untitled — n.jm
tags. college au, friends to situationship, subtle acts of love, quiet devotion, drunk friends being chaotic, soft jaemin, acts of service as a love language, late night drives. explicit sexual content, fwb dynamics, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), desk sex (oral), praise kink, soft dirty talk, realistic college setting, no protection mentioned (i forgot), consensual, slow build orgasms, body description, light marking, aftercare elements, pet names.
pairings. na jaemin x fem!reader
genre. fluff, smut (18+)
w.c. 5,266
notes. requested fic!
🎀. five friends survive into second year college. jaemin is the quiet one who takes care of everyone without being asked. between him and you, something undefined but exclusive has been building since first year. in public he's subtle. alone he isn't.
the tent is loud. it is always loud with them.
the plastic tarp flaps against the metal poles every time someone shoulders through the entrance, and the steam from the boiling tteokbokki pot fogs up the small space until everything looks soft at the edges. haechan is halfway through a story about his communications professor who apparently showed up to zoom class in a bathrobe, and mark is laughing so hard he has to put his forehead down on the sticky table. minjeong is leaning against your shoulder, eyes half lidded, her third glass of somaek mostly untouched in front of her now.
you are across from jaemin.
this is where you always end up. not by accident anymore, not since first year when you both started gravitating toward the same side of whatever booth or couch or floor was available. tonight he is wedged between the wall and haechan's flailing elbow, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, one hand wrapped around a beer he has been nursing for the past hour. he is listening to haechan but not really. you can tell by the way his gaze keeps drifting. back to you. away. back to you.
he does not make it obvious. that is the thing about jaemin. he is subtle in the way that people who are not looking for it will never catch. a glance held a second too long when you laugh. his knee shifting under the table until it rests against yours and then stays there, a steady pressure you have grown used to over the past year and a half. his fingers pushing the little plate of pickled radish closer to your side of the table without a word because he knows you like it with the fried dumplings.
you did not ask him to do that. you never ask.
he just notices.
"and then," haechan is saying, gesturing so broadly he nearly knocks over minjeong's glass, "she goes, 'well, communication is about authenticity,' and i was like, miss, you are wearing a bathrobe. a literal bathrobe."
mark wheezes. minjeong groans. you smile and reach for your water.
jaemin is already pouring it for you.
the pitcher tilts in his hand before you can even extend your arm. he fills your cup to just below the rim, the way you prefer, and sets the pitcher back down without looking at you, his attention still seemingly on haechan's story. but the corner of his mouth ticks up. just barely.
you mouth thank you. he blinks once. slow. a private acknowledgement.
"you're so whipped," haechan says, and it takes you a second to realize he is talking to jaemin.
jaemin's expression does not change. "for pouring water?"
"for pouring her water. you didn't pour mine."
"you have hands."
"i have hands," haechan repeats, scandalized. "mark, did you hear that. jaemin said i have hands."
mark lifts his head from the table just long enough to say, "you do, actually," before dropping it back down.
minjeong snorts. you laugh. jaemin's gaze flicks to you again, quick, cataloguing the sound like he is saving it somewhere.
the night stretches on. more bottles appear. haechan orders another round of soju even though jaemin shakes his head and says, "you're gonna regret this tomorrow." haechan waves him off. mark is red in the face now, giggling at everything. minjeong has fully given up on sitting upright and is slumped against your side, her cheek pressed to your sleeve.
you are warm. tired. the kind of tired that settles in after a long week of readings for your contemporary lit class and the three page response paper you still have not started. your eyes sting from the grill smoke. your head feels light.
you need the bathroom.
you shift in your seat, trying to extricate yourself from minjeong without waking her, and the movement makes the table wobble. haechan's glass clinks against mark's. you brace a hand on the edge of the booth and push yourself up, but your legs are heavier than you expected. the soju has settled into your bloodstream, a low hum.
jaemin is already standing.
you do not see him move. one moment he is across the table, and the next he is beside you, his hand under your elbow, steadying. not gripping. just there. a suggestion of support.
"i'm fine," you say automatically.
"i know," he says.
haechan, who has the observational skills of a hawk when it comes to other people's business and absolutely none when it comes to his own, zeroes in immediately. "jaemin, y/n can walk okay?"
his voice is teasing, loud enough that the couple at the next table glances over. mark snickers into his arm. minjeong stirs against the booth cushion and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like leave them alone but could also just be kimchi jjigae. it is hard to tell.
jaemin does not rise to it. his thumb brushes once against the inside of your elbow, feather light, before he drops his hand. but he does not step away.
"someone has to make sure you don't walk into a pole on the way to the car later," he says to haechan, flat. "least i can do is make sure y/n finds the bathroom."
"that doesn't even make sense."
"it doesn't have to. you're drunk."
mark howls. haechan sputters something indignant but jaemin is already turning, his hand hovering near the small of your back as he guides you through the narrow gap between tables. he does not touch you. not here, not in front of everyone. but the space he leaves is deliberate. close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him.
the bathroom is at the back of the tent, past the kitchen entrance where the ajumma is flipping jeon on a sizzling griddle. the noise of the tent fades a little here, muffled by steam and the rhythmic slap of her spatula.
you stop outside the door. jaemin stops too.
"i'm really okay," you say again, quieter this time.
"i know," he says again.
he leans against the wall opposite the bathroom door, arms crossed loosely, his hoodie bunched at his elbows. the fluorescent light above him buzzes faintly. it makes the shadows under his eyes look deeper than they are, or maybe they really are that deep. political science is eating him alive this semester. you know he pulled two all nighters last week because he texted you at 4 a.m. a photo of his desk covered in highlighters and empty coffee cups with no caption.
you had sent back a photo of your own desk. also a mess. also 4 a.m.
he had replied with a single emoji. the little blue heart.
it was not a big thing. it never is with him.
he waits while you use the bathroom. when you come out, he is in the exact same position, but his phone is in his hand now. he pockets it the second the door opens. his eyes find yours in the dim light.
"you tired?" he asks.
"yeah."
"me too."
neither of you move. the ajumma shouts something to the kitchen boy. a burst of laughter erupts from the front of the tent. haechan's voice carries over all of it, unmistakable, probably starting another story.
jaemin is looking at you. not the way he looks at you across the table when other people are watching. this is different. this is the way he looks at you when it is just the two of you, when the pretense falls away and he lets himself be still.
his gaze moves over your face. your eyes, your nose, the tired slope of your mouth. cataloguing. the same way he always does.
"headache?" he asks.
"a little."
"i have the good painkillers at my place. not the cheap ones haechan buys."
you huff a small laugh. "of course you do."
his mouth curves. not a full smile. just a softening.
"come over after," he says. it is not a question. it has not been a question for a while now. when things get hard, you both run for each other. his place has become an unspoken sanctuary. his extra toothbrush in the bathroom. your charger permanently plugged in next to his bed. the hoodie of his you never gave back folded on his chair because you both pretend it lives there now.
"okay," you say.
he nods once. pushes off the wall. his hand finds the small of your back this time, brief, just enough pressure to guide you back toward the chaos of your friends.
you walk back to the table and haechan is mid sentence about something else entirely, his attention already diverted to a new topic. mark is trying to pour another round but missing the glasses entirely. minjeong has woken up enough to film mark failing at pouring, her phone held unsteadily in one hand.
jaemin slides back into his spot across from you. under the table, his foot nudges yours.
you nudge back.
no one notices.
the night ends the way it always ends. haechan arguing about the bill, mark too drunk to do basic addition, minjeong half asleep on her feet.
jaemin handles it.
he does not make a production of it. he simply pulls out his card, passes it to the ajumma before haechan can finish saying "no but wait i think i owe more because i had the extra—" and waits with his arms crossed while the receipt prints. haechan tries to venmo him immediately and drops his phone on the floor. mark picks it up and drops it again. minjeong is leaning heavily against your shoulder, her breath warm and slow against your neck.
you do not want to let go of her.
she is your person in the way jaemin is your person but different. minjeong knows the versions of you from before. she sat next to you in intro to literary theory when you both realized you had no idea what derrida was talking about and decided to be confused together. she held your hand during freshman orientation when you got overwhelmed by the crowd. she is the one you call when jaemin is the one making your chest feel too full and you need someone to just listen.
so when jaemin steps out of the tent and glances back at the four of you huddled on the sidewalk, his phone already to his ear, you tighten your arm around minjeong's waist.
"cab for haechan and mark," he says, hanging up. "three minutes."
"what about minjeong," you say.
jaemin looks at you. then at minjeong, who has her eyes closed and her cheek smushed against your coat. then back at you.
"i got her one too. separate."
you blink at him. "you called three cabs?"
"two. i'm driving you."
the words are simple. flat. like it is the most obvious thing in the world. haechan, who is swaying slightly and holding onto mark's shoulder for balance, squints at jaemin.
"you barely drank again," haechan accuses.
"someone has to get you home."
"mom behavior."
"shut up, haechan."
the cab pulls up. jaemin opens the door and physically guides haechan into the backseat like he is herding a particularly uncooperative cat. mark follows more easily, mumbling something about seeing everyone tomorrow, and jaemin leans down to give the driver the address before shutting the door. the taillights blur red and then disappear around the corner.
minjeong's cab arrives four minutes later.
you do not want to let go.
"she can stay at mine," you say, looking at jaemin.
he does not argue. he does not sigh or roll his eyes or say come on, y/n. he just stands there, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and waits.
but minjeong stirs. she blinks her eyes open, takes in the cab, takes in jaemin standing a few feet away, and something knowing passes over her face. she is drunk but not stupid. she sees the way jaemin is looking at you. she has seen it for a year and a half.
"go," she mumbles, patting your arm clumsily. "i'm fine. text me when you get home."
"minjeong—"
"i'm fine," she repeats, firmer. she pulls back, sways once, and steadies herself on the open cab door. she points a finger at jaemin. "take care of her."
jaemin nods once. "always."
minjeong folds herself into the cab. the door closes. the car pulls away.
and then it is just you and him on the empty sidewalk, the pojangmacha tent glowing orange behind you, the october air sharp and cold.
you turn to look at him. your head is fuzzy. the soju has turned your thoughts soft at the edges. you are trying to remember if you thanked him for paying because you did not see him do it but you know he did. he always does. the bill, the cabs, the small unspoken things that keep everyone afloat.
"you paid," you say. it comes out more like a statement than a question.
jaemin shrugs. "haechan will venmo me tomorrow. mark will forget and then venmo me three days later with extra for 'emotional damages.' minjeong will try to pay me back and i'll tell her to buy you coffee instead."
his voice is even. like this is just how things work. like taking care of people is not a choice he makes but a fact of his existence.
the cold makes you shiver. you are wearing your own coat but it is thin, not meant for october nights that drop below ten degrees. jaemin notices. of course he notices.
he shrugs off his jacket.
"you don't have to—"
"i know."
he holds it open for you. you turn and let him drape it over your shoulders. it swallows you. the sleeves hang past your fingertips. it smells like him. fabric softener and something faintly citrus and just jaemin. the warmth from his body still clings to the lining.
you had been wearing it since you all stepped out of the tent onto the sidewalk. you do not remember exactly when he put it on you. maybe while you were saying goodbye to minjeong. maybe while haechan was yelling about the venmo request. no one noticed. they never notice.
but you notice. you always notice.
he looks at you in his jacket and something in his face shifts. the careful neutrality he wears around everyone else softens at the corners. his eyes trace over you and he smiles. not the performative smile he gives when haechan makes a joke or when someone points a camera at him. the real one. the one that makes the dimple appear on his left cheek, deeper than the right, a small divot that you have pressed your thumb into more times than you can count.
"come on," he says quietly.
his car is parked half a block down. he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, closest to the street, a habit he has had since high school that you called him out on once and he denied and then kept doing anyway. his hand brushes yours as you walk. once. twice. the third time he just takes it. his palm is warm and dry and his fingers slot between yours like they belong there.
at the car he opens the passenger door for you. waits until you are settled. closes it gently. when he slides into the driver's seat and starts the engine, the heater kicks on low, and the dashboard lights cast his face in soft blue.
he does not pull out right away.
he sits there, hands on the wheel, looking at you.
"what," you say.
"you're pretty."
it comes out simple. factual. like he is telling you the time or the weather. you are pretty. period.
you are drunk enough that the words hit you square in the chest. your face heats. you look away, out the window at the empty street, but you can feel him still looking at you.
"jaemin."
"what."
"you can't just say that."
“why not."
"because."
"that's not a reason."
you turn back to him. his eyes are soft. patient. he is waiting for you to find the words but you do not have them. you never do when he looks at you like this.
he leans over the center console. one hand leaves the wheel and comes up to your face. his thumb brushes the curve of your cheek, light, like he is handling something fragile. his gaze drops to your mouth and then back up to your eyes. asking. always asking. even now, after a year and a half of this thing between you that has no name, he still asks.
you nod. barely a movement. just enough.
he kisses you.
it is not rushed. jaemin does not rush things with you. his mouth moves against yours slow and sure, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. he tastes like the barley tea he drank instead of soju. warm. familiar. he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours.
"missed you," he says.
"i was with you all night."
"not the same." his thumb traces the line of your jaw. "can't look at you the way i want to when everyone's there."
you know what he means. the restraint he holds in his body around your friends. the careful distance he keeps. the way he looks at you across the table like he is memorizing you because that is all he is allowed to do in public. but here, in the quiet of his car with the heater humming and the streetlights pooling gold on the dashboard, he does not have to hold back.
"missed you too," you say.
his smile returns. the dimple. god, the dimple.
he kisses you again. once, soft. then he pulls back and shifts the car into gear.
"let's go home," he says.
home. his place. the studio apartment in sinchon with the extra toothbrush and your charger and his hoodie on the chair. home is wherever he is. it has been for a while now. you think he knows that. you think maybe he has known longer than you have.
his hand finds yours over the console as he drives. he does not let go until he has to park.
you sat on the edge of jaemin's narrow dorm bed feeling the last traces of the party haze fade away. the sweet citrus flavor of the hangover drink he had handed you still lingered on your tongue. your head felt steady now. the loud music from the tent earlier had turned into a distant hum through the thin walls.
the small room smelled like old paper and the faint laundry detergent from his sheets mixed with the leftover scent of his cologne.
textbooks and loose notes covered almost every inch of the wooden desk pushed against the wall. a single lamp cast a warm yellow glow over the chaos of highlighters pens and printed lecture slides. the single window showed the dark campus night outside with a few scattered lights from other dorm buildings.
you shifted slightly on the bed and looked at him. he was still in that plain black t shirt that fit snug across his chest and shoulders from the gym sessions he squeezed in between classes.
his hair looked a little messy where he had run his fingers through it earlier while trying to study. you did not mention the studying or the papers. you just spoke quietly.
"i feel better now."
jaemin turned his chair around to face you fully. he gave you that small genuine smile. “good.”
the one where the corners of his eyes crinkled just enough to make his expression soft and real. no dramatic words. he stood up slowly and crossed the short distance between the desk and the bed. the floor creaked faintly under his steps on the old linoleum. he stopped right in front of you and leaned down. one hand came up to cup the back of your neck gently. his palm felt warm against your skin.
he kissed you without hurry. his lips pressed soft at first. warm and familiar. you tasted the plain water he had been drinking mixed with the quiet steadiness that was just him. when you kissed him back he deepened it slowly. his tongue brushed against yours in a lazy slide. you let out a small involuntary moan against his mouth. "jaemin."
that sound hit him low in his gut. he felt the shift inside himself. the quiet want that had been building since he saw you at the party earlier. his hands moved to your waist. steady and sure. “shh, let me make you feel even better.”
he guided you up from the bed until you were standing with him. then he turned you around with gentle pressure. your hips met the edge of the desk. papers crinkled softly under your palms as you braced yourself there. the wood felt cool through the thin fabric of your shirt.
jaemin pressed close behind you. his chest brushed your back. one arm wrapped around your middle to hold you steady against him. he did not shove or rush anything. his breath was even near your ear. he reached down and popped the button of your denim shorts open with one hand. the zipper came down next. he tugged the shorts and your panties down together in one smooth motion. they slid to your ankles. the cool air of the dorm room touched your bare skin and made you shiver lightly.
his palm settled between your legs right away. broad and warm. he rested it there for a moment just feeling. his fingers were slightly calloused from guitar strings and late nights writing notes. you were already slick. soaked from the kisses and the way his body felt pressed against yours.
"fuck, youre so wet." he murmured low against your ear. his voice stayed calm and quiet. no exaggeration. just honest want. "so needy for me already. dripping like this."
he started rubbing slow circles with his palm. the pressure light at first. teasing your clit without giving too much. his other hand stayed on your hip. thumb stroking small soothing patterns over your skin. he leaned in and kissed the side of your neck. open mouthed and unhurried. his lips trailed lower to your collarbone. he sucked gently there. enough to pull blood to the surface and leave a faint mark that would fade by morning if you covered it. then he moved up to your jaw. kissing and sucking softly while his palm kept working between your thighs in those lazy circles.
you pushed back against his hand a little. hips rolling on instinct. jaemin smiled against your skin. you could feel the curve of his mouth. he slid one finger inside you then. slow and deliberate. letting you feel every inch as he pushed in. his finger was long and thick. it stretched you just right. he curled it gently at first. searching for that spot inside you that made your breath catch. when he found it he started moving. pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in. the pace built gradually. from slow and deep to faster and firmer.
his biceps flexed visibly with each thrust of his hand. the muscle shifting smooth and strong under his skin as he worked you. the wet sounds of his finger moving in and out filled the small quiet room. mixed with your quickening breaths and the faint creak of the desk under your weight.
"thats it baby." he said softly right by your ear. his tone stayed even and low. like he was talking you through something simple and good. "you feel so good around my finger. tight and warm. taking it so well for me."
he kept the quiet praise coming between kisses. his lips never left your neck and shoulder for long. "look how wet you are pretty. soaking my hand already. you needed this didnt you. needed me to touch you like this."
your legs started to tremble after a while. the slow build had your body heating up gradually. tension coiling low in your belly. “please…” you moaned, needily.
“please what?”
“harder, please..”
he chuckled darkly, jaemin did not speed up suddenly. he kept the rhythm steady. finger fucking you deep and firm while his palm rubbed firm circles against your clit. the combination made the pleasure climb higher. slow and inevitable. your breathing turned ragged. fingers curling tighter against the scattered papers on the desk. some of them slid sideways under your palms.
he sucked on your collarbone again. then your jaw. his free hand held your hip steady so you stayed balanced. the flex of his arm behind you felt solid and reassuring. you could feel the heat of his body through his t shirt. the faint scent of his skin and the detergent on his clothes.
the orgasm built up slow just like he wanted it to. starting as a warm flutter deep inside. then spreading outward in waves that grew stronger with every curl of his finger and press of his palm. your thighs shook first. small tremors that turned into full shakes as it got closer. your walls started fluttering around his finger. clenching in anticipation.
when it finally hit you it crashed through hard. your whole body shook. legs trembling uncontrollably as the orgasm ripped through you. you moaned his name broken and quiet. forehead dropping down onto the rumpled papers. your walls clamped tight around his finger. pulsing and squeezing in rhythmic waves that made your vision blur for a second. the pleasure rolled on and on. leaving you gasping and shaking against the desk.
jaemin kept moving his finger gently through it all. drawing it out until the shakes eased into small aftershocks. only then did he slide his finger out slow. he brought it up to his mouth without hesitation. licked it clean with a low hum. tasting you on his tongue.
"you taste so good baby." he said quietly. voice a little rougher now from holding back. "sweet and perfect."
he dropped to his knees behind you right after. the movement smooth and unhurried. his hands came up to spread your thighs a little wider. careful so you would not lose balance against the desk. his breath ghosted warm over your sensitive soaked skin. then his mouth was on you. tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. he groaned softly at the taste. the vibration traveling straight through you.
he ate you out with the same focused patience. tongue circling your clit in steady strokes. then dipping inside you to lick at your entrance. sucking lightly on your folds before returning to your clit. his hands gripped your ass gently. thumbs spreading you open so he could bury his face deeper. the wet sounds were louder now. intimate and real in the quiet dorm. no rush. just the steady heat of his mouth working you over.
"so sweet, so pretty." he murmured between licks. voice muffled against your pussy. "my good girl. so fucking wet still. letting me taste you like this."
the second orgasm started building even slower than the first. your body already sensitive from the first release. every lick and suck sent sparks through your nerves. the tension coiled again. tighter this time. your hips rocked back against his face on their own. fingers gripping the edge of the desk hard. knuckles turning white.
jaemin stayed right there. tongue flicking and circling. sucking on your clit with just enough pressure. his hands kept you spread and steady. he licked inside you deep. then back up to swirl around your clit again. the build felt endless. pleasure stacking layer by layer until your thighs began shaking once more.
when the second orgasm hit it was intense. your body shook hard. legs trembling violently as waves of pleasure surged through you. you cried out softly. pressing back against his mouth while your walls fluttered and clenched around nothing. the release left you breathless and oversensitive. small whimpers escaping as he licked you gently through the aftershocks. slowing down until you pushed weakly at his head.
jaemin stood up behind you. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his breathing came a little heavier now. chest rising and falling under the black t shirt. he wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you upright against his chest. the hug felt loose and warm. solid. his chin rested on your shoulder for a long moment. you could feel his heartbeat against your back. steady and real.
"you okay?" he asked. voice soft and genuine. no theatrics. just quiet concern. he pressed a small kiss to your temple. lips lingering there.
“yeah.” you nodded. still catching your breath. the papers on the desk lay rumpled and slightly scattered from where your hands had pressed down. jaemin did not glance at them. he reached down and helped you step back into your panties and shorts. his hands careful and steady as he pulled them up your legs. adjusting them on your hips like it was the most natural thing.
he guided you away from the desk then. toward the narrow bed against the other wall. the mattress dipped slightly as he pulled you down with him. he lay back first and let you settle against his chest. one arm draped around your shoulders. his fingers stroked slow lines up and down your back. the room felt even quieter now. the distant party noise almost gone. just the faint sound of your breathing and his.
jaemin closed his eyes for a moment. content with the way you fit against him. warm and close. the studying could wait until morning. the textbooks and notes would still be there. right now he preferred this. the quiet afterglow. the feel of your body relaxing against his. he kissed the top of your head once. soft and unhurried.
"stay a bit longer." he said. voice low in the dim light. "rather be with you right now anyway."
you stayed like that. tangled together on his dorm bed. the lamp still on at the desk casting long shadows across the room. the night outside the window felt far away. just the two of you in the small space. skin warm. breaths even. the easy comfort of being close after everything.
jaemin let his hand keep stroking your back. slow and rhythmic. his mind quiet for once. no rush to get back to the books. no pressure from midterms tonight. he felt the way your body had shaken under his hands and mouth. the memory made him smile faintly to himself. he pressed another light kiss to your hair. breathing you in. the faint scent of your skin mixed with the party remnants and the dorm air.
