kills him a little, every time.
You look like a painting he’s seen before and can’t quite place; one he’s spent lifetimes trying to find again. Now that you’re here—flesh and blood, name and ring and contract—you’re more unreachable than ever.
You don’t sleep in the same bed. The suite has two, and that’s something you requested specifically. He remembers the clerk glancing at him with a look that hovered between pity and apology.
The bellboy had asked, “Madame, shall I draw the curtains between the beds?”
“Yes, thank you,” you had said.
You don’t ask him questions: not about his work, not about his past. Not about the faraway look he sometimes gets when the light hits the Seine just right. He doesn’t ask you, either. The truth is, you are not his, in this life.
He wonders if you dream of him. He wonders if somewhere deep in your chest, beneath the silk and bone and flesh, something stirs when he says your name. He wonders if you ever wake in the middle of the night with a pang in your heart that you don’t understand.
Mingyu hopes so, because he has woken up like that every night of this life.
SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA.
WINTER, 1937.
By the time Seollal passes and the paper lanterns are taken down, the people in the neighbourhood begin to notice—not with suspicion or idle gossip, but with a kind of slow, blooming fondness. They don’t whisper behind their hands or snicker when Mingyu walks by. Instead, they smile.
The old woman with the parrot—Madam Kwon, who lives above the fermented soybean shop—starts referring to Mingyu as your shadow. Every morning, as she feeds her bird sesame seeds and counts her prayer beads in the sun, she croaks out, “Your shadow’s early today,” when Mingyu turns the corner near the tea shop. The parrot repeats her, mangled and gleeful. Sha-dow, sha-dow!
You glance up from the window, smothering a smile.
The boy from across the alley, barely thirteen, who runs errands for the ink shop, has started tipping his cap at Mingyu each morning. One day, when he passes, he calls out with the overconfidence of youth, “She likes persimmons, you know. Bring her some. The kind with the wrinkly skins.”
Mingyu hides his amusement behind a polite nod. The next day, a small cloth pouch of dried persimmons appears on the tea shop counter. You don’t say anything, just tuck them into the cupboard—but you save one, and when Mingyu comes in at closing, you place it on a small plate beside his tea without a word.
The grocer, Mr. Baek, an older man with a permanent frown and a weak knee, lets Mingyu pick through the fresh vegetables first whenever he sees him on the path to the tea shop.
“You work too hard, boy,” Mr. Baek grumbles as Mingyu hoists a basket of firewood onto one shoulder.
“He’s not a boy,” Madam Kwon snorts from her usual perch. “He’s a man, Baek. Can’t you tell?”
“A man, huh?” Mr. Baek eyes Mingyu’s hands, callused from helping with the heavy work around the shop. “Well, even a man needs to rest his back before it breaks.”
Mingyu only smiles. “I’ll rest after I’ve swept the steps for her.”
They all approve of him, though none say it directly. The world is starting to tuck Mingyu into your corner of it without him needing to ask.
One afternoon, while the snow still clings to the gutters but the breeze carries a hint of plum blossoms, an elderly couple walks in from out of town. They speak in slow dialect, asking for ginger tea and warmth for their aching bones. Mingyu is seated by the window, sketching quietly in his notebook. As you prepare the tea, the woman glances at him, then at you.
“Your husband doesn’t say much,” she remarks.
You nearly spill the water. “He’s not— I mean, we’re not—”
Mingyu looks up, and the couple laughs kindly. “Ah, forgive us,” the man says. “You have that look about you.”
“What look?” you ask, wary.
“The look of people whose silence with each other is comfortable.”
You don’t respond, but when you set the tray down in front of them, you notice Mingyu watching you closely. After they leave, you go to clear the table. There’s an extra coin left on the tray, and the old woman has pressed a paper fortune beside it: “Love that arrives quietly stays the longest.”
You crumple it. But later that night, after the shop has closed and the windows are shuttered, Mingyu finds it smoothed out on the back counter, your handwriting scribbled in the margins: “Don’t get any ideas.”
He smiles.
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA.
AUTUMN, 1971.
Mingyu finds you by accident, really.
He’s searching for a bar—any bar—on an unnaturally rainy Friday night, his collar turned up against the warm drizzle, the air thick with the smell of sweet olive trees and fried catfish. The city hums with life even in the storm. Neon flickers on puddles like oil slicks, and brass spills from half-opened windows.
He’s already passed three places too crowded, one too quiet, and a fourth that reeked of stale beer and cigarette ash, when he turns down a narrow side street he doesn’t remember the name of.
He finds a wooden door, warped with time and painted a moody red. It sits beneath a hanging sign with chipped cursive that reads: The Red Ribbon. A string of paper lanterns hangs overhead, glowing soft through the rain like a trail of fireflies.
Inside, the bar is low-lit and warm, a haven from the storm. The air smells like cinnamon smoke and lemon rinds, and something old—like velvet curtains and perfume that clings to skin. There’s a quiet hum of conversation, the clink of glass on glass, and music.
No—not music. A voice.
Low and rich, not quite singing, not quite speaking. Like honey melting in a warm cup of tea, it curls around the room before he sees you; dips into the cracks between shadows; holds him still.
You’re on stage, beneath a gold spotlight, wearing a black satin blouse tucked into high-waisted pants, one heel perched on the edge of the stool as you croon into the microphone. Your voice doesn’t beg for attention. It commands it, slow and sultry and effortless. You sing a cover of I’ll Be Seeing You, but it’s yours now, softer, smokier, as if the song’s always belonged to you.
In your hair, tied just above your ear, is a red ribbon.
Mingyu stops breathing.
You’re older in this life. Sharper. Your voice curls like cigarette smoke, and your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. But it’s you. Of course it’s you. He would know you in any century.
You don’t see him. You never do, not at first.
The room fades. Mingyu’s heart hammers.
The Fifth King’s curse, so old now it’s half-forgotten, curls tight in his ribs like a warning. This is the fourth time, he thinks.
The bartender is young, with freckles scattered across his nose. “What can I get you?”
“What’s her drink?” Mingyu asks, nodding toward the stage.
“She switches it up sometimes. But mostly it’s gin and tonic. Extra lime.”
“Then one of those. And whatever you recommend.”
He carries both your drinks over when you step off the stage, undoing the ribbon in your hair deftly and shaking your head. You wrap the ribbon around your wrist and raise an eyebrow when he stops by your table.
“That for me?” you ask.
Mingyu sets the gin and tonic down. “Extra lime.”
“Let me guess,” you drawl. “First time here, heard me sing, got curious?”
“Something like that,” he says.
JOSEON, KOREA.
SPRING, 1799.
It is well past curfew when you slip into the old library pavilion.
The moon is high, its light diffused through the paper lattice windows, casting soft patterns on the wooden floor. The scent of old parchment and ink wafts through the air. Outside, the plum trees stir in the breeze, petals tumbling like tiny, perfumed ghosts.
You shouldn’t be here. No one comes here anymore—not since the roof began to rot, not since the scrolls were moved to the new annex.
But you know the door that creaks just slightly less. You know which floorboards to avoid. Most importantly, you know no one will be looking for a concubine in the archive of forgotten histories.
You light a single oil lamp and walk the aisles barefoot, your skirts brushing against shelves of neglected poetry and old Confucian texts. You’re looking for something. You don’t know what; only that your chest has been heavy lately with something unnamed, and that reading makes it easier to breathe.
You’re so engrossed in a worn volume of Tang poetry that you don’t hear him until it’s too late.
“What are you doing here?”
You whip around, heart slamming in your chest, the book nearly slipping from your fingers.
Mingyu stands in the doorway—half-lit by moonlight, half-shadowed, like something conjured from the very pages you were reading. He’s shed his ceremonial robes for the evening, wearing only a dark overcoat tied loosely at the waist. His hair is unbound at the nape, a sign that he, too, thought the night would pass without interruption.
You gasp. “I—I didn’t think anyone—”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, though there’s no bite to it. Just curiosity, and a hint of wariness.
You lift your chin. “Neither are you.”
He arches a brow, and you realise your mistake. Of course he’s allowed anywhere he wishes—he’s one of the King’s closest ministers. But instead of correcting you, he steps further inside, eyes never leaving yours.
“What are you reading?”
“Poetry,” you say.
“May I see it?”
You hand him the book with reluctant fingers. He takes it carefully, as though it’s precious. You watch as he scans the open page. His lips move as he reads silently. Then, softly, aloud:
“At the foot of my bed, moonlight
Yes, I suppose there is frost on the ground.
Lifting my head I gaze at the bright moon
Bowing my head, thinking of home.”
You say nothing.
“You miss it,” Mingyu says quietly. “Your home.”
“You can’t miss what you barely remember,” you say, shrugging.
“Still, you’re here,” he says, closing the book. “Risking punishment for poetry.”
“I thought this place was empty.”
“It is. Mostly. You’ve been here before,” he says.
“Will you report me?” you ask, finally meeting his eyes.
He watches you for a long moment, and shakes his head. “No. But if you’re going to read by lamplight, you shouldn’t sit so close to the paper screens. It casts a shadow.”
TOKYO, JAPAN.
SPRING, ONE MONTH AGO.
On Mingyu’s birthday, you surprise him with a picnic beneath the sakura.
It’s a Monday, technically a workday, but you convince his supervisor to let him off early and drag him, half-confused, half-laughing, onto the Marunouchi Line. You refuse to say where you’re going, only grin over the rim of your coffee and tap your knee against his like you’re buzzing with a secret.
He figures it out by the time you’re walking down the path at Shinjuku Gyoen, past couples and families and students with cameras, every tree dripping in soft pink petals. The wind is light, enough to lift your hair and scatter a few blossoms onto his shoulder. You swipe them off with a delicate touch, fingers brushing his collar.
“Here?” he asks, looking around.
You point to a quiet spot beneath a tall cherry tree, where the ground is dappled with sunlight and pink. “Here.”
He watches you set the blanket down and unroll the bento boxes you packed that morning, tied in checkered cloth, still warm. Tamagoyaki, onigiri, simmered daikon, the pickled things he likes. There’s even a small chocolate cake hidden in your tote, which you keep sneakily tucked behind your legs like it isn’t obvious.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, sitting beside you. His voice is warm. He never quite knows what to do with being loved like this—not when it’s freely given.
“I know,” you say. “But I wanted to.”
Mingyu looks at you for a long second. You’re wearing that soft blue sweater he likes, the one that slides off your shoulder when you’re not paying attention. The sunlight hits your cheekbones and catches in your lashes, and he thinks—like he always does—that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
You open a thermos, pour him tea, and he raises it in mock solemnity.
“To twenty-eight,” he says.
“Twenty-nine,” you correct.
“Am I?”
“You always forget,” you say. “You’ve been forgetting since we met.”
He laughs. “Feels like I’ve lived a hundred years already.”
You don’t say anything. Sometimes, when the light hits his face just right or he says something that echoes in your mind, you wonder.
You’ve always had strange dreams: places you’ve never been, languages you’ve never studied, and a man who always looks like him, even when he wears a robe, or a bloodied uniform, or a wool coat in the snow. You never tell him this. You’re afraid it will break the spell.
Instead, you offer him another onigiri and press a kiss to his cheek.
“Happy birthday,” you whisper. “I’m glad you were born.”
Mingyu closes his eyes and laces his fingers with yours, lets you lean your weight into his side; lets the breeze scatter petals in your hair; lets the warmth spread down his spine like he’s standing in the sun after a long, long winter.
MANCHURIA.
WINTER, 1944.
It comes as no surprise, then, that when the war begins, you and Mingyu get married and business at the teahouse dwindles with every passing day.
The papers are signed quietly one late afternoon, in the cramped back office of the local administration hall: two names written in black ink, side by side, binding you together not by love but by survival. There is no time for anything else. The world is already falling apart.
The Japanese occupation deepens its grip. All around you, men vanish into forced conscription, women into labour camps, into silence. The air grows tighter with fear. Propaganda posters replace the poetry on the streets. The teahouse shutters for good.
You and Mingyu are sent away within the month. He becomes a soldier. You become a nurse.
You are not the only married couple split between posts, but somehow, impossibly, the army places you both near the front. You meet sometimes between camps. Once every few weeks, maybe. Sometimes longer.
Each time, your reunion is brief and practical. You sew up the tears in his uniform. He shares what little rations he’s stashed away for you. He never forgets to hand you a pair of gloves or wrap your scarf tighter, or tie your hair back with that red ribbon with shaking fingers. You always insist he sleep for at least two hours before returning to his unit.
There is no time for affection. There is barely time for sleep.
But sometimes, when you are alone—when the tents are quiet and the snow piles against the canvas—he touches your face in the dark, and you lean into him without a word. Sometimes you rest your forehead against his shoulder, and Mingyu runs his hand up and down your back.
The night you die, it is snowing.
The war has reached a new fever. There are no longer clear lines, no longer rest stations or warning signals or predictable patrols. The world is burning in patches, and no one can remember what day it is.
Mingyu is stationed near the ravine when the call comes—medics down, supplies hit, critical injuries. He runs before they finish speaking.
He doesn’t recognise the wreckage of the medic tent at first, just the shape of it, torn open by gunfire and winter wind, canvas flapping in the air. The snow is tinged red. Bodies are scattered everywhere.
You’re still alive when he finds you, but barely.
You’re half-buried beneath another nurse, shielding her even in unconsciousness. Your side is soaked through with blood, spreading dark and fast across your uniform. Your breathing is shallow, more rasp than breath. Mingyu drops to his knees beside you.
“Hey,” he says, voice breaking. “Hey—look at me. It’s me.”
Your eyes flutter open. Focus. Unfocus. Finally, they find him. “...Mingyu?” you breathe, your voice thready.
He laughs, because it’s either that or scream. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. You stubborn woman, what were you doing here? You were supposed to be safe.”
“I stayed.” You cough, wet and small. “One of the children… the boy with the bad leg…”
“I know,” Mingyu says. He does know. He always knew you’d stay. He presses his hand to your wound. His other hand cradles the back of your head. Snowflakes melt on your cheeks.
Later, they find him still holding you, long after the snow has buried your boots and the blood has dried stiff on his uniform. He won’t speak for days, won’t eat. When he finally returns to his post, he doesn’t say what happened; he only writes your name on the inside of his sleeve in black ink, where no one else can see.
Years later, when the war ends and the country forgets the names of its dead, Mingyu does not. He leaves a folded paper crane at every teahouse he passes, and he never remarries.
PARIS, FRANCE.
SUMMER, 1890.
On the third day of your honeymoon, Mingyu takes you dancing.
It is a Friday evening, and the city glows with the kind of gold that never quite fades, even as dusk creeps in. From the hotel balcony, the streets below shimmer with laughter, carriage wheels clattering against cobblestones, parasols twirling, violins warming up in salons beyond shuttered windows.
He waits for you in the sitting room, dressed in pressed trousers and a charcoal waistcoat, a pale lavender cravat at his throat—the one you picked, absentmindedly, on your first day in the city. The silk still smells faintly like you.
You emerge from the bedroom without a word, gloves drawn tight over your wrists, gown cinched neatly at the waist. You’re beautiful, but distant.
Always, always distant.
“Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm.
The carriage ride is quiet. The air smells like summer rain and perfume, and Mingyu watches your profile in the glass—the slope of your nose, the way your eyes follow the shape of the Seine like it’s memory. You haven’t touched him since the day you arrived. Your hand rests lightly on his arm now, like you’re afraid even weight might give too much away.
He wants to ask about the letters.
The ones you receive from a different postbox. The ones you tuck away before he enters the room. He’s never opened one, but he doesn’t need to. The handwriting is always the same: slanted, and familiar only to you. He doesn’t ask. He never does.
Tonight, he only wants to pretend.
The ballroom is in Montmartre, crowded and warm, lit by chandeliers that make the dust shimmer. The band plays slow waltzes, the kind that ring in your ears even after the music fades.
Mingyu places a hand on your waist. You let him.
Your fingers rest against his shoulder, delicate as frost.
He draws you closer, searching for something in your eyes. He finds nothing. Nothing but the practiced smile of a woman doing what is expected.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, voice low.
You look away. “I’m tired.”
“Of dancing?” Of me?
You don’t answer. Mingyu guides you in a slow circle. You follow, graceful, perfect. A doll in silk and pearl. Yet, every few beats, your gaze slips towards the doors; towards the windows; towards something far away. He’s used to it now. The Fifth King’s curse has hardened him, but just because he is used to it, it does not make it any easier to be the consolation prize in this lifetime that never belonged to him.
“Do you love him?” he asks suddenly, before he can stop himself.
“It doesn’t matter,” you say.
You’re right. It doesn’t. Not in this life. Not in this world where your father sold your hand to erase a debt, and his name was the one on the contract. Not in a marriage made of cold sheets and polite lies.
Mingyu exhales slowly. “It does to me.”
You meet his gaze, then, and something flickers in your eyes. Not love, or forgiveness—just sadness, deep and quiet, like the kind that seeps into your bones and never quite leaves.
“You’re not a bad man,” you say softly. “You just aren’t mine.”
He closes his eyes. The music swells. Couples spin around you both like falling leaves.
Mingyu doesn’t say another word. He just holds you a little tighter, for as long as the song lasts, because after tonight, you’ll drift further away. He can feel it, that tide pulling you towards a life you’ll never have and a man he will never be.
But for this dance—just this one—he lets himself imagine you’re his.
The next day, the divorce papers are finalised and the money is settled. You move to Vienna the week after.
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA.
AUTUMN, 1972.
The bartender tells Mingyu you moved to Chicago.
He says it like it’s nothing, like you didn’t leave a hollowed-out space where your voice used to sit on stage at The Red Ribbon, smokey and golden and soft as dusk.
“Packed up two weeks ago,” the freckled boy says, polishing a glass. “Didn’t say much, just left a note for Missy in the back. Said she got an opportunity, somethin’ better. Maybe a record label.”
Mingyu doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t need them.
He nurses his bourbon in silence for a while, and lets the saxophone on the radio spill into the half-empty room. The walls feel thinner without you—less velvet, more echo. The stage is dark now, the piano covered in a wrinkled sheet.
When he asks for your address, the bartender raises an eyebrow. “You a friend?”
“I was her lover,” Mingyu says, and it’s not wrong.
The man shrugs and writes it down on the back of a bar napkin, sliding it over with two fingers. It’s smudged at the edges, ink bleeding from moisture left behind by someone else’s glass. But the words are clear.
South Side. Chicago.
Apartment 2B.
℅ Langford Records.
Mingyu stares at it for a long time. He folds it once and pockets it.
That night, in his apartment above the bakery on Dauphine Street, he sits at the kitchen table with a cigarette burning low and a single lamp flickering behind him. Rain taps gently against the window, steady as a metronome.
He finds a sheet of paper, ivory and heavy. He doesn’t plan to write much.
October 12th, 1972
New Orleans
You left without saying goodbye.
That’s not a complaint. Just… an observation.
The bartender said Chicago. He said you packed light, but you always did. I used to wonder how someone could carry so much in them and still leave so little behind. I guess I have my answer now.
I keep thinking about that night on the balcony. You, with your lipstick smudged and your heels kicked off, humming some Ella Fitzgerald song that only you knew all the words to. You asked me if I believed in fate. I said no. You laughed like I was missing the joke.
I think I get it now.
Maybe it wasn’t fate. Maybe it was just timing. Bad, as always.
I don’t know what you’re chasing up there—music, love, a version of yourself you can finally live with—but I hope you find it. And if you don’t, I hope it finds you anyway.
I won’t write again. This feels like enough.
But if it ever rains in Chicago, and you think of me, just know I was thinking of you too.
– M.
Mingyu folds the letter carefully and slides it into an envelope but doesn’t seal it. He stares at it for a long time. Then he sets it on the counter beside his keys and goes to bed without turning out the lamp.
He never mails it, but every now and then, when the rain hits the windows just so, he reads it again.
JOSEON, KOREA.
LATE SUMMER, 1799.
They charge you with treason.
No matter how many times Mingyu kneels before the King, no matter how many sleepless nights he spends rewriting every record, begging the court historian to leave your name out of the final script, no one listens.
It is easier to silence a concubine than to question a minister, easier to blame a woman for sin than to hold a man accountable for love.
So, on the last evening of your life, they dress you in white: a shade meant for funerals; for forgetting.
Your hair, once combed and oiled and pinned with mother-of-pearl, hangs unbound down your back now. The servants didn’t bother with ceremony. They gave you water, and left you in a corner of the gardens, as if you were already half-gone. You sit on the edge of the low stone wall, staring at the lotus pond, legs tucked neatly beneath you and wrists bound.
The ropes around your wrists bite into tender skin—tight, too tight—but you won’t ask them to be loosened. The guards know better than to keep an eye on you. You’re not dangerous, just inconvenient.
You know he’ll come.
You don’t look surprised when Mingyu appears between the carved columns, breathless, his topknot hastily tied and robes disheveled. His boots make no sound against the wooden floor as he drops to his knees before you.
“Please,” he says, his voice shredded down to the bone. “Please tell me you’ll hate me for this.”
You blink slowly. Your lashes are damp with the humidity. “Would that make it easier?”
“No.” Mingyu shakes his head. “But I want you to have something.”
There’s no moon yet, but the light from the lantern by the steps is enough to see him properly. His lips are chapped. There’s ink on his sleeves, on the soft crease where his palm meets his thumb. He hasn’t stopped writing letters, then. Petitions. Pleas.
“You should go,” you say quietly. “If they see you—”
“I don’t care.”
“They’ll strip you of your title.”
“I don’t care.”
His hands are trembling when they reach for yours. He cups your bound wrists with reverence. His touch is a contradiction—soft, but desperate. His thumbs brush over your bruises. You don’t flinch.
Between his palms, you feel something cool press against your skin, smooth and weightless. Your fingers twitch, instinctively curling around it.
A jade rabbit. The kind children carry for luck. The kind lovers carve when words aren’t enough.
You remember once, weeks ago, a charm just like it left behind on the counter behind the Queen Dowager’s quarters—no note, no name. You’d tucked it into the folds of your robes and told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Now, you understand. You clutch it tighter.
“You said once,” Mingyu whispers, “that you didn’t believe in reincarnation.”
You manage a faint smile, remembering his stories of the demon king and the curse of love and memory because of sins past. “I still don’t.”
“Well.” His eyes close briefly, lashes dark against his cheek. “I’ll believe for both of us, then.”
The cicadas outside scream like they know how little time is left.
“It’s just a story,” you say. “No one remembers their past lives.”
“I do,” he says, and something deep in you twists, aching. “And I will. I’ll find you again.”
“I don’t want to be remembered like this,” you whisper.
“I won’t remember the ropes,” Mingyu says. “I’ll remember the way you fold paper cranes, and recite poetry, and the sound of your laugh when you think no one’s listening.”
Your throat tightens. There’s a sob there, buried deep, but it won’t surface. You’re too tired for crying. “Don’t—”
“I’ll remember,” he says. “And one day, somewhere—when you are free and unafraid—I’ll press this rabbit into your palm again, and you’ll know.”
“Mingyu—”
He leans forward slowly, and presses his forehead to your bound hands. The lantern’s light glows between you. The cicadas hush. Far in the distance, a temple bell rings the hour. It’s almost time.
TOKYO, JAPAN.
PRESENT DAY.
These days, you find it harder to sleep. The dreams are worse now, beguiling and long and sad. They stretch like old film reels behind your eyes, full of half-familiar cities and names that slip away when you wake. They end with Mingyu, always Mingyu—but not Mingyu at the same time. He wears different clothes, speaks in languages you don’t remember learning.
You shift in bed, sheets tangled around your legs, one arm heavy and warm across your waist.
This version of Mingyu sleeps with his mouth slightly open, his breathing even, steady. His chest rises and falls against your back, his palm curled gently beneath your navel. The window’s been left ajar, and the scent of sakura drifts in on the night air. You press your hand over his absentmindedly. His fingers twitch in his sleep and close tighter around you.
You sigh. Your forehead presses into the pillow. It’s too early or too late to be awake, and you’re tired—so tired—but your body doesn’t know how to rest anymore. Not when your mind insists on wandering. Not when you wake up crying into a man’s arms and can’t tell him why.
You almost speak, but he stirs before you can.
“Mmh,” he mumbles, lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. “You okay?”
“I… had that dream again,” you tell him.
Mingyu lifts his head. He’s groggy, eyes swollen with sleep, but he’s already frowning. Already reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear.
“The one with the snow?” he asks.
You nod. “And the red ribbon. And a jazz bar.”
He doesn’t laugh, though you’d expect anyone else to. Instead, he kisses your shoulder. “Come closer.”
“I’m already close.”
“Closer,” he says again, like the space between you could ever be enough to stop the ache. Like if he holds you tight enough, he can keep the dreams at bay.
You turn to face him, legs brushing his under the blanket. He touches your cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“Do I do something wrong in the dream?” he asks.
“No,” you say. “But you’re sad. Like… you know something I don’t.”
His throat works. His thumb runs along the apple of your cheek, just once. “Maybe I’m dreaming it too.”
You stare at him. It’s too dark to read his expression clearly, but something in you catches at the thought. Maybe he’s dreaming it, too: the same ink-stained hands, the same gardens, the same unfinished goodbyes.
“You think so?” you whisper.
He nods. “Remind me,” he says. “I found this antique rabbit made out of jade yesterday at the market. It reminded me of you. Remind me to give it to you.”
“Okay,” you say, and bury your face against his chest and let him wrap both arms around you. You press your palm over his heart.
“You talk in your sleep, too, sometimes, you know,” you murmur into the dark. “Who’s the Fifth King?”
You’re teasing, mostly—half-asleep, your words loose around the edges—but there’s a small, curious lilt to your voice that makes Mingyu still for a fraction of a second. Barely perceptible, just long enough for you to notice.
You continue, lightly, unaware. “Should I be worried?”
He should’ve prepared for this. He’s had five lifetimes to come up with a better answer. Five lifetimes of choices and mistakes and prayers spoken into temples and alleyways and bomb shelters. Five lifetimes of watching you slip through his fingers, of losing you just when he thought he might have a chance.
He should’ve been ready.
Mingyu exhales slowly, letting his palm slide a little higher on your stomach, grounding himself in the warmth of your skin. Your breathing is calm now. You trust him.
He leans in and kisses your shoulder again, and says, “No one.”
You shift a little in his arms, not entirely convinced. “Sounds like a someone.”
He smiles against your skin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just a strange dream. One of those names that sticks for no reason. You know how it is.”
“We’re weird,” you mumble. “I mean… you and me.”
“I know,” Mingyu says, and he means it more than you’ll ever understand.
You don’t see the way his gaze always rests on you in the dark after you drift off. You don’t feel how tight his arms become, how he pulls you closer like he’s afraid you’ll vanish in your sleep.
You don’t know that he remembers everything.
The snow in Bukchon. The teahouse. The library in the palace. The battlefield and your name on the inside of his sleeve. Paris and silence. New Orleans and the ribbon in your hair. The prison courtyard and the jade rabbit you clutched until the rope took you. All of it.
He remembers the taste of your ginger tea; the colour of your blood on his hands; the sound of your voice in French; the way you looked at him in a jazz bar in 1972 and said, “Don’t fall in love with me.”
Too late, he’d wanted to say. Too many lives too late.
Now, in this quiet Tokyo apartment, with your fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his shirt, he knows the Fifth King has finally allowed him to keep you. He has grown tired of watching him suffer. That was the promise, that in this fifth and final life, he can keep you safe and warm, tucked into his side, where the only real concerns are whether he’s put the laundry to dry, or what to cook for dinner.
Mingyu watches the sky begin to pale through the window, watches your lashes flutter in sleep. He watches your mouth part like you’re about to say his name, even here, even now. He thinks about the red ribbon he keeps tucked inside his coat pockets, and the worn-out letter in his dresser, and the jade rabbit he keeps underneath his pillow, and he smiles into your hair.
★ author’s note: happy (late) mingyu day to all who celebrate! this was originally a fic i wrote last year for a completely different fandom that i decided to repurpose for the loml. the poem that mingyu reads out in the middle is quiet night thought by li bai. thank you to my sexy wife liya who beta read this for me before i posted, and thank you for reading! i’d love to hear your thoughts!
synopsis: even though he may be a little confused at times, there’s never any doubt that he is completely and hopelessly in love with you.
warnings: 18+, swearing, fluff, brief mentions of a psych ward, slice of life.
author’s note: this is my first time ever doing anything like this, so pls let me know what you think!! i plan on doing some for jiyong & seunghyun, and i’m also considering other members of svt as well! i honestly just needed a small break from writing, and this was the next best thing. enjoy! ♡
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