jay looks offended, deeply offended, and if they handed out oscars for the most disturbed-looking husband on a random thursday afternoon, he would’ve walked up to that stage with a speech memorized. no hesitation.
he lowers the hammer in his hand, lets it drop onto the half-assembled desk with a dull clunk, and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, smearing a bit of sawdust across his temple.
“i literally married you,” he says, breathless, as he steps near you, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“yeah but people marry people,” you sigh, putting on a faux sad expression, “but do you really love me—”
“darling, i’m literally building you a wooden vanity closet,” he cuts you quick in your sentence, his eyes wide, “and it has been three hours now. i wouldn’t do that for anyone else.”
you press your lips together to keep from laughing. “you look good doing it though.”
his jaw ticks, he knows not to lose his patience, especially when you are all cute and testing it. he still thinks your question is ridiculous, of course he loves you. he loves you way more than the effort he’s putting in the vanity, and it’s not even one percent of what he’d do for you.
“my back hurts.” he sighs yet again
“because you love me?” “because i’m married to you,” he deadpans, rolls his eyes and strawls closer to you.
you pout. it’s exaggerated, a little playful. “so you don’t love me?”
jay huffs, then drops to his knees in front of you with a thud, on the bed. his hands settle on your thighs, sawdust and all, and his fingers press into your skin gently, grounding.
he looks up. his eyes are warm, but serious. intense, even.
“you drive me insane,” he murmurs. “you leave the shower light on. you forget where your charger is every day. you sing off-key when you think i’m not listening.”
you breathe stops, and before you can muster up a sentence, he says again.
“and i love you like i’m sick with it.”
you feel like your stops, with blood rushing up to your cheeks you really don’t know if you can handle this anymore. his thumb brushes over your knee.
“and if you say dumb shit like that again,” he says, voice low, “i might have to marry you again, just to prove a point.”
you open your mouth, ready to sass him back, but he leans in before you can.
his hand finds your waist, warm and rough from hours of sanding wood. his other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s mapping it out. like he missed it all day. like he needed this more than food or rest or sanity.
and then he kisses you. not a soft peck. not a tired brush of lips. it’s full. warm. deliberate.
his mouth slides against yours like he’s finally off the clock, like this is his reward — the only thing that makes the bruised knees and splinters and forgotten lunch worth it.
your fingers twist into his shirt instinctively. his thumb brushes down the side of your neck as his lips move against yours with something a little hungry, a little breathless, but still so stupidly in love.
you pull away for air, lips tingling, chest rising in soft, quick breaths. your fingers are still fisted in his shirt, and he looks up at you like you just knocked the wind out of him — which, to be fair, you did.
jay’s lips are red, a little kiss-swollen, and he’s breathing just as hard.
you blink, lips tingling. “so, i guess, you really do love me?”
“i love you when you talk too much,” he continues against your lips, grinning, “and when you ask dumb questions, like if i still love you.”
you let out a tiny gasp, equal parts amused and overwhelmed, and he pulls you even closer, your forehead pressed to his. your hands rest on his shoulders, thumbs brushing the slope of his neck.
“hey,” you whine softly, but he leans forward again and steals another kiss before you can complain further — short, warm, like a punctuation mark.
“i spend three hours building a closet,” he continues, kisses the corner of your mouth, “you sit here looking like a whole heart attack—” another kiss, this time near your chin, “—and then you ask—” kiss “—me—” kiss “—if i—” kiss “love you?” another kiss.
you laugh into his shoulder, hands slipping up into his hair, heart stopping “i just wanted to hear it.”
his lips curl, lazy and crooked. “you’re so annoying,” he mutters
your breath catches as he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing, full of love. “god,” he mutters, eyes still closed, “you drive me insane,” he chuckles again like a reminder.
“you like it,” you whisper, a chuckle falling on your lips.
he smiles, just a little. then, without letting go of you, he sinks to the floor.
kneels. infront of you.
his arms wrap around your waist, cheek pressing softly to your thigh. he exhales against the fabric of your shorts, like being close to you settles everything.
you run your fingers through his hair, slow. comforting. he hums under his breath, content and quiet, letting his body relax against your leg.
“this okay?” he sighs, his lips tickling your skin as he grins on it.
you nod, resting your hand on his cheek. “yeah,” you smile. “more than okay.”
his lashes flutter as he closes his eyes again.
and there you sit, a half-finished vanity in the corner, a husband with sawdust on his arms and love in every touch, and a kiss still tingling on your lips like a promise that never gets old.
your heartbeat is still racing a little. his breaths are slower now. calm. heavy.
“i love you,” he says eventually, voice muffled and slept against your thigh.
you smile. bend forward and kiss the top of his head, “i know. i love you more.”
스루 ܃ uploading this from my college library .. chem i hate you 😞 feedbacks are very much appreciated !
📬 ❤︎ ot5 𝔁 6th member!fem!reader ─── ৻ꪆ every time the clock strikes 11:30 pm, you all sit down for some girl talk.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ jamesyn established relationship <3
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ these cuties bruhhhh
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 2.2k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── our summer—txt ❦ tfw—enha ❦ lucky to be loved—tws ❦ drama—aespa ❦ off the record—ive ❦ you were beautiful—day6
every single night, without fail, after the grueling practice schedules, the long showers, and approximately seventeen near-death experiences caused by seonghyeon and keonho being left unsupervised together, the six of you would inevitably gather in the living room. it had become an actual routine; an unspoken rule you’d followed starting at 11:30 pm every night: ‘girl talk time,’ you’d collectively named it, despite the glaring biological fact that only one girl was present in the group. the first time someone pointed that out, james had simply shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘girl talk is a state of mind.’ nobody had questioned it since.
☆
tonight, the room was a canvas of comfortable chaos, everyone scattered around the floor. martin was making hot chocolate. juhoon was folded inside a blanket burrito. keonho was upside down on the sofa for reasons nobody understood. james was sitting beside you, one arm around your waist. you were painting the nails of his other hand a shade that matched yours. seonghyeon was dramatically sighing, which usually meant he had gossip.
“what happened?” martin made the mistake of asking.
immediately he sat up. “oh my god.”
the room collectively perked up like hungry wolves.
“what?”
“what happened.”
“tell us.”
“i walked into studio 7b today,” he started slowly.
“damn.”
the reactions came immediately.
“no way.”
“again?”
“not 7b, damnnn.”
seonghyeon pointed dramatically into the air. “i saw two of our sunbaes holding hands.”
the room exploded.
“who?”
“who?”
“drop the names.”
“i’m not naming names.”
“booooo.”
“boring.”
“you suck, eom.”
“...fine! one of them was niki hyung.”
“i knew it!”
“let’s get it, hyung!”
james grabbed a cushion to settle in, shifting you so that you were in a more comfortable position against him. “continue.”
the next hour consisted entirely of tea—company tea, friend group tea, just about anything.
“i saw one of the new trainees get rejected and she immediately called and told three different people saying she was ‘too busy to date anyway.’”
the room screamed.
“no!”
“dude, that’s hella embarrassing.”
“that’s insane, damn.”
then martin contributed—”i heard one of the dance instructors accidentally called one of the idols by their ex’s name.”
the room nearly collapsed under the weight of the collective uproar. keonho literally rolled off the sofa onto the hardwood floor. you couldn’t breathe from laughing.
“no.”
“no way!”
“oh my god, actually?!”
meanwhile james was crying, or laughing, or both, into your shoulder, his whole body shaking with amusement.
☆
other days, inevitably, the conversation shifted like it always did. from gossip, to life, to feelings, to whatever happened to be bothering someone. tonight the focus was you, because you were curled up under a blanket looking miserable. james noticed first. his hand immediately found yours under the fabric.
“you okay?”
you groaned. “no.”
“what happened?”
“my period.”
instant sympathy radiated from all five boys around you. every single one of them immediately looked concerned, shifting the collective atmosphere instantly. even after knowing about it for so long, they still reacted like you’d been diagnosed with something terminal.
“bad?” juhoon asked slowly.
“so bad.”
“how bad?” seonghyeon chimed in.
“imagine somebody put barbed wire around your organs.”
the room collectively winced and ‘ooof’d.
“and twisted it constantly. again and again.”
“oh.”
“and then ripped it out all at once.”
“what the fuck.”
“and repeat it for a week.”
“that’s actually horrible, what the fuck?”
“every month.”
james looked genuinely upset, pulling you a little closer. “baby.”
“i’m fine,” you muttered.
“you don’t sound fine.” martin nudged your leg with his.
“okay, whatever. i’m not. this world sucks. cramps suck. schedules suck. everything except you guys just sucks.”
the thing was—the boys had spent years learning. not because they had to. because they wanted to. at first they’d been clueless. absolutely hopeless.
now? martin already got up to make your favourite tea. juhoon was looking for heating pads. james was trying his best to gently massage your lower back. keonho was googling foods that helped cramps. seonghyeon looked personally offended at your uterus.
“this is ridiculous,” he said suddenly.
you laughed. “what is?”
“the female body. why does everything hurt you guys?”
“that’s your conclusion and question?”
“yes.”
“you train twelve hours a day and this is what you find unfair?” you laughed.
“absolutely!”
twenty minutes later, you were laying across the sofa with your head in james’ lap, and heating pad on your stomach. the boys surrounded you, just listening to you talk.
“wait,” juhoon interrupted slowly. “so it just hurts for no reason?”
“basically.”
“52 weeks every year?”
“yep.”
the room became silent.
“that's awful.”
“thank you.”
“women are stronger than soldiers. i’d pick military service over even a fraction of what you’re going through any day.”
the rest of them nodded seriously.
“you’re all ridiculous,” you burst out laughing.
☆
another night, it would be completely different, because somebody else would need help. like the time keonho developed a crush, and unfortunately made the mistake of admitting it in front of all of you. the room immediately transformed into an interrogation room.
“who is she?”
“what’s her name?”
“when do james and yn meet her parents?”
“when did this happen?”
keonho looked terrified while you looked absolutely delighted.
“oh we’re doing this?” you grinned, cracking your knuckles.
“we’re doing this.” james high-fived you.
three hours later, the boys were still asking questions, treating your answers like divine knowledge—drifting from keonho’s crush to girls, in general.
“what does it mean if she sends heart emojis?”
“it depends.”
“on what?”
“everything.”
“yn.”
“bro, i’m serious.”
“no wonder we’re confused.”
then, keonho asked the question of the century, “what’s the difference between the red heart and any other coloured heart?”
you nearly choked as the room froze.
“why do you all want to know the emoji differences?”
“because we’re trying to survive. the world is cruel to hopeless boys like us.”
“well, the red heart means she doesn’t really care enough to go through the trouble of finding a different coloured heart, or she just likes the original emoji.”
“that doesn’t help in the slightest.”
“ok, so you want me to stop?—”
“no! go on.”
“what’s the black heart for?” seonghyeon asked curiously.
“she probably hates you, dude,” keonho said helpfully.
“or maybe she’s just a little emo?” martin offered.
☆
the best part was that nobody made fun of anyone, not when it mattered, because somehow those late-night conversations had become the safest place in the dorm—where james asked questions he’d never ask anyone else; where juhoon talked about feeling overwhelmed; where martin admitted he worried too much; where seonghyeon confessed he hated disappointing people; where keonho admitted he got insecure sometimes, and where you could complain about cramps, bad days, weird friendships, awkward situations, and literally anything without being judged. the conversations always started with gossip, and ended with something softer… something important.
☆
the first sign that something was wrong on another night was the fact that the dorm was suspiciously quiet for nine pm. you stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at the five boys sitting around the living room—no video games. no screaming. no martin and seonghyeon arguing over absolutely nothing, just five pairs of eyes looking at you.
“…why are you all looking at me like that?”
martin immediately sat up straighter. “yn.”
“no.”
“i haven’t even asked yet.”
“no.”
“please?”
“no.”
keonho gasped dramatically. “she knows.”
“she always knows,” juhoon sighed.
you narrowed your eyes. “what do you guys want?”
the boys exchanged looks. then james finally blurted out, “they need help. more girl talk.”
you blinked twice. “...what?”
“girl talk,” seonghyeon repeated seriously.
“why? it’s still 9 pm. we have two more hours left.”
“well…”
“why are you asking me right now?”
“because you’re a girl.”
you stared. the boys stared back. you stared harder.
“that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard.”
“please,” juhoon said. “we’re struggling.”
“struggling with what?”
“women.”
immediately you turned around. “nope.”
“yn!”
“good luck.”
“yn!”
ten minutes later you were trapped—literally trapped. they’d dragged every cushion and beanbag into the living room and formed what looked like a hostage negotiation circle. you sat in the middle, the boys surrounding you like a group of kindergarten students.
“okay,” you sighed. “what exactly do you need?”
four hands shot up. james sat calmly beside you, his hand gravitating to your waist.
“oh my god.”
“me first,” keonho yelled.
“no.”
“me,” seonghyeon interrupted.
“no.”
“me!” juhoon tried, letting go of his fake nonchalance.
“no.”
martin raised his hand politely. you pointed at him. “yes.”
“sometimes girls say they’re fine.”
“yes.”
“but they’re not fine.”
“yes.”
“how do you know?”
the others immediately nodded, hanging onto your every word.
“a very important question,” one of them added.
“groundbreaking research,” another said.
you rubbed your temples. “okay. usually you can tell from the tone.”
“so if she says she’s fine?”
“mhm.”
“she isn’t fine?”
“exactly.”
“...but she said she was.”
“yes.”
“so she’s not?”
“correct.”
all four boys looked absolutely horrified. “that makes no sense.”
“it makes perfect sense.”
“it literally doesn’t.”
“martin,” you said, turning to look at him. “imagine james says he’s over losing a game of league.”
james immediately scoffed. “baby, i’m always over it.”
“you cried over mario kart two days ago, by the way,” juhoon pointed out helpfully.
“that was different.”
martin’s eyes widened as the realization hit the room.
“oh.”
“ohh.”
“ohhhhh.”
twenty minutes later, the questions somehow got worse.
“what’s the difference between cute and handsome?”
“depends.”
“on what?”
“everything.”
“that’s not an answer.”
“it is.”
“it absolutely isn’t.”
juhoon leaned forward. “okay, okay. if a girl says your outfit is cute.”
“good. but also, which blind girl called your skinny jeans cute?”
“shut up. what if she says you’re handsome?”
“also good, obviously.”
“if she says you’re funny?”
“good. even better.”
“if she says you’re annoying?” the entire group looked at seonghyeon.
you immediately burst out laughing. “why are you all looking at him?”
“because it happens a lot,” martin answered.
“very frequently.”
“almost daily.”
seonghyeon looked deeply offended. “i have fans, okay?”
“you annoy them affectionately,” james clarified.
an hour later, the conversation had completely derailed into late-night… somethings.
“would you rather date someone funny or handsome?” one of them asked.
“funny,” you replied without hesitation
the boys froze.
“what?”
“funny.”
“not handsome?”
“i didn’t say not handsome.”
“then why funny?”
“because if someone’s funny, i can look at them forever.”
the room became suspiciously silent. you looked up from your spot. they were all sitting straighter.
“stop.”
“no one said anything.”
“you’re all thinking something.”
“no.”
“yes.”
“no.”
“yes.”
“no.”
james literally pulled out his notes app, his fingers tapping on the screen. “funny.”
“james, oh my god.” you hid your face in your hands.
“ok, but james is unfunny and ugly. what gives, yn?”
“shut up.”
then somehow the conversation shifted to crushes. you made a mistake—a terrible, catastrophic mistake. because the moment you casually mentioned that most girls usually remember tiny details about people they like, they all exploded again.
“what tiny details?”
“everything.”
“be specific.”
“like favourite drinks, favourite colours, things they mention once—”
they all looked terrified, staring at you like you were a different species. “once?”
“yes.”
“one time?”
“yes.”
“yn.”
“hmm?”
“women are scary.”
“thank you.”
by midnight the boys had learned absolutely nothing, or maybe too much. you couldn’t tell.
they were all sprawled around the living room floor, half asleep. you were resting against the sofa. juhoon was under a blanket. james was lying face-down on the carpet. martin and keonho were arguing quietly in the corner. seonghyeon was sitting beside you. the atmosphere was warm, comfortable, home.
then juhoon suddenly spoke into the quiet room. “can i ask one last question?”
“sure.”
“do girls actually like flowers?”
“of course.”
the boys nodded thoughtfully.
“okay.”
“noted.”
“good information.”
“useful.”
then keonho looked over, his expression serious. “what do girls like most?”
you thought for a second, looking at their tired faces, then smiled. “honestly?”
“yeah.”
“being listened to.”
the room went completely quiet.
“that’s it?”
“pretty much.”
“no secret formula?”
“no.”
“no cheat code?”
“no.”
“no complicated mission?”
“not really, no.”
the boys exchanged looks. then seonghyeon groaned dramatically from his spot. “that’s so much harder.”
you laughed so hard you nearly fell off the sofa, and within seconds the others were laughing too. the sound filled the corners of the messy dorm—loud, chaotic, and comfortable, exactly like every night with your five extremely stupid, extremely lovable boys.
☆
one night, long after everyone should’ve been asleep, you found yourself looking around the room. five sleepy boys. half under blankets, half asleep, still listening to each other, still talking.
james was tracing circles against your hand absentmindedly, martin was yawning, juhoon was asleep sitting up, and keonho was using seonghyeon as a pillow. nobody wanted to go to bed and break the spell of the evening.
“this is probably my favourite part of being in cortis.” you smiled.
the room grew quiet. james looked down at you.
“the fame?”
“no.”
“the money?”
“no.”
“then what?”
you looked around the living room, at your family, at your idiots, and smiled. “just… you guys.”
james kissed the top of your head while the others grinned half-asleep like they’d just won an award. and honestly? maybe they had.
because not everyone got five best friends who wanted to understand every little part of your world—even the parts they’d never experience themselves. and somehow, every night, squeezed together in a messy dorm living room, they made sure you never had to carry any of it alone.
(a/n): hellooo hellooo annyeonghaseo!!! I'm back. naked seungcheol got me all hot and bothered i couldn't help but write this. also the fact that i already knew he had a dad bod 🤨(not surprising because we literally live together) also it's my first time writing a headcanon, so I hope you like it ;)
SMUT ahead under cut!!
dad bod!seungcheol who still looks massive when he walks by. broad shoulders, heavy steps, arms that could still lift you like nothing if he tried - but there’s a softness to him now, one that’s crept in over the years. a little extra weight on his stomach, smells of baby formula, and that constant stubble because shaving every day doesn’t feel worth it anymore.
dad bod!seungcheol who complains about it sometimes, grumbling in front of the mirror while he runs a towel over his face. “need to start running again,” he mutters, or “can’t believe I used to have abs.” but you just lean against the doorframe, watching him, half-smiling because he’s still the same man - just… fuller
when he sits down, he spreads out - thighs taking space, arm slung behind the couch, posture lazy and open. you love that he doesn’t even notice how he fills a room anymore
dad bod!seungcheol who doesn’t understand why you’ve gotten clingier. why your hands always seem to find their way under his shirt when you hug him from behind, why you keep brushing crumbs off his chest when there are no crumbs, why your lips always linger a second too long when you kiss him goodbye
dad bod!seungcheol who still still wakes up before everyone else, shuffling around the kitchen shirtless, hair a mess, making coffee like it’s a ritual. you watch him from the doorway - all broad shoulders, soft stomach, stubble catching the morning light - and suddenly you’re way too awake.
dad bod!seungcheol who just mere minutes later, is now a moaning mess as you suck him as if your life depends on it.
"fu-uck," he pants, "slow down, babe." but the way he holds your head even tighter, says otherwise.
"can't!" you pant, taking him out of your mouth. "you get me all hot and bothered." he swears he could come right then and there and with that look in his eyes - he'd give you another child already.
"fuck me, baby." you moan, and he's trembling, barely holding onto the edge.
dad bod!seungcheol who grips your hips so hard, you're sure they're will be marks by the time you're done.
he wraps his arms around you, pushes you onto the wall and thrusts up into you - heavy balls smacking against your ass. the whines that comes out of your mouth is just pitiful.
he pinches your clit and your walls clench him tighter.
"fuck baby, you're so tight" he huffs. "you want to make me a dad again? huh?"
“cheol- slo- ugh. slow down” you pant as your legs shake every time his tip brushes your spot. the way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-want more.”
"I'll give you exactly what you want, mama"
you moan so loud that the whole damn block might know exactly what he’s doing to you.
"not so loud, mama. baby'll wake up" seungcheol is grinning.
"mhmm, cheol." you breathe, gripping his biceps harder. "feels so good."
your fingers dig into his shoulders, velvet walls clenching around him as your body shook violently, thighs quaking as pleasure surged through your veins.
“fuck, cheol - ohh fuck ‘m gonna cum!” your legs feel like liquid - you are glad he's holding you - otherwise you'd be as good as putty.
“thaaat’s it, mama. come f’me.” he groaned, pushing in with a few more punishing thrusts before spilling inside your spasming cunt, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim.
he’s holding you flush against him, fingers pressing into your back, thumb tracing along your jaw. “god…you really are relentless,” he huffs, voice low, teasing but strained.
you grin, smirking up at him. “can you blame me?” his chest rises with a laugh. "hmm…nope,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “not at all. and I think…I like it.” you trace over his shoulders, leaning closer, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the lingering tension.
“good,” you whisper. “because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”
📸 【FAME】 your popular boyfriend is ready to be your assistant ｡ ｡ ｡ ◞ #𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊
celebrity ! s.jy x celebrity ! 𝑓 reader ◜ᵕ◝ 𝟱𝟬𝟲 ≧ᗜ≦ DOWNBAD jake kissing established relationship
it's kind of funny, jake thinks, how the universe really cooked when it decided to make you you. he swears the best thing he’s ever done in life—aside from learning how to make scrambled eggs properly—was meeting you before you blew up. like, back when your biggest gig was doing a off-brand soda ad.
fast forward three years, and you’re everywhere. magazine covers, talk shows, a literal walking glitter bomb of success. jake thanks god every single day (and sometimes his manager, for once dragging him to that stupid event) because now he gets to say, very casually,
''yeah i'm y/n's boyfriend.''
does he say it too often? absolutely.
is he insufferable about it? yes.
does he care? not even slightly.
and every time someone brings you up around jake? he lights up like a golden retriever that just heard the word ''walk.''
''yeah,'' he says, puffing up his chest like it's his job, ''she's my girlfriend.''
people laugh, every single time.
he doesn’t get it. did he miss the joke?
like, what's funny about a man being proud of his girlfriend?
and then there’s always that one interviewer who tries to go gotcha-journalist mode.
''so, jake, do you ever feel overshadowed now that y/n's… well, her?''
he blinks at them like they just asked if the sky is green.
''why would i be mad?'' he says. ''i won, man. i get to date her. do you? i mean she's like the coolest person on earth. i'm lucky she even looks at me.''
the interviewer laughs. the audience laughs. everyone laughs.
jake doesn't.
he stares around, confused, like he missed the joke entirely—which he did—and then just continues talking because nobody on earth is stopping him.
he didn’t understand why the photographers laughed when he asked if he should carry equipment. he thought he was being helpful. he genuinely would drop his career to be your personal assistant and he said this often enough that your team started giving him tiny fake tasks just to keep him entertained.
and every time someone pointed a camera at him in public and joked, ''jake, when's y/n letting you be her full-time assistant?''
he'd brighten like a sunrise:
''i mean if she says yes i'll pack my things tonight—what, why are you laughing?''
every little comment about whether him having to ''worry'' about your success growing day by day only led to replies like
no. it bothers me that she doesn't let me carry her shoes too.
you tease him for it later, curled up together on the couch, his head tucked into your neck like it’s programmed there.
''you know people think you’re whipped, right?''
''i'm supportive,'' he corrects, frowning slightly.
you laugh, kiss his cheek, and he melts instantly—brain shutting down like a cheap computer.
he'd follow you anywhere. to any shoot, any event, any red carpet.
a/n: a silly little post since I feel like I haven’t done one of these stand alones in a while. I’ll be making individual texts & responses for each member for this so comment if you’d like to be tagged on those. (If you saw me use the photo of that nct member thinking it was jw no you didn’t 💔 bmh tone finding out ive had it in my phone since last year and it wasn’t him HELP(6,?)
trope/au » social media/texts format, established relationship au, non-idol au
genre » fluff, (yet another attempt at) comedy, some of them are jelly, some of them are cute, some of them are...hm-
warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » pet names (babe, baby), mingi is taller than reader
navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist
this idea came pretty randomly but i was trying to decide if i should get the aniteez dolls or not but even if i do, i know i'll never take it out the house because i would be so scared of losing it (all my the boyz sunwoo dolls are at home too and he's never seen the light sdfjkskdfjhf). so then this was born!! this is my personal opinion and i did struggle with some members since i still consider myself somewhat of a baby atiny but i hope you all enjoy this one!!
navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist
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synopsis: seonghyeon is #plottingonthat! but he forgets that his ‘future gf’ is quite popular with others…will he able to make her notice him or will there be no need for that? pairing: non-idol!seonghyeon x popular!f!reader genre: crack, fluff contains: hs au, down bad hyeon, profanity, kms jokes playlist: steal my girl—one direction; dream girl—crisaunt a/n: my dear alyas idea @riumori 🙏 she came in clutch! anyways dropping something today and then not posting until the valentines 😹
Warning(s) - smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (m and f receiving), dubcon (Mark insists 'just the tip' but it's very much not that), multiple orgasms
Summary - What starts as a joke about condoms turns into desperate, heated intimacy that ends with Mark grinning against your lips, swearing his pull-out game is flawless.
Word Count - 2.3k
Author’s Note - This was inspired by a fever dream about texting Mark
Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls (join my taglist!)
Now Playing: Watching TV - Mark
Your thumbs hover over your phone longer than they should before you text your boyfriend, Mark.
‘we’re out of condoms’
‘too lazy to go buy more’
‘how good is your pull out game?’
You don’t expect a reply right away. He was probably on his way home right now. But your phone buzzes within seconds.
‘👀’
‘you wanna test it?’
‘because i’m almost home’
You laugh to yourself, tossing your phone aside. You were mostly joking anyway.
By the time you hear his key in the lock, you’ve forgotten all about it. You were in sweats and one of his hoodies, reheating leftovers and scrolling through social media when he walked in with a grin tucked into the corners of his mouth like he already knows something you don’t want to admit.
“Hey,” he greets, dropping his bag by the door. “About what you said earlier…”
“I was kidding,” you tell him, handing him a plate. “Mostly.”
Mark smirks, brushing a kiss to your cheek before settling on the couch. You join him not too long after. Dinner is easy, quiet. You eat with your legs tangled together, shoulders brushing, the TV humming in the background. It’s the kind of night that feels domestic. Warm lighting, full bellies, a shared blanket. Ordinary in the best way.
But then Mark’s hand slips beneath the hem of your hoodie. Just a little. Just enough to trace circles over your bare waist, his thumb brushing the softest part of your stomach. His fingertips graze the band of your underwear like it’s an accident, but you know better.
You glance at him, ready to tease, but he’s already watching you, his gaze low-lidded and dangerous.
“Still too lazy to go buy some?” he asks.
You blink at him. “You’re the one who drove here and didn’t stop to buy any.”
“Mmm,” he hums, lips twitching. His fingers trail higher, ghosting just beneath the curve of your breast before slipping away again. “Guess we’re not doing anything tonight, then.” You shove his shoulder lightly, but he only laughs, leaning closer until his breath warms your ear. “Nothing at all,” he whispers, hand skimming down your thigh under the blanket.
“Nothing,” you agree, biting back a smile, though neither of you seems to mean it as the teasing touches linger, each one daring the other to break first.
The first kiss is slow, more a press of mouths than anything urgent. But it builds fast, his fingers skating under your shirt, yours curling in his hair, the blanket slipping off both of your laps as he nudges you onto your back.
Mark’s hips settle between yours. It was just the weight of him, the warm slide of sweatpants against you. Then he grinds down, and your breath catches.
He groans, low and sharp. “Are you sure we don’t have anything?” he groans into your neck. “And you’re not—”
“Nope,” you respond, already rolling your hips up into his. “Not on anything.”
You both freeze for a second. The tension builds between you in a shared, sharp awareness. But then he does it again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, letting you feel how hard he is even through the layers.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is—this is so bad.”
“It’s so bad,” you echo, arms tightening around his shoulders. “But you feel so good.”
You’re both laughing under your breath, the kind of laugh that dissolves into breathless sighs as your bodies fall into a rhythm. Dry heat. Friction. His hips meet yours again and again, your panties growing damp.. You feel his cock twitch, how close he’s getting just from this.
Mark pulls back just enough to look at you. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”
“Doing what?” you tease, but your voice is thin, your thighs already trembling.
He kisses you again, messier this time, his hand dipping down between you and into your underwear. His fingers slide through the heat of you, and he groans into your mouth. “You’re so—” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he pushes two fingers inside, your walls gripping him instantly, and he swears against your lips.
The stretch makes you gasp, your hips lifting into his hand. He curls his fingers just right, knuckles dragging against your softest spots until your thighs tremble. It’s all slick sounds and sharp breaths now. His fingers massaging your walls, your hips rocking into his hand helplessly.
Your hand finds him, too, slipping past the waistband of his sweats. He’s flushed and hard when you feel the silky heat stretched tight over the heavy length of him. He shudders when your fingers wrap around him, leaking slick against your palm. You stroke him in time with the thrust of his fingers inside you, the rhythm sloppy and desperate but perfectly matched, each of you unraveling the other with every tug and curl.
“Fuck, babe—” Mark’s forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers pump faster, curling deep until your thighs quake. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit with each movement, pulling sharp little sounds from your throat. You squeeze him harder in return, dragging your thumb over the swollen, wet tip, making his hips jerk helplessly into your hand.
It builds fast, too fast, and you’re clenching around his fingers, pulling him deeper, moaning into his mouth as your body seizes with release. He doesn’t let up, working you through it until your hips fall limp beneath him, sweat slicking your skin.
You barely catch your breath before you’re fumbling at your waistband, tugging your pants and underwear down your legs, and tossing them aside. Mark sits back, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as he watches you crawl towards him.
“Wait, wait—” Mark’s protest is drowned in a choked sound as you kneel between his thighs and tug his sweats down just enough to free him. He’s thick and flushed in your hand, twitching when you lean down to take him in your mouth.
The first wet lick up the full length of his cock has his head tilting back against the couch. “Oh, fuck.” His fingers thread into your hair, not pushing, just clinging.
You hollow your cheeks, sliding down until he hits the back of your throat, then pulling off with a wet pop to lick along the sensitive underside, tongue tracing every vein until he’s trembling. Mark moans helplessly, thighs flexing beneath your hands.
When you cup his balls gently, his whole body jerks. He gasps your name like it’s the only word he knows, high and thin, hips twitching up despite himself. You suck harder, dragging your tongue in slow, deliberate laps, alternating between swallowing him down and teasing the swollen head with light flicks until he’s whimpering.
“Fuck—baby, please…please, I can’t,” he pants, tugging weakly at your hair. “You’re killing me.” His voice breaks on a groan. “I need to be inside you, just the tip—I promise, just the tip.”
You hum around him, pulling back just enough to smirk. “Only the tip. You have to promise.”
“I promise!” he cries out, already dragging you up for a desperate kiss.
You’re already half gone, nodding as he pulls his sweatpants and underwear off, throwing them to join yours on the floor. He pushes you back against the couch, guiding himself to your entrance. The first stretch has you crying out, your nails digging into his arms.
Mark shudders, jaw tight, pushing only the head of his cock inside. His whole body shakes as he exhales through clenched teeth, forehead pressing to yours.
“Fuck—just the tip,” he growls, almost like a warning to himself. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he fights not to push farther, but every pulse of your walls around him drags him deeper by instinct. He’s panting, chest heaving, veins standing out in his neck, yet he stays still, like he’s convincing himself as much as you. But then your hips twitch, a needy little roll that drags another inch of him inside.
“Mark,” you whine, already trembling.
He curses again, thrusting shallowly, just enough for the tip to press and retreat. His resolve breaks with every little sound that escapes from your mouth. Each time he rocks forward, more of him slips past the tight clutch of your walls until you feel the thick weight of him stretching you open.
“I only meant—just the tip,” he pants, but the lie dies when his hips drive forward harder, burying half of him in one slick thrust. “God—fuck—you’re so tight,” he stammers, voice cracking. His rhythm falters as he pulls almost all the way out, then sinks back in, slower this time, savoring every inch.
You cry out, back arching, knuckles white against his shoulders. “Mark—fuck, you’re already inside,” you whimper, voice breaking. “You might as well just fuck me.”
Mark squeezes his eyes shut, groaning like he’s tearing himself apart. But your desperate pleas crack him wide open. With one hard thrust, he pushes fully inside, hips flush to yours, the stretch searing and euphoric.
The heat of him fills every inch, thick and throbbing, textured veins dragging against your walls until you’re gasping, overwhelmed by how deep he reaches. You cling to him like you’ll fall apart if you don’t, sobbing his name against his shoulder as he holds you there, buried in your wet heat, shaking with the effort to stay in control.
It’s too much, too hot, too good. Mark sets a rougher pace, hips snapping into yours with raw need. His body trembles against you, growls ripping from his throat as he loses his rhythm. You’re gasping, nails scraping down his back, his body shaking with the effort of holding on.
“Shit—shit, I’m gonna cum—” His thrusts grow frantic and desperate, the tip of his cock nudging so deep you swear you can’t breathe.
Your hands fly up, clutching Mark’s face, forcing him to look at you. “Not inside, Mark—You have to pull out.” Your voice is broken but firm, even as your own pleasure crests.
He groans miserably, teeth gritted, fighting his body’s instinct. “Fuck—I will, I will—”
Mark’s hips stutter before he yanks out at the last second with a ragged groan cry, spilling hot across your stomach in heavy spurts where your hoodie rode up. The sound of his pleasure tears out of him, sharp and guttural, as his body bows and then collapses forward. His forehead falls to your shoulder, chest heaving, his muscles trembling with the aftershock. His breath is harsh against your neck, broken gasps tangled with the sound of your own ragged breathing.
But he doesn’t stop. Still shuddering, he drags his mouth down your throat, pushing your hoodie up higher, exposing your breasts, and leaving open-mouthed kisses on them as he makes his way lower. His hand slips between your thighs, spreading you wide as he settles in, his other palm smearing through his own release across your skin. He groans at the mess, at how wet you already are even before his tongue is on you.
The first drag of it is slow and deliberate, from your entrance to your clit, but then he’s sucking you into his mouth, greedy and insistent. He flattens his tongue against you, licking broad and heavy until you’re writhing, then narrowing to spear inside you, fucking into your heat with wet strokes that make your hips jump. He pulls back just enough to circle your clit, lips closing around it, sucking until your vision swims.
“Mark—holy fuck—” Your voice cracks, your thighs trembling around his head, but he only groans into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He alternates between tongue-fucking you deep and sucking hard on your clit, working you with a feral sort of focus that leaves you gasping. The wet, obscene sounds fill the air as he slurps at everything you give him, tongue drinking you down like he can’t get enough.
It’s too much, the pleasure building until it finally breaks you. Your body arches, shuddering hard as your orgasm rips through you, your thighs clamping tight around his head. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, licking you through it, swallowing every drop as you cry out and shake against him.
Only when you’re trembling and boneless does he finally let up, kissing back up your body in slow, messy lines. His tongue traces your stomach, licking up the cooling streaks of his cum, lapping at the taste of himself before moving higher.
When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deep and wet, pushing the salty tang of him and the sweetness of you onto your tongue. The kiss is filthy and desperate, spit-slick and hungry, until you’re both panting against each other’s mouths.
At last, Mark lowers himself onto you, his body heavy and warm as he goes limp. His arms circle around your shoulders, holding you close, his cheek pressed to yours, while his breathing finally starts to steady.
His hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead when he finally cracks a grin against your cheek, breath ghosting over your skin. He nuzzles into you, lips brushing lazily along your jaw before he murmurs, voice hoarse but teasing. “My pull out game is pretty solid, huh?”
You let out a weak laugh, still dazed, smacking lightly at his shoulder. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Mark only chuckles, smug but exhausted, pressing another sloppy kiss to your mouth as if to seal his point. “Almost doesn’t count, babe.”
You groan, burying your face in his chest, but the corners of your mouth betray you with a smile. His arms tighten around you, and even as his joke lingers, he melts further into your body, humming softly as sleep starts to creep in.
Edit: To celebrate this fic reaching 1k notes I compiled a short list of p!links that are related to the fic. (Must be signed in to Twitter/X to view the links.)
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