A matter of letting go [1] eng. | Teacher Yoongi Au
Pairing: Min Yoongi x f.reader
Genre: fluff, angst, smut eventually
Sumary: Min Yoongi is one step away from achieving his dream, the one for which he went against his parents, the one for which he had to leave behind the most important people in his life. He was about to feel it within reach, when an unfortunate event forced him to stand in front of a classroom side by side with the one person he never stopped loving.
A/N: Hey there! This is a first for me, am still a little squeaky at my writing in english so am apologizing in advance of the next chapter in hopes that, at least, it's readable and enjoyable. As always, you can leave a coment, share it, also, you can give me recommendations, suggestions or corrections of any kind. Thank u for read. 💌
Everything had fallen into complete darkness. The voices reached him from far away, muffled and swallowed by the abandonment of consciousness. He could still feel the people near him, even as it felt like his soul had left his body.
He blacked out.
Just moments before, an unbearable heaviness had settled on the back of his head and nape, absorbing the news as the faces and objects around him began to spin. The annoying tinnitus in his ear made him stand up, only to fall into the void.
He blacked out.
That very morning, everything had a diferent feeling to it. From the moment he woke up, he carried the feeling that this day would steer his life to a new direction. So he dragged himself out of bed with his usual tiredness, his phone clinging to its last bit of battery, and the deafening silence filling his apartment.
Everything seemed to indicate that Yujin, his roommate, had left earlier than usual. She’d left her coffee cup beside her forgotten set of keys near the door. Still, he didn’t spare it a second though as he stepped out.
Skipping breakfast, as had become his habit, he headed to the coffee-bar right in front of his building, looking for Yujin, as she worked there — just like he used to invest countless of nights working there for minimum wage —, so they could talk about the upcoming bills, while enjoying a large cup of coffee.
To his surprise, Yujin wasn’t behind the counter, or anywhere in sight. None of her coworkers knew where she’d gone, so, a little intrigued, he tried calling her, but his phone had finally given in to its dead battery. Resigned, he took his usual order — the one the staff already knew by heart —, and made his way back to the building's parking lot to grab his car. It was time to head to the recording label.
He was currently an intern in the special program for new producers, at the record label where his best friend, Namjoon, worked. It was thanks to Joon, and his family’s influence, that he’d even managed to get his papers and demos submitted.
He’d brought in a handful of melodies he’d written during his late-night shifts at the café, good enough to catch the ears of the higher-ups. Still, competition for a spot was fierce, and with his lack of experience, he’d had no choice but to start from the bottom as an intern.
That didn't discourage him in any way. He was grateful to Joon, and even for his part-time job at the bar-café, as he could pursue his dream of becoming a producer while still keeping a roof over his head.
Eventually, after pushing himself hard enough, he’d made it through to the second stage of the program by presenting his thesis in Music Production. And now here he was, on his way to present his latest masterpiece: an EP he'd been working tirelessly on, and for which he'd decided to quit his job as a barista to dedicate as much time and dedication as possible.
Sliding into his car, he patted the pockets of his jacket to make sure the USB, holding his project, was safe. It was. Yet a heavy feeling still pressed against his chest, as if he’d forgotten something important. He couldn't help but associate it with the importance of that day.
On the drive, he didn’t dare plug the USB into his stereo, even though he normally played his drafts on repeat on his way. “One careless mistake could ruin everything”, he kept telling himself. So instead, he drove on in silence, the dull chatter of morning radio stations filling the space.
By the time he reached the building, his anxiety levels had spiked high, and refused to calm as he walked through the reception and boarded the elevator. It had become a daily state for him, so he felt a sense of pride when he thought about his hard work.
Despite the way his body and mind dragged him down, despite the suffocating grind of work and uncertainty, he had managed to focus on his desires and inspirations, on his senses and instincts, when creating his songs.
He realized too late, as he stepped into the cramped studio he shared, that he had forgotten his noise-canceling headphones at home. In that tiny workspace, they were essential, not only because privacy and space were scarce, but also out of respect for his senior producer, who showed him the same courtesy in return.
So, instead of asking anyone to change their habits, he simply used the headphones whenever he needed to write his lyrics. Even though his senior was on medical leave, there was always the chance his peace could be broken by the scatterbrained: Park Jisung.
And as if Jisung had some uncanny sense for the worst possible timing, he slipped through the door only seconds after Yoongi had sat down.
“You’re here,” the dark-haired boy noted from the doorway, his usual flat tone doing little to disguise his nosiness.
“We thought you’d be rushing with last-minute edits to your project, you know, with the deadline and all that stuff…” Jisung had a habit of blurting out his thoughts as if they belonged to everyone.
Out of the whole team, he was the only one convinced Yoongi would be scrambling that morning.
“I’m here, yes. And as for the final touches, they’re not big of a thing —nor any of your business,” he thought. “Just a few fine-tunings I can finish today during the day,” Yoongi replied curtly.
He didn’t spare another glance at his gaunt figure leaning against the doorway. Instead, he turned in his chair, slipped on his headphones, and tried to block out both the buzzing lights above and the boy’s petulant little voice.
But Jisung wasn’t finished.
"Still, today’s d-day. Nine a.m., sharp. Which means…” he tapped the clock above the doorframe, “…five minutes, Yoongs.”
Just as the color drained from Yoongi's face, he quickly left the room and headed to Nam's office, pushing past the nosy boy in the process.
His pulse thudded violently as he knocked on the door: no response.
He was on the verge of shouting, maybe even pounding his fists like a tantrum-throwing kid, when his back collided with someone.
The program's supervisor. His boss. Mr. Kang.
“Min Kid, what are you doing here wasting your time?”
The Min Kid in question stood there, petrified, as if his best moments in the company were passing before his eyes, as if the man in front of him were destiny itself, handing his failure into his hands.
“I assume you've already finished your project. If you’re here to deliver it, give it to me. Young Kim is waiting on me to review yesterday’s submissions—I’ll make sure yours is added to the list.”
Before Yoongi could stammer a word, Mr. Kang snatched the USB from his hand and dismissed him with a polite wave.
“Go back to your studio, or grab breakfast. You look exhausted. Everyone’s free to take lunch an hour early—just make sure you keep up the good work.”
With two firm pats on his back, Mr. Kang was gone, striding down the perfectly lit hallway.
Gone, with the USB that carried Yoongi’s life, his future. Everything.
He was willing to die before letting himself fail.
When he returned to the studio, the nosy black-haired man had left.
In the midst of relaxing for the first time that day, he decided to charge his phone and open his book-notes to distract his mind, if only for a moment.
The screen lit up with a flood of missed calls and unread messages, mostly from his mother, sent between the night before and just a few hours ago.
He ignored them for now. It was probably just another attempt to send him good luck or pry for details about the selection process. He locked the phone before it could pull him further away from what mattered: his lyrics and his coffee.
But the coffee hit his empty stomach like acid, and the familiar burn of gastritis clawed its way up his throat. Right then, a call from Yujin flashed across the screen, as an unexpected relief to his tense shoulders.
“Hey, what’s up?” He answered immediately, desperate to distract himself from the anxiety chewing at him while he waited.
He knew that if Namjoon was on the evaluation committee, he would intercede for him to be one of the first to be considered for evaluation, and while that was a nice touch, the anxiety of knowing it only made his nerves worse.
“Are you already at lunch?” The urgent, hurried tone of those words made him sit up straight. “Can you come to the train station?”
“I was just about to leave. I’m on my way,” he replied, puzzled by such a request. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He hung up, as if this wasn't a casual call to keep up and then hurried out of the building to meet up with his roommate.
Fifteen minutes turn to twenty in the mid-morning traffic, then thirty when he couldn’t find a parking spot close enough to spare him from walking in the sun.
Finally, he made it inside the crowded station, scanning the place is search for her. He was looking for his phone when a hand yanked him by the arm.
“If I’d known you’d take this long, I would’ve just said it over the phone.”
Yoongi recognized when a person was irritable, so this time he decided to remain silent and wait for the girl, with her arms crossed and impassive face, to give him a reason to do so.
“I’ll make it quick. My train leaves in fifteen minutes, so I need to set things straight before I go.”
As the words made sense in her head, she scribbled numbers onto an old receipt. “This is my account number, my parents’ address, and the codes you’ll need for shipping details.”
She handed him the scrap of paper. He raised an eyebrow and grabbed it.
“Clearly you've made a plan,” he said carefully. “Would you mind letting me in on it?
For a beat, the air between them turned heavy, his confusion colliding with her attempt to run away, unnoticed.
“I quit the café. I’m going home.”
Yoongi nodded slowly, gesturing for her to continue the explanation, but when silence stretched on, he finally pushed:
“What happened to wanting to be a singer? You know the work we did was good. The opportunity is right there...why- why walk away now?”
Her eyes flicked from her watch to him, back and forth. With a sigh, she looked directly at Yoongi, who avoided her eyes out of habit, but if he hadn’t, he might have caught the shadow of betrayal hiding in them.
“The truth is… it was never really my dream. It’s yours. If you get in, it’ll be all yours,” she murmured, a trace of guilt tugging at her voice. “And if you don’t, there’s nothing more I can do to help.”
“I need to move on. I can’t keep living like this…waiting for one of us to make it while the other works their ass off just to keep the apartment afloat.”
“You were the one who suggested this,” Yoongi snapped, irritation rising with his hunger. “So what are you talking about now?”
He looked at her for a few seconds, wondering: if giving up made her feel guilty, why did she do it?
Silence stretched thick between them. Around them, the station buzzed with people chasing trains, buying tickets, finding seats, walking in and out of entrances.
But for Yoongi and Yujin, time seemed to hang heavy, pinned down by the weight of everything remaining unspoken.
Finally, she broke it.
“I’m just tired, Yoon.” Her voice cracked under something she couldn’t admit. “I have to go.”
“Fine. If you’re set on leaving… I won’t stop you.” His eyes dropped to the paper he was twisting in his hands, “but what’s this for?”
“I didn’t pay the rent this month,” she said flatly, but she could no longer generate any reaction from Yoongi, or so she thought.
“I’m sure with your new producer contract you’ll manage. Find another roommate, and once you’re financially stable, send me the deposit back to that account.”
"The address is where you should send my things, like the coffee maker and the bedding. Do it when you have the deposit money, so you can pay with it."
His expression was unreadable, his mind caught somewhere far away.
Over the speakers, the call for her train echoed through the station. Yujin placed her hands on his shoulders, grounding him for a brief, fleeting goodbye.
“It was a pleasure helping with your project. It felt… pure, and so real.”
His eyes wandered everywhere but her. “I hope I see you again. No hard feelings?”
Confusion clung to him more tightly than before. He barely managed a nod before she lifted her bags—bags he hadn’t even noticed until that moment—and turned toward the gates. The whole thing felt wrong, as though he’d skipped a crucial episode in the middle of his favorite series.
For now, there wasn’t much he could do. Yujin’s departure wasn’t in his hands, nor was the approval of his project.
The only thing he could control was getting himself some lunch—and that’s where he headed once he finally broke free of midday traffic.
On the way, he slowed to a stop to let a line of children cross the street, hand in hand behind a woman—presumably their teacher.
The sight pulled at him with a strange sense of déjà vu. But before he could chase the thought, the blare of car horns snapped him back to reality, urging him forward.
On the way, he slowed to a stop to let a line of children cross the street, hand in hand behind a woman, presumably their teacher.
The sight pulled at him with a strange sense of déjà vu. But before he could chase the thought, the blare of car horns snapped him back to reality, urging him to move forward.
He had barely finished ordering his meal when his second coffee of the day was handed in front of him.
For Yoongi, caffeine was essential at times like this—when life seemed to slow down around him, the world pressing closer, people colliding into each other as if there were no space left to breathe.
At that table, it felt as if the whole world had been strapped to his wrist, dragging him down with its weight. His dream was already delayed but waiting even a few more hours for it felt impossible.
And then, like fate knocking at the door, like the false hope of a dream too good to last, Namjoon's contact photo lit up his phone screen.
He missed the call.
Within seconds, his phone bloated with notifications; text messages, voicemails, incoming calls. Yet all he could see was that single name flashing again and again. Her name.
And he missed that call too.
Still, it was enough to stir something deep in his memory: today, Y/N returned to his life far from home.
And he had forgotten.
The reminder had been written in his calendar. His mother had begged him not to let it slip his mind. But he had.
He’d completely forgotten the dinner their parents had organized, the same dinner they held every time Y/N came home on summer break, before she had to return to her job in the province.
Three years running.
He clung to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen—that when he returned to the label, his contract would be waiting for him, ready to be signed and sealed.
Then he’d have the rest of the evening free to meet her, to say goodbye to the love of his life for the third time.
Determined, he reached for his phone to call her. But Namjoon’s face appeared again, floating in a message bubble. This time, Yoongi couldn’t ignore it.
“Nam, what’s up?”
The line fell silent for a stretch of endless seconds.
“I need you here. Right now.”
The voice on the other end wasn’t the charming, easygoing Namjoon he knew. It was sharp, unsteady, carrying something dark in the tone. A chill spread through Yoongi’s chest, his heart thundering in pure terror.
Namjoon had never sounded so disturbed.
“In case you're wondering,” Namjoon exhaled a breath heavy with dread,
synopsis: Na Jaemin is annoying as fuck, clingy, needy, nosy, loud, the walking nightmare of campus and definitely someone you wouldn't normally associate yourself with. You could call him every adjective under the sun, and still, it wouldn't be enough to get him off your back. But his eyes are so pretty, his lashes so long, and somewhere along the way of being forced to show him the ropes of bartending, ignoring him is not an option anymore.
pairing: student!Jaemin x student fem! reader
genre: strangers to coworkers to lovers? university!au, fluff, crack, smut!!, eventual angst (in pt2)
word count: 28k+
warnings: so much slow burn ahhhh, blatant flirting, terrible jokes, jaemin is obsessed and a lil tapped in the head but what's new, a lot of inner thoughts and confusion, forced proximity, worries about the future, sexual shame/guilt, oc is a very self-aware meanie who likes to torture jaemin :( but i like her so you should too, fuck buddy chenle (and i oop-), alcohol, smoking, brief mention of menstruation and blood, there's like one argument but it's not angsty, pet names: partner/wiggles or wigs (hers), jaem/loser (his), mdni +18: smooching with lots of tongue, brief penetrative sex (not with each other), voyeurism (jaemin's a perv sozz), manhandling, oral sex (both receiving), clitorical stimulation, fingering, forced orgasm, jaem jerks it <3, spitting, a lil choking, cum play (they're both for the streets), the piss story returns (iykyk), strong language blah blah blah… also jaemin isn't necessarily blonde in this, i just love that pic heh :)
The queue outside is longer than Jaemin expected. It curls down the pavement in a slow, restless line – people shifting from foot to foot, laughing too loudly, complaining about the cold like they didn’t choose to stand in it. The bass from inside leaks through the walls every time the door opens, warm light spilling onto the street for a second before snapping shut again.
Jaemin stands somewhere in the middle of it all, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, barely bothered.
Haechan is already annoyed. Jeno is quieter, standing close enough to his girlfriend that they might as well merge into one at this point. Jaemin glances at them once, then forward again.
Start of spring energy. Everyone trying to squeeze something out of the night before everything resets into exams and exhaustion. The line inches forward. Warm air hits in waves whenever the door opens. Music follows it – heavy, messy, familiar.
Then when Jaemin’s in, noise swallows everything. Every corner is packed. Full tables, standing clusters, people leaning into each other and still shouting. The bar is already packed, orders shouted over each other, glasses clinking nonstop.
Jaemin steps further inside and blinks once, already knowing who to look for.
Same girl he’s been obsessing over for god knows how long.
He’s seen you plenty of times. Sometimes with Jisung, sometimes not. Sometimes in the library, others in the social studies building. Mostly he sees you here. Always behind the bar, barely smiling at customers. Always half-elsewhere even when you’re physically there.
He never fails to notice you for some reason. Never able to look away as fast as he’d like. First your posture. Not slouched exactly, but weighted, or bored. Like your body has learned how to keep functioning even when you’re past your limit.
Then your hands. Short nails. Practical length. Old polish chipped at the edges, like you painted them on a day you had energy and haven’t had another day like it since. You don’t even seem aware of it. Or maybe you just don’t care.
Your fingers move fast anyway – pouring, counting, sliding drinks across the bar without hesitation. Not a single wasted motion as you laugh at something one of your colleagues whispers in your ear.
Then his eyes glance at your arm when you reach up for a wine glass. The small tattoo sits on the inside of your forearm – simple, dark ink. Not decorative in the way people show off. More like something chosen for yourself, placed somewhere only visible when you move a certain way.
An outline of a tiny daffodil that disappears again when your sleeve falls back.
Then your face. Makeup that was probably neat earlier in the day, now slightly worn down at the edges. A faint smudge near your eye, like you’ve wiped sweat or pushed hair away too many times without thinking.
Jaemin’s mouth tilts before he realises it. Why are you always so nice to look at yet so difficult to approach?
“Jaem, this round’s on you, right?” Haechan says beside him.
“Yeah,” He answers carelessly, already stepping forward.
He slips into a free space at the bar before anyone else can, close enough that he doesn’t need to raise his voice.
You still don’t look up.
“Hey,” He tries, already feeling like an idiot.
You glance up. There’s a flicker of recognition and his mind already thinks you’ve tagged him as someone familiar from somewhere mildly annoying. Then your expression resets into something neutral.
“Hi,” You greet, with a nod and something could resemble a smile if you didn’t look devastatingly bored. “What can I get you?”
Jaemin leans lightly on the bar. “Four beers, please.”
“What kind?” You’re already reaching for a pint glass.
He watches your hands again. “Whatever’s quick.”
You nod once, without further comment. Turn. Pour. Move. And Jaemin instantly thinks, damn, your manager must love you.
Behind him, Jeno laughs at something Haechan says. But Jaemin couldn’t be less curious. He’s still too busy watching you.
The full drinks land in front of him one after the other before he has enough time to admire you as much as he'd like.
“Cash or card?” You ask, reaching for the card machine on autopilot, like you already know his response.
“Card,” He says, tapping it. And before he can speak again or thank you, you’ve already migrated to the next customer, the dismissal so disappointingly quick it feels like a punch in the gut.
You work fast. Faster than most people in a place like this could reasonably manage. But there’s no flourish to it. Just survival through repetition. Someone calls your name and you respond immediately without looking away from what you’re doing, no distraction allowed to get in your way. And Jaemin internally pictures his compromised attention span laughing at him.
When you come back down the bar, he does something he never really had the intention of doing doing with you. He acts on instinct.
“Y/N, right?” He speaks a little too loud, miscalculating the decibels of the music, and immediately wishes he could ascend out of his body and slap himself. Maybe you'll do it for him instead.
You look at him a fraction of a second longer than before. There’s a faint twitch of your eyebrow, fatigue pressing closer to irritation, but still contained under professionalism. “Something wrong with your drinks?”
“You’re Jisung’s friend?” He doesn’t think he’s ever sounded this lame before.
Your eyes narrow slightly as you study him again. “…yeah,” you say. “Why?”
“I’ve seen you with him,” Jaemin says, his own voice irritating him already. “Around campus.”
Great, now he sounds like a stalker.
Something in your expression adjusts - subtle recalibration. Like you’re placing him properly now instead of just acknowledging him.
“Right,” You reaffirm. “You’re…?”
Do you really not remember him? He's introduced himself to you at least three times in the last few months. You've been to his house parties for crying out loud. And you still can't remember his name?
“Jaemin.” He smiles a little, hoping he looks a lot calmer than he feels. “I live with Ji.”
A small breath leaves you. Almost a laugh, but you don’t give it all the way.
“Okay,” You nod, like that settles it and you're in a rush to move on. “Anything else?”
There it is. The politeness. So fake that he wonders what you’d sound like if you screamed at him in anger.
Jaemin leans slightly against the bar, gaze drifting briefly past you and lands on the sign behind you he’s never seen before.
HELP WANTED
He nods toward it. “Does that still stand?”
You follow his gaze, then look back at him like you already know where this is going. “That I know of, yes.”
“And you’re hiring just anyone?”
You offer an indifferent shrug. “If they’re competent.”
“Slightly low bar, no?”
You huff a dismissive laugh, eyes rolling a little. “You’d be surprised.”
He studies you for a second longer. Your exhaustion is so evident, yet you’re holding this whole place together without letting it touch you more than necessary.
“You think I could apply?” A genuine question. The man studies biology, doesn’t know anything about bar tending.
“Honestly?” You say carefully, still polite, but focused on writing something on a small notepad in front of you. “Go for it, but you’d probably quit after one shift if you’ve never worked at a student bar before.”
Jaemin tilts his head slightly. You’re not judging him. You just don’t care whether you’re right or wrong. He still feels like you indirectly called him inexperienced, though.
“Alright,” he says. “Say I did apply.”
“You’d need to talk to the manager.” Again, so disinterested.
“Any warnings?”
You blink at him once. “About what?”
He gestures vaguely around him. “The job?”
You halt for just a second, then get back to pouring. “No, not really.” Then you shake your head. “You get what you see.”
And you’ve already moved to the other side of the bar, shouting about something he can’t quite decipher over the music. Maybe a missing cocktail pitcher?
A quiet laugh of disbelief slips out before he mumbles to himself. “Fair enough.”
“Well done.” Haechan drags him out of his thoughts as he grabs two of the four drinks. “You actually spoke to her and didn’t faint.”
“I was close.” Jaemin picks up the remaining two drinks and hesitantly retreats with a last glance towards you. He scans the crowd to find Jeno and his girlfriend have already secured a table in the furthest corner of the crowded space. Too far from the bar. At least for his liking.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
You shouldn’t have come outside.
It’s colder than you expected, the kind that settles in slowly, creeping through your sleeves, but at least it’s quiet out here and no one’s calling your name, no one’s waiting for you to pour their drink or fix something that isn’t your fault.
You lean back against the wall, cigarette between your fingers, letting your head rest for a second as you exhale. The noise from inside is muffled now, like it’s happening somewhere far away instead of just behind the door that you barely register opening again.
“Oh, hi.”
You glance over. Ugh.
You recognise him immediately – the one who always stares at you. The one you always actively ignore. Tonight you even went so far as pretending not to remember his name. Again. The one and only campus legend, Na Jaemin.
He looks very well put together tonight. Annoyingly so. Hoodie that’s a little too oversized, hair that looks effortless in a way that definitely isn’t, and a smile that comes too easily to be accidental. His teeth are ridiculously perfect.
You look at him for a second, then away again. You’re too tired to cover up the disinterest now. “Hi.”
He doesn’t take the hint.
“You look different out here,” He observes you skeptically.
You take a drag before answering, letting the smoke sit in your lungs for a second longer than necessary. “Less busy.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, even though you made no joke. Is he stupid?
“You shouldn’t smoke,” He nods towards your hand. You can tell he’s in the mood to tease.
You exhale slowly, turning your head just enough. “You shouldn’t drink. I still served you.”
“You’re not very friendly when you’re off.”
You glance at him briefly. “We’re not friends.”
There’s a glitch behind his eyes, as if he wasn’t expecting that to be the end of it. What an odd little fella.
“We could be–”
“Don’t even,” You cut in, immediately. “I’m already bored of this.”
He blinks once in shock, then lets out a very loud, almost crazy laugh. It’s drawn out on purpose. Like he’s testing how serious you are and deciding not to be.
“I’m sorry.” He pretends to be serious again. “That was funny.”
You eye him carefully this time. “Are you, like, super bored, or…?”
“No, not at all.” He responds with a shrug. “Do I need to be bored to talk to you?”
You tilt your head slightly. “No offence, I’m really not interested.”
That doesn't seem to do much other than pause him for maybe half a second. Then he nods like he’s processing a new problem.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “So…”
You straighten slightly, cigarette between your fingers, watching him. This is already getting old. “So I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”
He frowns a little. “Wouldn’t bother doing what?”
“Flirting, or whatever this qualifies as.”
“How do you know I’m flirting?”
It’s your turn to laugh this time. “The brick wall knows too. You’re not slick.”
His pout is too cute for a man his age. “So it’s not working then?”
Before you can even think of a response, a voice cuts in from behind him, saving you.
“Jaemin, hurry up. I’m going home.” His friend – half-annoyed, half-laughing – clearly has been watching this whole thing and can’t be bothered to intervene properly.
Jaemin turns slightly but doesn’t move away immediately.
“Give me a sec,” He calls back.
“Can he have your number?” His friend is looking at you now. “He’s actually not as annoying as he comes across and I would quite like to go cuddle my girlfriend.”
Jaemin glances back at you again in disbelief, like he’s weighing too many options. “Ignore him.”
You snort a laugh, slightly entertained by their weird dynamic. “So you don’t want my number.”
“Oh, I do.” He steps back a little, finally starting to retract. “But you won’t give it to me.”
You don’t react.
He nods to himself like he’s collected enough data. “See? I’m not that deluded.” Then, just before he fully turns away, he speaks again with a smile too pleased for someone who just got rejected. “Maybe I’ll try some other time.”
You struggle not to smile back. Then you look back at his friend, who’s still watching the strange interaction with fascination written all over his face.
“I wouldn’t,” You say flatly, internally battling whether you mean it or not. Would you want him to try again? He probably won’t anyway. He seems like the type to move on from these kinds of situations a little too easily. Maybe that’s good.
“Okay, I won’t then.” He just laughs again as he finally walks off. And annoyingly, it doesn’t sound like he’s serious at all.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
“Oh, shit–“ Jaemin whispers mid thrust, forcing his brain to tune out Nora’s loud moans. He focuses on his pending climax instead. So close. Right fucking there.
“Jaem, baby, cum for me.” She slurs, sounding too fucked out. Is she faking it? Jaemin swears he barely put any effort in making her cum tonight. He’s too distracted.
He buries his face in her neck, eyes clenching shut, ears blocking out her sounds, hips delivering sharp thrusts, still chasing a high that seems unreachable. The way she strokes his hair – gentle, sweet – seems to be working, and he thanks the universe that his dick finally gives up being stubborn. Not too long after, he finally releases in the condom with a defeated sigh.
It’s when Nora’s in the bathroom and he’s managed to regulate his breathing, that Jaemin finds himself in deep thought.
It wasn’t really her voice, or touch that pushed him over the edge, but his filthy imagination. Because for the first time in forever, Jaemin thought of someone else when he reached his high. His mind didn’t go blank. Nora’s naked body got replaced by the scandalous thought of you his brain chose to produce. You being in her spot. Under him, moaning a lot gentler than her, not faking anything, writhing in overstimulation but also begging him for more.
And for the first time in a long while, shame creeps in.
Not because he’s disrespected Nora. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. But because he barely knows you. Yet somehow, you’ve managed to lodge yourself in his head so deeply that his brain fills in the blanks without permission. Is this normal? Or is his conscience finally deciding to torture him?
You’re younger than him, he knows that much. If you’re Jisung’s age, you’re definitely two years below, which makes you a second-year student. And what business does he have entertaining thoughts about a girl at such a different stage of life?
Two years isn’t much. Not really. But it feels like more when he remembers who he was at that age - confused, broke, permanently overwhelmed. And he still is all of those things, but not for much longer hopefully. You’re probably still navigating uni life like a tourist in foreign land, meanwhile, he’s supposed to graduate in less than five months. To get out in the real world and get one of those big job things that everyone strives for. And Jaemin’s sure that if you were older than him, he wouldn’t even hesitate. But you’re not. And for some reason he cares.
Though, he will admit you did seem to have your wits about you. You have a job. You probably pay your own bills. You're responsible in ways he definitely isn't.
Maybe he really should apply for that vacancy. He'd been joking earlier, but now he’s seriously considering it. Especially after checking the remaining balance in his bank account.
“You staying?” Nora’s voice jolts him out of his spiral.
“Nah.” He offers an apologetic smile. “Got class early tomorrow.”
“Yikes.” She settles under the covers with a tired pout. “You seemed a little out of it tonight.”
Women and their weird intuition.
“Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Just tired, I think.”
She laughs softly. Like she’s caught the lie. She probably has. “Don’t worry, I’m not judging.”
Jaemin smirks knowingly, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re always judging.”
“True.” The answer comes so quickly it pulls a smile from him.
A second later she’s yawning into her pillow, and Jaemin takes it as his cue to get out of her space.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
“Heard you met Jaemin hyung the other night.” Jisung’s side eyes you as you two walk out of your final class of the day. The expression on his face betrays something you can’t quite pinpoint, and you don’t quite like that curiosity blooms in your mind.
“Yeah, he’s weird.” You opt for indifference.
Jisung chuckles at your disapproving tone. “Nice guy, though.”
“Awfully flirty.”
Another short laugh. “Yeah, he’s had a thing for you since last year, I think.”
You completely ignore your friend’s useless statement. “Wasn’t there a rumour going around about him?”
You remember laughing when you heard about it, but then when you rethought the situation, you felt bad for the girl.
“You mean–“
“The piss in the eye thing.” You lower your voice as you exit the main building, and you catch Jisung’s lips purse in thought.
“I think…” His expression changes into a concerned one. “The girl he was seeing at the time asked him to try it and then when he ended things, she kind of made the whole eye thing up.”
“Really?” Your head shoots up. “So he didn’t piss on her?”
You already know the answer when Jisung slightly cringes.
“Well, that part’s true.” He clearly struggles to not laugh at his friend’s antics. “He just didn’t get her eye.”
“Shit,” You raise your eyebrows in wonderment. “Some people really struggle with rejection I guess.”
“Yeah, well, in this case–” Jisung pauses, like his next revelation could ruin Jaemin’s career. “He kind of, unknowingly, slept with one of her friends and then ghosted her.”
“Ugh, what a prick.” You cringe, all of a sudden supportive of the girl’s pettiness. “And you’re friends with this person?”
“I mean, he’s nice to me.” Jisung shrugs, causing you to smile at the fondness he emits. You sometimes wonder why Jisung is still single. He’s most likely the nicest guy friend you have, always sweet, always polite, always warm. A girl’s dream. Not necessarily yours. But most girls would certainly kill for a boyfriend like him.
“You’re too sweet for your own good Ji.”
“Oh, c’mon, it’s not like you haven’t fucked people over.” He gives you pointed look, his hand instinctively wrapping around your elbow to halt you from crossing the street as the red light is still on for pedestrians. “You’ve made guys like Jaemin cry in the past.”
It’s your turn to shrug. “I'm just doing god's work.”
“Speaking of men,” Jisung tugs at your sleeve as he starts walking, practically dragging you with him, and you always have to hold back a laugh at the silly little habit. “How’s things with Chenle?”
“Mmm, not sure.” You pout in contemplation about the odd situation you’ve recently found yourself in. “He’s hella cute, don’t get me wrong, great sex too, but I think that’s just it.”
“That’s not necessarily bad, no?”
“No, it’s ideal, but I think he might be in love.”
“Eh–?”
“Chill, not with me.” You reassure Jisung quickly before he jumps to conclusions. “I have a feeling he’s hung up on someone else.”
“Oof.” Jisung sympathises with a scrunch of his nose.
“Yeah, as amazing as dick can be, it feels a bit weird when the other person can barely look at you, you know?”
The whole ordeal with Chenle started randomly and predictably where most similar situations start. A party. A lot of alcohol involved. A game of truth or dare. A kiss. And then suddenly you’re bent over a bathroom sink getting your back blown out.
He gave you exactly what you were looking for. A distraction. And so you both kept going back. For almost a year now. But the last few months, you’ve sensed the change in him. The hesitation before a kiss. The pauses between touches. The way his eyes seem focused somewhere else. You're not hurt by it. The sex is still good. But being cast in the role of someone else's stand-in isn't exactly appealing.
The problem is that ending things with Chenle would mean giving up convenient sex. Which, unfortunately, has become one of the highlights of your increasingly exhausting weeks. And it would likely mean going back to your old pink wand-shaped friend. Not the worst thing in the world, but also not as good as the real deal.
What really is the worst thing in the world is the fact that when you try to think of alternatives, your brain keeps landing on the same person. A person whose lifestyle, reputation, and entire approach to life go against everything you usually stand for.
Yet, you can’t help but wonder.
What is it about Na Jaemin that makes people go so feral? Apart from his ridiculously gorgeous face. And hair. And hands. And arms. Okay, yes, he’s insanely attractive. But attractive enough to get away with anything?
Even after that ridiculous rumour started going around, he seemed completely untouched by it, and so did everyone around him. He still drifted through parties like he owned them, collecting attention without even appearing to try, somehow maintaining his ‘pussy magnet’ status like nothing could ever tarnish it.
His erratic behaviour, paired with the endless stream of people drawn to him, had always felt like a mystery you weren’t remotely interested in solving. Until the other night.
One thing you’re sure of is that if his dick game is as weak as his flirting skills, then what a shame.
And what a waste of everyone’s time.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
“Well, hello partner.” The familiar but grating voice penetrates your distracted brain as you’re too busy looking in your bag for your work t-shirt.
“Huh?”
And there he is again, outside your workplace like he belongs. Perfect set of pearly whites on full display, blinding you. He looks like a more of a normal person compared to the other night. Like he’s just heading home after a long day of lectures, his backpack hanging off one shoulder.
Annoying.
“We must stop meeting like this.” He attempts to joke, letting the door of the main entrance slam shut behind him.
“I work here.” You point out, as though he doesn’t already know. “Why are you here? We’re not even open yet.”
“Well, as of tomorrow, I work here too.” He says a little too chirpily, like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you.
“Umm,“ You suspect you must look like a crazy person judging from his amused expression. “No you don’t.”
“I’m afraid I do.” He nods with the cockiest grin sporting his face.
“How–“
“Just had my interview with Johnny.” He points a thumb behind him. “So, I guess I’ll–“
“Do you even have bar experience?” You interrupt him a little too abruptly, the tone of your voice carries a surprise to both of you. A little too cold even for you.
His smirk doesn’t falter. “We all start from somewhere.”
“Yeah, in your case, rock bottom.” You don’t want to offend him. Don’t want to give him more of your energy to cling on to. Yet, it’s so difficult not to.
He dares to let a stupid laugh slip. “I’m just so lucky to have you as a mentor then.”
“I ain’t teaching you shit.” You scoff, tightening your grip on your bag strap. The nerve of this man.
“Well, I gotta learn somehow.” He pouts.
Fake.
“You’re welcome to sit in a corner and watch then.” You offer him a sweet smile with absolutely no warmth behind it before moving past him and towards the door. Another long-ass shift awaits.
You can still feel his eyes on you when he speaks again. “I’ll happily watch you. Just not sure I’ll learn much.”
Your hand stills on the handle.
The grin threatening your mouth is immediate as you catch the meaning tucked beneath his words. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around. Instead, you push through the door and disappear inside.
Even then, you can still feel his gaze burning between your shoulder blades.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
Jaemin hates working with you. Not because you’re bossy. Not because you’re too fast. Not because you roll your eyes at him every time he makes a mistake. Not because you called him an imbecile earlier. Not because your jaw tenses whenever he flirts with a customer.
But because none of those things make him think about you less. Jaemin leaves every shift either irritated or turned on and definitely a little more obsessed with you.
His eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head each time you insult him. It’s like he lives to frustrate you nowadays. And he swears he almost let a moan slip when you grabbed him by the back of his collar yesterday as he was pouring what turned out to be a pint of Guinness like he would pour every other pint of lager. You have to let it sit half-way through apparently. Or whatever it was you snarled at him.
After a week of being shouted at and having enjoyed every single second of it, he’s finally starting to get the hang of things. And as much as he’s enjoyed torturing you, he's realised that he needs to lock in if he wants to keep his job. The manager seemed to trust your judgment, so he couldn’t really risk it for longer.
He liked the tiny comment of praise you gave him when he successfully closed the till at the end of the shift. But as much as the little ‘nice one’ you muttered excited him, nothing comes close to ‘I could so easily slap you right now’.
Yes, Jaemin has long accepted that he might be sick in the head. But he just can’t help it when it comes to you and your short temper.
What gets him the most, though, what really makes him weak in the knees, and rewires his brain every single time, is how you shift from mean to kind and back to mean in a matter of seconds. One moment you’re looking at him with eyes that scream murder and the next you’re smiling at a customer and offering water when they seem too intoxicated.
It’s almost three am when the last few customers slip out tonight. You’re already on your phone, your back pressed against the bar as you quickly type a response to something that made you almost smile.
“Boyfriend?” He tries, already knowing the answer, but needing to inspect further.
You surprise him by actually giving a somewhat satisfactory answer. “Not really, no.”
He nods, pretending to stay focused on the cleaning task in front of him. “Girlfriend then?”
He can’t help but giggle at the way you roll your eyes but still smirk at his nosy but teasing tone.
Jaemin is very much aware of your current situation. Turns out drunk little Jisung can’t keep a secret for the life of him. But even if it weren’t for his younger housemate, Jaemin has eyes. He’s seen you at parties, sneaking around with only one guy. A guy he only knows through other friends and Haechan’s girlfriend. He remembers sharing a vape with him once outside a club.
Chenle is someone he could only describe as likeable. He hasn’t ever heard a single bad thing about the guy. Always cracking jokes and hosting the best parties out of everyone in the circle of Jaemin's acquaintances. And it goes without saying that he’s insanely hot. As straight as Jaemin is, he can appreciate an attractive man. The younger boy’s cheekbones and jawline could slice him in half. So he can’t really blame you.
But he can and he will be secretly jealous.
Especially when his brain keeps taking him back to that night he walked out in the back garden of some stranger’s house for a piss, just because the bathroom was otherwise occupied. He wishes he had walked away the second he realised what was actually happening, but in the midst of his drunken state, Jaemin stalled. And he watched. For longer than he should have.
Because there you were, backed against a concealed corner, just a few feet away from the spot he chose to empty his full bladder, which was quickly forgotten the second he laid eyes on the sight in front of him. Your bent knee resting on Chenle’s hip, uncovered thigh concealing whatever the boy’s hand was doing between your legs.
It was when you broke the kiss with a low whine that Jaemin realised he needed to leave. He still didn’t, though. Not for a few seconds longer. Not until he heard you brokenly whisper ‘Think I’m gonna cum’. That’s when he bolted. Because it got too real. And as much as Jaemin hates to admit it, he really, truly, genuinely, passionately despised the way you sounded so sweet with another boy. A boy that wasn't him. A boy that couldn't possibly think about you as much as Jaemin does.
And when he got back home that night, Jaemin, shamefully, had the most intense jerking off experience ever. What was shameful about it wasn’t just the filthy imagery of you that occupied his sick little mind – mostly scenarios where you’d be on your knees for him – but how your name so easily rolled off his tongue when his load landed on the shower floor. And he couldn’t even blame his imagination anymore. Just his memory.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
“Hey, partner.” Jaemin’s now familiar greeting makes you look up from the drink you’re pouring yourself. Oddly, it’s not as aggravating now you’re not surrounded by kegs of beer and screaming customers.
“Hey, loser.” You greet back like you always do, this time a little more lightheartedly. Blame it on the alcohol coursing through your bloodstream. “Don’t tell me you’re here to ruin another one of my evenings with your nagging.”
His expected laugh rings through the loud music. He’s already leaning against the counter next to you as you mix cheap vodka with lemonade. “Nah, just spotted you and thought I’d say hi. Is that allowed?”
You glance over at him, pretending to think about your answer as you briefly take a sip to taste test the drink. “I suppose it is at this point.”
You don’t miss his gaze taking in your appearance when you turn around to lean your hip against the counter so you can properly look at him.
He hesitates a little before speaking again, his hand nervously swirling the content of his cup. “And what point is that?”
“Hmm,” You hold back a grin, enjoying his squirming a little too much. “I’m not sure yet. What point would you want it to be?”
You can practically see the wheels turning in his head before his signature grin appears. “Something tells me friendship point would be a no-no from your side.”
You can’t contain it this time. A chuckle lets loose, making you look away, his wide-eyed reaction a little too overwhelming for you and so is the entirety of his handsome face.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t go that far.” You say disapprovingly, and his exaggerated groan is less annoying than other nights.
He pauses to take a look at you, expression more serious than you’re used to, and it makes you feel almost shy. Almost.
“Who you here with then?” He breaks the silence with what could pass as the most casual question, but you can sense the hidden meaning behind it.
“My flatmate, Winter.” You search through the crowd that occupies the living room area and quickly spot her with Ningning and Chenle. “The blondie over there.”
“Ah,” Recognition appears on his features. “You close with Ning and Chenle too?”
“Mm.” You take a sip of your drink as you do your best to show nonchalance. “Not really.”
“Pff.” The scoff is difficult to ignore. He knows you’re lying. Of course he does.
“What?” You ask as innocently as possible.
“Nothing, just didn’t take you for a liar.” He challenges with a smirk, his fingers getting your attention as they tap on the counter surface.
“How am I a liar?” You mirror the tilt of his head with your own.
“I live with Jisung, Y/N.” He steps closer, voice lowering just a tad. “You probably know things about me you shouldn’t know.”
He's not wrong there. You might not be at a friendship point, but there’s definitely no secrets between you two with Jisung as a mutual friend. That fact doesn’t seem to bother you as much as it should, though. Not when all you can really focus on in the moment are Jaemin’s unfairly long eyelashes and his incredibly moisturised lips.
How can a man be this pretty?
“Do you think you’d take off if you blinked too fast?” Your unexpected question seems to baffle him, and to your amusement he expresses his confusion by blinking a little faster than normal.
“Oh my god… you’re drunk!” He brings a hand to his mouth, gasping dramatically.
You poke him in the chest, making him stumble back a little. “And you’re a pretty little girl.”
A shocked laugh erupts from him and before he can speak another word, you’re clumsily walking away. Fuck Na Jaemin and his stupidly flawless face.
It’s not too long after when you’re dragging Chenle upstairs, in need of a distraction, which proves to be impossible when Jaemin’s gaze finds yours through the crowd like it’s an instinct. You hold eye contact longer than necessary. Longer than you’d normally allow yourself.
You take pride in being a self-aware person. You know your limits and you can tell when you’ve crossed them. This is a case of the latter. Because looking into Na Jaemin’s eyes like you’re passing a silent invite while Chenle’s hand is in yours is definitely something that goes beyond your moral boundaries.
And you know what you’re doing when you leave the door ajar behind you as you crash your mouth into Chenle’s. And you definitely know what you’re doing when instead of the bed, you choose to walk back into the desk, where anyone walking past the room could take a peek at. The whole time, you’re perfectly aware of your actions and the repercussions they entail, but you’re also aware of Jaemin’s eyes on you when you bury your face in Chenle’s shoulder.
“Fuck, Y/N.” Chenle moans against your neck as he keeps thrusting into you. Hard. His hands harshly squeeze your ass, slightly lifting you off the desk, bouncing you just right, nudging the perfect spot inside you.
You can’t help but let your head roll back for a few seconds, allowing the pleasure to consume you. And just when you’re teetering close to the edge of your orgasm, you allow yourself to steal a glance at the door, the little crack allowing you to see the shadow of someone standing there.
You know it’s him.
You know he can see everything clearly, and that thought alone is enough to send you into total bliss.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
Jaemin hates you. He does. But most of all he hates himself and how down bad for you he is. He feels pathetic. And extremely turned on.
How dare you eye fuck him that hard when you’re guiding another man into a room clearly with intention of getting dicked down. And how dare you look in his direction while you’re getting railed into next week.
Do you know he's fucking insane?
You can’t possibly be able to see him, but he knows you know he’s there. He knows you know he’s watching. And he knows you like it. You invited him after all. It’s obvious you’re putting on a show for him. And even though he’s well hidden, your gaze keeps trailing towards the door. It’s filthy. And it’s obscene. And it’s new. Nothing he’s experienced before.
You’re right there, just a few feet away from him. Again. Getting touched by Chenle. Again. And Jaemin is watching. Again. Only this time, you’re aware of him.
By the time he let his intrigue take over his logic and decided to head upstairs, you're already moaning, thighs spread around the other boy’s waist as he pounds into you. And Jaemin will give it to Chenle. He seems like he knows what he’s doing with you. Like he knows what you need. And when your legs start shaking, Jaemin can’t bring himself to look away. He feels hot and flushed, his cheeks burning with shame and arousal, but he needs to keep looking. Needs to see you fall apart, even if it’s on another man’s cock.
And he does exactly that. He watches.
Your mouth hangs open in the cutest way, your expression blissed out, eyes unfocused, hands gripping onto Chenle’s shirt while you cum with the sweetest cry of desperation he’s ever heard.
And Jaemin’s dick is so hard it hurts. But what hurts more is his pride.
You’ve humiliated him without even trying. Just tossed a bait he so willingly grabbed onto like he was deprived and starved. He gave you all the power he could ever give someone. All for you to chew him up and spit him back out. And for him to love every second of it.
The next couple of weeks are, as expected, a torture. Him trying to get the image out of his head and you putting it right back into its wedged place whenever you look at him.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
“So, how's working with Jaem going?” Jisung points his drink toward your coworker, who’s currently belting out ‘She Will Be Loved’ to the karaoke mic in the middle of the living room, while half the people sitting down are hyping him up and the other half are booing. Except for Haechan who’s just filming with his phone like a proud mum.
You have to hide your smile behind the rim of your cup. Otherwise, it’s too obvious who the reason behind it is. “As well as it can go.”
“That could either be awful or amazing.”
“I’m not telling you shit. You can’t keep your mouth shut.” It comes as a joke, but you mean it.
“What? I’ve never–”
“Yes, you have.” You chuckle at your friend’s automatically defensive mode.
Jisung rolls his eyes in surrender. “He asked me!”
“And you said ‘oh, yeah she’s actually banging Chenle’?” You take a sideways glance at him but return your attention to Jaemin and his chaotic performance.
“Well...” Jisung pauses to think. “He already kind of knew. I think he asked Haechan as well.”
“See? That’s what I mean!” You laugh with a shake of your head. “You’ve just thrown your friend under the bus.”
Jisung groans in annoyance. “As if you don’t already know he’s into you.” He points at his housemate again, who’s now on his knees in front of Haechan finishing the song. “He’s been following you around like a lost puppy for at least a month now. It's not rocket science.”
You refuse to react to the statement, even though it’s a fact.
“And you like it.” Jisung concludes with a teasing grin.
Your tongue reflexively pokes into your cheek to contain another smile.
“Just fuck him.”
“Ji!” You whack him on the chest, the out-of-character and vulgar comment shocking you.
“What?” Jisung giggles at your reaction, arm coming up as a shield. “He’s graduating soon, so you might as well get it out the way before it’s too late.”
“Oh, do me a favour.” Your dismissal makes Jisung’s eyebrows raise in confusion. “That man doesn’t have the brain cells to pour a drink let alone graduate.”
“He’s actually on his way to a distinction.”
“Huh?” Your neck almost cramps from snapping your head to look at Jisung only to find his irritating smirk still in place.
“Surprise, he's clever!" Jisung mocks your shocked expression with a gasp. "Spanner in the works, huh?”
You click your teeth in annoyance, returning to your dismissive tone. “No works so no spanners.”
“Lie some more. I'm enjoying this.”
You tune out Jisung’s rant about how ‘you always deprive yourself of real connections because you’re scared of trusting men’ and take a meticulous look at Jaemin. He’s now sat on the sofa while someone else has taken his place on the mic. It’s something about the way he carefully listens to Jeno and nods that gets your thoughts rolling.
Yes, he’s undeniably handsome. Yes, he can be funny at times. Yes, his light-heartedness is what you look forward to during a rough shift sometimes. But it’s mostly his attention to detail and careful nature that intrigues you. It's how he can always read what mood you’re in without you even having to utter a single word. It’s how his eyebrows tense and he hums along in understanding when you complain about something random or explain work stuff to him. It’s how he’s never once fucked up at work, always completing tasks like a pro and even saving your from awkward situations with rude customers. And you realise that through the silliness and endless flirty comments, you’ve overlooked qualities that make him so much more desirable than he already looks.
You realise that you’re finally seeing through the persona he very obviously has built as a wall around himself.
And maybe that explains why later in the night, when Jaemin very openly follows your every movement as you walk in the sitting area of the party, you give in.
“Sit next to me?” No partner this time, no teasing lilt in his tone, just pure hope as he looks up at you from his spot on the already occupied sofa. Shiny lips parted slightly, eyes wide when you approach him, clearly taken aback by your newfound docility.
Jeno instantly slides further down to make space for you, smiling politely when you squeeze in between the two boys, and you can undoubtedly feel Jaemin’s eyes burning holes into your side profile.
“Stop staring.” You mutter with a grin you fail to hold back when you feel him sink back into the cushions again, legs spreading just a little. Just enough for his thigh to press against yours, the heat radiating off his jeans easy to feel on your bare skin.
“What you drinking?” He inches a little closer, chin just a few centimetres off your skin as he looks over your shoulder, warm breath littering the expanse of it with goosebumps. You don’t think he’s ever been this close before. Or maybe you just haven’t noticed.
You lift your cup closer to his face, offering a sip but only throw him a quick sideways glance. “Vodka cranberry.”
He takes it after balancing his own cup between his thighs. “Yum.” He smacks his lips after a big gulp, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick a stray droplet of translucent pink liquid. “You know, I read somewhere that if you share your drink with someone, they’re be able find out all your secrets.”
You snort at the ridiculous and probably made-up fact. “Good thing I’m an open book.”
“Mm,” He taps his index on the rim of your cup he’s still holding. For some reason your eyes keep drifting to his fingers. “That you are.” You can hear the mischief in his tone and you know what he’s referring to. You both do.
A thick drop of alcohol spills over the edge of your red cup when he passes it back, landing right on your bare thigh. You stare at it. He doesn’t apologise. Instead, his thumb brushes away the liquid on your skin before putting it in his mouth. Like it was never there. Goosebumps form instantaneously as you watch his lips in utter shock. The fuck did he just do?
“Everyone has secrets, though.” He brings your attention back to his eyes.
“Go ahead then.” You gesture, as though offering the floor for him to take, choosing to ignore the lewd act of him sucking on the thumb that just touched you. “What’s one of mine?”
He narrows his eyes as he thinks carefully, taking in your already judgmental expression. “You still listen to Paramore.”
A loud, abrupt laugh bubbles in your chest at the random guess. “That’s no fucking secret.”
“Yeah, I just uncovered it.” He gestures with both palms open, like it’s the most obvious thing in the whole world.
“You’re a clown.” You shake your head.
“Okay okay, I have a better one.” He sits up, straightening his back a little as he turns to face you better. You instinctively mirror him, brain now blocking out the rest of the commotion in the crowded living room. “You actually like mentoring me.”
Your eyebrows have a mind of their own as they inch closer to your hairline in surprise. “Interesting. Why d’you think that?”
He extends his arm along the back of the couch, his skin brushing yours, the same shoulder he was breathing on. You watch his mouth form a sceptical pout, eyes more serious than ever. “Because you enjoy bossing me around.”
“I’m just giving you what you want.” The words slip out before your brain has the chance to filter them, and you suddenly get the urge to slap a hand on your mouth. You don’t.
“Nice.” He nods in approval, proud smile on full blast. “And you haven’t even had a sip of my drink.”
“It’s no secret.”
“What?” He challenges. You hesitate. He presses. “Say it.”
His expressions are too tempting to finish the conversation here. “That you like being told what to do.”
He hums ponderingly. “Sounds to me like we’re–”
“A match made in heaven?” You humour him for what feels like the first time ever, imitating what he would’ve sounded like in your brain, whiny and irritating.
He smiles wide, pearly whites blinding you, fingers curling inwards against your shoulder, knuckles lightly tickling you. “Didn’t know you were cute like that.”
You tut your tongue at him, eyes rolling in feigned annoyance, all just to let him know that his flirty remarks still fail to affect you. Which has been a big fat lie since that first night you officially met him.
But he can’t see that. You hope.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
Next time you see Jaemin is not at work, but at the science building cafeteria. Chenle is going on about how happy he is that you’re not awkward with him now that you’ve stopped fucking around and how much he appreciates you as a friend. You think it’s funny that he’s so apologetic considering you’re the one who actually initiated the conversation last week. You thought it was about time. Especially after you found him drunk in a bathtub, crying his eyes out. He has a weird habit of getting in bathtubs when he’s at parties, but you know by now it’s just his way of escaping overwhelming crowds. And so you just nod away when he keeps yapping about how grateful he is that you’re so cool and respect his space.
You’ve just devoured a spoonful of rice when you hear it.
“Yo yo, partner!” You instantly know who it is, but you still raise your head from your plate, and you wonder if you look like a caricature with your cheeks protruding like you’ve been starved for days. Jaemin stands over you, his dumb smile intact like it’s never left since that party. It always makes you wonder what he’s like when he’s serious or upset about something. Is he the vocal or silent treatment type? Is he chill or intense? Or is he the kind that would shut you up and put you in your place? Nevermind.
“Oh lord, you got enough rice there?” He mocks, eyes widening to humour you. “You look like Patrick with a crabby patty.”
He somehow looks even brighter in daylight. Maybe it’s the pink jumper. Maybe it’s his unusually fluffy hair. Or maybe it’s the way he rocks back and forth on his heels like a child desperate for attention. What a sight.
You just blink.
Chenle folds in half laughing and points at you while you force yourself to chew.
“Well, take your time. I don’t really need you to speak.” Jaemin hands you a flyer. “I was gonna invite you to this photography exhibition. You’re both welcome.”
Both? He’s potentially seen the two of you going at it on a desk, blatantly flirted with you days after, and now is inviting you both to his photography exhibition. Like none of that is remotely weird.
Something stirs in you as you struggle to chew.
Jaemin has made it abundantly clear he’d be in your pants the second you gave him the green light. Yet he’s never been jealous. Never possessive. Never made things uncomfortable. If anything, his interest in you, day by day, seems to be inching closer to something that could only be described as genuine. Not just sexual. Not just competitive.
And your stomach feels weird. Because you like that.
Chenle smiles at the older boy while you still struggle to swallow down your food. “I thought you studied biomed?”
“Hobbies are a thing.” Jaemin drags the words teasingly, with no malice detected in his voice.
“We’ll be there.” Chenle agrees cheerfully without sparing you a glance.
“Umm–”
“Nice one!” Jaemin claps his hands and walks away before you can get a coherent word out.
“So, I see I’ve been replaced in no time.” Chenle attempts to joke but of course it doesn’t land. Like most of his jokes. Instead, it earns him a cube of mango in the face.
It’s not that you don’t want to go. You certainly do. You’re curious. But you’re also a tiny bit terrified. Because that invite, as ridiculously casual as it was made out to be, felt somewhat intimate.
And what has put ‘a spanner in the works’, like your dear friend Jisung said the other night, isn’t that Jaemin has a creative hobby. Or that he’s intelligent. Or that he doesn’t mind being the butt of every joke while half the university spreads ridiculous rumours about him.
It’s how interesting of a person he’s turning out to be. Not just smooth. Not just confident. But... charismatic.
And that’s something you would describe as an obstacle. Something disturbing.
Because it renders your efforts to ignore his advances useless.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
You could never really wrap your head around the fact that some women so easily go about their day while on their period. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to pour drinks and take card payments due to the agonising pain in your lower back and what could only be described as stabbing in your uterus. The only thing you can do is sip water every five minutes to reward your body for its endurance during this fuckass shift that will probably pay for less than a pack of tampons.
You’re putting on the best smile you can muster, but you can feel that client after client it keeps weakening, and so do your knees. The smell of alcohol isn’t helping either, with your stomach already being in bits since this morning. The loud laughter coming from all the tables around keeps piercing through your aching head and you’re pretty sure your back is dripping in sweat from your fluctuating body temperature.
“You look a little pale, you okay?” Jaemin asks quietly as he stands next to you behind the bar. It’s a busy Friday night, people coming in and out. Some looking to stay, some just pregaming for the rest of their long night out. And you’ll give it to Jaemin, he’s been a lot more productive tonight than you have. So much that you’re actually thankful you’re working with him tonight. Because he keeps taking the heat from all the demanding customers without questioning your distraction.
"Mm, just tired." You lean forward against the shelf beneath the bar, eyes shut as you try to breathe through another wave of pain. "Sorry for letting you take the lead tonight."
You hear him take another order. Something about a Sex on the Beach. A moment later comes the beep of the card machine, then warmth envelops your side - his chest. And a gentle hand settles on your lower back.
You're too exhausted to flinch.
"Seriously, do you need a minute?" he asks, genuine concern softening his voice. The heat of his palm lands exactly where it hurts. "I don't mind if you go downstairs for a bit–"
"No, I'm good." You shake your head quickly, resentment bubbling at being seen like this. You hate it enough that you could cry. Probably the insane hormones in your body working their magic.
“Y/N–”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” He presses, voice firmer than before but still laced with worry. His hand stays on your back, thumb tracing absent circles that might've been soothing if you weren't in so much pain. Then he shifts slightly, shielding you from the other bartenders. "Do you need painkillers? I've got ibuprofen in my bag."
Oh. So he definitely knows you’re bleeding out of your vagina. Great. And he’s attentive. Super great.
A sharp cramp twists in your tummy, forcing you to give in. So you nod. “Will you be good on your own for a few minutes? I might need to–”
"I'll be fine." He saves you from having to admit you need the bathroom to check whether you've leaked through your tampon.
The loss of his warmth is immediate, but a second later he's slipping a blister pack into your hand. His fingers linger for the briefest moment around your wrist before he pulls away as two new customers approach the bar.
"Take your time," he says quietly.
When you finally look up, he's already behind the till, already smiling at customers. Back to his usual chirpy self, as if he didn't just make you feel strangely safe.
By the end of what feels like the longest shift in human history, you've lost count of how many times Jaemin has checked if you're okay. Now he's practically forcing you into your jacket because he refuses to let you stay and close up. The painkillers have finally kicked in, and all you want is your bed and a hot water bottle. Still, you're oddly reluctant to leave without saying something.
“Thanks for earlier, by the way.” You catch Jaemin's baffled look as he tries to sort glasses onto the shelves.
“Why are you still here?” he scolds, disapproval written all over his face.
Despite yourself, you smile. “I’m going, I’m going.” You lift your hands in surrender, already wearing your jacket, bag hanging off one shoulder. “Just wanted to say thanks.”
He glances up briefly, shoulders lifting in a small shrug before his attention returns to the cocktail jar in his hands. “It’s what partners do, no?”
Now that you're standing on the customer side of the bar, you finally get to see what everyone else sees. A very pretty, smiley man you'd probably avoid if you were ordering.
“Well, goodnight, partner.”
His entire face lights up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “I like it better when you say it.”
And then he's gone, disappearing into the back before you can think of a response.
The thudding in your chest leaves no coherent thoughts behind.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
It’s not that Jaemin is in love with you. Absolutely not. How could he be?
Everything he knows about you is what he’d know about any coworker. How you sound when you’re frustrated with him. How annoyed you get when he forgets to turn the dishwasher on. How pretty you look when you’re complaining about rude customers. How you always wear black tops to work but brighter colours around campus.
He’s also noticed that you answer his questions before he asks them. He never has to spend long looking for something behind the bar; you’re already pointing him in the right direction.
No, it’s not that he’s in love with you. That’s not the case at all. He just can’t seem to get you out of his head.
He’s not sure when it became a problem, but he noticed it after that night you were feeling unwell. He’d never seen your guard so low before, never seen you look like you needed someone to take care of you.
He wanted to text you after your shift. Make sure you got home okay.
He didn’t.
Partly because he chickened out, and partly because you strike him as the type to leave a man on read without a second thought. Probably because you can. Sensational women tend to get away with things like that.
Lying in bed that night, exhausted but unable to sleep, he couldn't stop thinking about comforting you.
Not sex. Not any of the filthy scenarios his brain usually specialises in.
Just you. Curled up in his arms beneath a blanket. A bouquet of flowers abandoned somewhere on the coffee table. Chocolate. Your favourite snacks. His fingers combing through your hair while you slowly drift off against his chest.
He’s fantasised about plenty of things before. Never this. Never about making someone's day easier.
With you, though…
He wonders if you’d ever want him in your space like that. If you’d trust him to hold you like that. And most of all, he wonders if you’ve thought about it too. But, to put it plainly, no. Jaemin is far from being in love with you.
He’s really struggling to focus tonight.
With you sitting beside him, the booth somehow feels both too small and too big. He can’t decide whether he wants more space between you or none at all.
It’s Jisung’s birthday drinks. Three weeks after his actual birthday, his younger housemate finally managed to gather everyone for a quiet night out. No clubbing. No chaos. Just a lively bar a little outside of campus.
Jisung claimed he was sick of seeing the same faces all the time, to which Jaemin had agreed. And yet here he is, distracted by your familiar face.
You’re tucked into the corner of the booth, practically shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Jeno sits on his other side. Beyond that, Jaemin couldn’t tell you who's sitting where.
Not because he’s drunk.
Because you smell too good.
Because your arm keeps brushing his whenever you reach for your drink.
And because your dress...
Fuck.
Your dress.
You always look pretty. But tonight you’re on a different level. Or maybe it’s just his silly little brain playing tricks on him. It’s only a black dress. Nothing he hasn’t seen on other girls before. Then again, Jaemin often thinks that no one can pull things off like you do.
“So what’s Jaemin like at work, Y/N?” Renjun chimes in curiously from the opposite side of the booth. Here we go.
“Hmm.” Jaemin feels your eyes on him before you answer. “Same as now, just less rigid.”
“Hey, I’m not rigid–”
“You are a little.” Renjun saves the day again, clearly in the mood to mock.
“He’s probably just annoyed he can’t escape my presence.” You lean over the table, as if sharing a secret with his friend.
Oh, so you’re playing that game. Cool cool cool. “Why would I wanna escape your presence? Being all up in your business is my new hobby.”
You shoot him the deadliest side-eye. So pretty. “Is it now?”
“Mhm.” He twirls his straw playfully before taking a sip of the very strong rum and coke he ordered not too long ago. “Honestly, it’s what gets me through the week.”
Your scoff says you don't believe him for a second. “You might as well just confess your undying love at this point.”
Yeah, he’s seriously thinking about it. “That would be highly unprofessional considering you’re, like, my boss.”
“Since when do you give a fuck about professionalism?”
“Um,” He raises a sassy finger. “I’m pretty you lack in that department more than I do.”
You blink at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t spit in people’s drinks.”
“He made her pay for everything and kept staring at my tits!” you fire back.
Jaemin laughs at the memory of you ‘accidentally’ dribbling into some guy’s beer before handing it over with the sweetest smile imaginable.
“Nah, that was actually fire, I rate it.” He praises and leans more against the table, elbows on the surface as he rests his chin on his interlinked fingers, trying really hard not to stare at your tits, clearly no better than the man who, unknowingly, had the pleasure of tasting your spit. Maybe if Jaemin openly stares, you’ll spit in his drink too.
That’s not a normal thing to want, is it?
Renjun is already immersed in another conversation with Haechan and Jisung, and Jaemin realises that for the first time in what feels like an eon, he’s nervous. As though he’s all alone with you and doesn’t know how to handle it. Though, he doesn’t have to dig too deep in his brain for a topic of conversation before you strike him with a surprisingly serious question. “So, you excited to graduate?”
He feels like he needs hours to think about the right answer. You’ve definitely put him on the spot here, and no one’s even listening. “Yes and no.”
“That’s awfully vague.”
“It’s true.” He shrugs, eyes trained on your nails. Not chipped for the first time. He can almost picture you painting them with a serious but insanely adorable look of concentration all over your face. “I’m curious about life after uni, but also, I know this is probably the freest we’ll ever feel.”
“Yeah,” You take in his words, and he can almost visualise your brain processing them as you slowly nod. “I don’t think I’m cut out to have a big girl job.”
“I think you’re cut out to have anything you want.” His words don’t even click in his mind but your raised eyebrow makes him catch on. He’ll admit - though, not intended that way - that sounded like a line. “I’m serious.”
The corner of your mouth twitches. A hint of a smile. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Right, you know all my secrets. I forget.” It’s the first time you refer to that night you two spent hours talking on that dingy sofa.
“Nah, not all of them.” He deflects with a pout.
You tilt your head in question, cheek now resting on your palm as you give him your full attention. It’s strange. It should feel like a victory. Instead, it makes him feel exposed.
“No?” You ask teasingly.
He offers a nod and leans an inch closer. Enough for his arm to press against yours. Skin on skin. A rarity with you two. “I feel like I could know a lot more.”
“Anything specific?” You surprise him by not pulling back, if anything, you just hold eye contact. Like the rest of the group doesn’t even exist. “Feels like you’ve got a questionnaire prepared.”
Jaemin can’t fight the cheeky smile. This is his moment. It's either go big or go home. “Why did you leave the door ajar?”
It’s like your mouth parts in slow motion. Then shuts again. And repeat. You’re doing a good job at not showing much emotion at the outrageously daring question.
“Why did you come upstairs?” You predictably answer him with a question of your own, and he has to bite a grin back. Because, of course, you’d do that.
“Because you wanted me to.” His shoulders lift in a small shrug, like it’s self-explanatory. To him it is.
“And you’re so good at knowing what I want.”
“I’m definitely better at it than you are.”
“Oof...” You lean back and cross your arms, your dubious frown causing a turmoil in his chest. Did he go too far? “Do you even know what you want?”
“Mm, to be honest...” He leans in so he can whisper without risking getting heard by anyone else. “I rarely do, but–”
“Oh, do me a favour.” You roll your eyes like you’re already bored of what he’s about to say next.
He chuckles, so amused with your reactions. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The regret is so clearly faux, but still endearing, nonetheless. “Please, carry on.”
“No.” He leans back like you did, arms crossing stubbornly, sassily jutting his bottom lip out. “I don’t wanna say now.”
“Oh, no, please tell me.” You say with the most stoic look, still mocking him. “How can I go on without knowing?”
“Sarcasm will get you nowhere with me.” He disapproves with a determined smile, knowing he’s successfully getting under your skin.
“I don’t know,” You casually reach and take his drink out of his hand, the straw already between your thumb and index as you swirl the remaining liquid, condensation dripping on your thigh, and Jaemin gets deja vu. “I think you prefer it when I’m mean.”
Maybe you know him better than he thinks. Or maybe you’re just more observant than you let on. You certainly get a kick out of making his dick suffocate, though. Because as Jaemin watches you wrap your glossed lips around the straw he’s just had in his mouth, he feels appallingly turned on. And he really wants to wipe the drop off your thigh exactly like he did last time. He doesn’t. But he does let his deranged mind entertain the thought of using his tongue instead of his thumb. Maybe someday. Hopefully.
“Oh, so now I’ve got a humiliation kink?” He pretends to be offended, watching the movement in your throat as you swallow a gulp of his drink with a disapproving scrunch of your nose.
“You said it, not me.” You put down the drink with a disgusted cough. “Fuck, did you ask for battery acid?”
He giggles at your rapid blinking. “Ruined your flirty antics, did I?”
“Fuck off.” You laugh along, cheeks now rosier than before with the hint of embarrassment.
“Not too much with the bullying. I’ll get a boner.”
Your eyes widen in disbelief at his crudeness, and he feels like he’s thriving. You’re finally speechless. This is what success feels like.
“I could get you fired for that.”
Oh.
“Wait, what? I was just jo–”
“God, you’re such a guy.” You shake your head with mockery, mouth now around your own straw as you sip on what looks like something disgustingly fruity. “You talk like you ownthe biggest pair of balls on planet earth but the second a girl outdoes you, it’s all begging and wah wah wah–”
“Do you ever shut up?” He doesn’t know where the outburst came from, but your confused frown goes straight to his cock, and before he can apologise-
“You shut up.” You clap back with a childlike frown, your ankle nudging his under the table in retaliation, and Jaemin’s competitive nature comes forth.
You’re not winning this one. He refuses to let you. So instead of nudging you back, he hooks his ankle around yours. You don’t ease up - as expected - trying to shove him away with a hand on his knee, glancing around with exaggerated innocence. Your worry about being seen is almost endearing, especially because you’re clearly biting back a smile.
Which is exactly why, instead of letting you go, Jaemin catches your hand and laces his fingers through yours.
Your small, sharp inhale slips past you, unnoticed by everyone except him. Your fingers twitch against his grip, but it holds steady – anchoring you in place – and finally does what he hasn’t managed to do for weeks.
It quiets you.
And Jaemin feels, for once, like he’s won.
Especially when you stop resisting and sink back into your seat, his ankle still tangled with yours, your hand now folded into his.
All you give him is a side-eye sharp enough to pass as affection. And every time he drifts into conversation, he can feel you looking at him. He pretends not to notice, answering with a squeeze of your ankle or a slow stroke of his thumb across your knuckles.
He doesn’t let go when Haechan brings over birthday shots for Jisung. One hand around his glass. The other one still holding yours like it’s instinct.
At some point – quietly, maybe even without meaning to – you lean into his side.
If anyone’s noticed, they don’t say a word. Jaemin’s almost certain that’s because of you. Because if it were anyone else, his friends would’ve made it unbearable by now. But your presence doesn’t really allow for noise like that.
They’ve learned.
The illusion breaks the moment you lean in and whisper that you need the bathroom. And when you slip out of the booth, leaving him wedged between wall and friend, Jaemin can already feel the questions forming.
Still, the ghost of your hand in his makes it worth it.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
“Still here, Wiggles?”
You’re leaning against a lamppost waiting for your uber when Jaemin emerges from inside the bar. You really can’t escape this man. Not that you’re trying that hard anyway.
“I’d ask where ‘Wiggles’ came from but not so sure I wanna know.”
He takes his place in front of you, looking as effortless and unbothered as he always does. “You’re always trying to wiggle away from me.” He discloses with a performative pout, lips shining more than before. He must’ve applied lip balm after you exited.
“Right. And you won’t let me.” You squint your eyes as though emphasising a complaint. You’re sure he can see right through it anyway.
“I would hate to deprive you of the joy of my presence.” He flashes you a bunny-like smile with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. “You cold?” He asks with a sniffle as he catches the little shiver that cuts through you.
“Nah, I’m good.” You check your phone again. “My uber’s here in two mins anyway.”
He nods, but doesn’t move to head back inside, eyes remaining fixed on you. “Did you have fun?”
You want to tease, make a comment about his earlier antics, but his question sounds genuine, and you don’t think you'd want to go into that right now anyway. Not when there’s a time limit. “I did, yeah. You?”
“Oh, I had the most fun ever.” He drags the word, clearly not able to hold a serious conversation for more than four seconds.
“At least you keep yourself entertained.”
He hums mischievously, taking a step closer. The shadows from the streetlight and the bar lights make one side of his face glow in yellow and pink. “You never answered my question, you know.”
He’s standing close enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to look at him properly. “Which one?”
Before he can answer, a car engine roars, ending your conversation prematurely.
He’s grinning, but he almost looks disappointed, like an opportunity was snatched right out of his hands. “I’ll tell you another time.”
Your uber pulls up, and you nod at the driver with a smile, letting him know he’s got the right person. Before you can lift a hand, Jaemin’s opening the door to the backseat for you.
“Bed time for you, wiggles.” He steps aside to make space for you, hand still on the car door when you turn to look at him before getting in. “I’ll tell Sung you stayed until late.” He reassures, indicating that the birthday boy is at a level of intoxication that most likely will compromise his memory.
For a reason unbeknownst to you, there’s a feeling of hesitation sitting in your chest. You’re reluctant to leave. Not just because you’ve had such a fun night. It’s the boy in front of you that poses an obstacle, as always. It’s how he’s made you feel all night. It’s how he’s looking at you now. It’s how he’s also still glued to the ground, not making an effort to end the night either.
“Make sure he drinks some water.” You opt to say, and Jaemin’s twitching mouth catches your attention. You feel like he can read your unease through your body language. Like he can read your mind. “Right, well, good–”
It’s funny how you’ve always thought you had the upper hand in most situations in life. Jaemin was definitely one of those situations. Until now. Until he shut you up for the second time in one night. Only this time, with his mouth on yours. It's not searing, nor is it the kind of kiss that knocks the air out of your lungs. To your surprise, it’s soft. His lips are slow against yours, moving lazily, like he’s got all the time in the world, and you surprise yourself by finally giving in to the desire you’ve suppressed for what seems like too long. Your hand finds itself on his nape, pulling him in with more determination, but with a delicate swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip, he’s gone.
“Goodnight, partner.” The whisper feels hot against your tingly lips, his smile is something you can only describe as wicked, and with that, he squeezes your waist in a way that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps before stepping away. He’s walking back inside before you can utter a word or offer any type of reaction to what just occurred, something you should’ve expected by now. Because it’s Jaemin. And Jaemin is unpredictable.
What you also know is that a kiss that short shouldn’t have melted your brain the way it did.
When you’re settled in the back of the car, it finally dawns on you– if he hadn’t pulled away, you wouldn’t have either. If Na Jaemin had kept kissing you, it is highly likely that you would’ve dragged him in the backseat of this uber with you. And the faint heat between your thighs feels like a personal attack your body wasn’t prepared for. But what’s embarrassing is how willingly you would've let him take care of it. Or make more of a mess if he pleased.
Your hazy brain keeps blaming the alcohol you’ve consumed, but as you sit there drowning in your overflowing thoughts, driving through campus and trying not to rub your thighs together, your thudding heart is telling you otherwise.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
Since you started working with Jaemin, it’s become known to you that he’s a very punctual guy. Never late, and if not on time, then most likely early. So when you turn up for your first shift of the week on Monday – thankfully a quiet one – and Jaemin is nowhere to be found, the first thought that crosses your mind is that he’s quit. That he kissed you just because he’d had enough of your attitude and endless negativity. And now that he’s barely broken through those, he’s had enough of chasing after you.
You could ignore his absence and go about your day. It’s the wise option. But your phone is already in your hands and your thumbs are typing away.
You: why is your friend not at work?
Sung: why do you ask
You: ??
Sung: he’s off this week
Sung: smth about a lab project thing he needs to prepare for
You: 👍
Sung: he knew you were gonna ask me
You: lol
Sung: apparently you’re predictable 💀
Great. So now you’re being mocked by who used to be your sweet friend Jisung. Fuck your nosiness. Or neediness in this instance. Needy for Na Jaemin? You? No. No. No. Absolutely the fuck not.
But then why are you already dreading dealing with customers without his hushed teasing comments? Or the provocative wiggling of his eyebrows when someone asks for your number in addition to their drink. Or the way he somehow appears beside you whenever a customer starts being difficult. Or how he always makes sure to add straws to a drink when you forget, even though he’s worked there for far less than you have. Or...
You suddenly come to the realisation that Jaemin has somehow become such a big part of your weeks. Like a habit you would struggle getting rid of.
And what’s worse now is that since that night he randomly kissed you and made your brain short circuit, you’ve not been able to shake the thought of him. The memory of him. The feeling of him. Of his lips on yours, of his hand in yours, of his mouth curling around the word ‘partner’. A word you once were so indifferent to that has now acquired a completely different meaning to its actual one.
Jaemin has really become your partner at work. And generally, someone you look forward to seeing. Someone you seek but can’t seem to find in your other coworkers. Or anyone you know really.
And as ridiculous as it may seem. Later in the week, three shifts in without him, you can’t deny a fact that about two months ago wouldn’t have even crossed your mind.
You miss Na Jaemin and the vibrant colours that come with him.
Work without him is awfully blue.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
Jaemin’s never lacked initiative. Ever. Not as a kid, not as a teenager, not as an adult. He’s always been one to go for things he wanted. Whether it be a goal, a dream, a plan, a piece of clothing, a book, a video game. Anything. And when it comes to his love life, well let’s say he’s never lacked initiative in that department either. The only thing he’s lacking there is curiosity. Or intrigue. It’s always the same with every girl. No surprises. He knows what he wants, knows what he gets. And it’s not that he’s always been successful. He’s had girls reject him before. Or ghost him even. But he’s only cared until he’s found his next conquest, which doesn’t normally take more than a Saturday night and a few tequila shots.
He’s always viewed himself as someone who comes across as light-hearted. Harmless even. Certainly not intimidating. He knows that for a fact. People look at him and smile openly. They welcome him in. They embrace his quirkiness. They see him as someone who holds no weight. No depth. No substance. And he’s always been fine with that.
Until recently. Until he got a taste of what it’s like to be taken seriously. To be levelled with. To be challenged.
Until you.
Until he felt curious and genuinely intrigued.
Not in a poetic ‘she’s so different to everyone else’ type of way. Because you’re not. You blend in quite well with everyone around you. Yeah, maybe you’re more on the grumpy side most of the time, but who isn’t nowadays. You don’t make rooms light up. You’re not the centre of attention. You’re just... you. Sarcastic to the bone. Short-tempered. Like most girls he’s encountered these three and a half years he’s been a student. Yet, you sometimes look at him like you fear him. Like he’s someone you’re not allowed to let in. Like he’s someone that comes with consequences.
And once again, Jaemin knows what he wants. He just doesn’t know what he could get. He knows how to approach you. He knows there’s a way in. Just isn't sure if there’s a way out. And if there is... does that involve you and him both or just him? What if he finds his way in and then you kick him out? He knows that’s very much a possibility.
But.
She kissed me back. He keeps repeating the words in his head. The memory of it even more. The little sound of surprise you let out. Your hand touching his neck, inviting him in.
He’s deep in the reminiscing state when he’s jerked out abruptly, a soft hand tight around his wrist, dragging him towards god knows where. It doesn’t take him longer than two seconds to recognise the back of your head. Your shoulders squeezing through the crowd of the house party, not a single glance thrown behind you, just your fingers clinging onto his skin, making him feel like he’s still daydreaming.
He’s sure he’s not. But there’s no realistic scenario in his head in which you’d be taking him up the stairs of a house whose owner he barely knows.
A few steps and a door later, he’s in a bedroom. A very girly one. Plushies, fairy lights, candles, heavy perfume lingering in the air, name it. The same door you dragged him through is slammed shut and locked and Jaemin is shoved into the fluffiest blanket ever, the bed creaking slightly covering the yelp that escapes his lungs. His hands reflexively catch his upper body weight, propping him up. And after what seems like the longest walk in history, you’re looking straight at him. Staring down at him, or more accurately, peering into his soul, never having looked more intimidating, and before Jaemin can question any of your actions, you’re stepping closer, eyebrow raising in what he can only assume is frustration.
Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh fucking shitting shit. He shouldn’t have kissed you.
“What the fuck is your game plan here?” You demand, sounding enraged, and Jaemin can’t think of the last time he had such a negative reaction to a kiss. He’s had girls tell him he’s a bad kisser, but they’ve still kissed him again after that. One girl even dodged him once, but she also pounced on him not longer than an hour later.
“I um–” He can feel his jaw twitching with nerves, refusing to slacken and give him the opportunity to give you a satisfactory response.
“You what?” You take a step forward, and even the tiniest movement from your side feels like a threat. “Why did you kiss me?”
Here we go. It’s out in the open.
“Do you even remember doing it?”
“Wha– yes.” Well, look at that. He can speak. Fucking well done, loser. “Of course, I remember.”
“Oh, congrats!” You give him a condescending smile, as though congratulating him for being able to utter a total of three words. “Do you remember why?”
He knows why. “I wanted to?”
You blink twice, nostrils flaring as you inhale deeply.
“I’m sorry if–”
“If what? You overstepped? Confused me? Do you understand that we work together? I’m not doing this work drama thing just so you can–”
“I confused you?” It’s the only part that matters out of all the things you listed. “How?”
Your features contort in bafflement, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s what you care about?”
“Tell me.” He is close to pleading, butt moving to the edge of the bed, knees touching yours as he inches closer. “Please.”
“That’s not the point, Jaemin!” Your hands raise in exasperation, feet taking a step back, your warmth absent again as you turn around and walk toward the door. He’s already accepted the fact that you’re about to exit the room and the situation, but you halt instead. And all Jaemin can see is your back. Your shoulders moving in sync with your deep breathing have him captivated. He can’t look anywhere else.
“What is then?” The question slips without permission. It’s only when you turn around that he’s very aware of his mouth and how it’s moved on its own accord.
If looks could kill, Jaemin would be dead now. “The point is that you don’t think. You just do things.”
“I do think.” He doesn’t waste a second to defend himself. Because he knows he’s right, even if your scoff completely disregards his statement. Regardless of his calm nature, Jaemin’s jaw ticks at your reaction. And so does his brain. “I think about you an awful lot. And you know it.”
You slump against the door with a groan, face dropping into your hands, and Jaemin doesn’t understand why you’re so vexed. Is it really that much of a burden that he likes you?
“Why did you bring me here, if you’re just gonna insult me?” He’s on his feet before he completes the sentence, voice raising slightly, making you look up in subtle surprise quickly concealed by your anger. “Just say you’re not interested in me like that and–”
“Insult you?” You scowl, throwing the word right back at him like it disgusts you. “How am I possibly insulting you? By trying to understand what you want from me?”
“What about you, huh?” He steps closer, despite his effort to hold back. “What do you want?”
“Stop deflecting.” His eyes catch the clenching of your fists at your sides, and the thought of you fighting the urge to punch him, exhilarates him. Does he really get under your skin that much?
“I’m not–”
“The fuck you smiling at, you clown?” Is he? Oh shit. He hadn’t even clocked that. “There’s literally nothing funny about this.” The impact of your hands on his chest shocks him, shoving him back into his previous spot on the bed. Clearly you like him sat down. And it’s no secret to him that he doesn’t mind looking up at you. He’d happily get on his knees if you asked him.
He needs to control his thoughts. And if he’s going to do that, he can’t have you standing above him or he’s going to lose all sense. So he moves to get up again. Futilely. Because you shove him back down before he can even try. He refuses to lose the battle. He tries again. Fails. And this time you push him so hard he ends up on his back. Which snaps his compromised patience.
“Stop–” He grabs onto your wrists, jerking you forward. “Fucking–” Pulls again when you fight back. “Pushing me.” He manoeuvres you, not letting you crush him, and somehow, in all the mess of whining and grabbing and yanking, he’s got you on the bed with him.
You both somehow land on your backs, in an awkward position. Half your torso is on him, the other half on the mattress, one of his arms crushed under you as opposed to the one caging you and holding you hostage despite your incessant squirming and twisting.
“Stop it, you nutcase.” He can’t help but laugh, not on purpose. Not to piss you off. The situation is just too amusing for him to stay as serious as you want him to. He still tightens his hold around you, forearm, pressed against your collarbones, hand gripping your shoulder until you gradually still your crazy limbs. “You done?”
Your erratic breathing resembles his, making him feel less pathetic, and Jaemin can’t ignore the intense thrumming of your heart through your back. You can probably feel his; beating wilder than it ever has. He can feel it in his ears.
Your pliancy bemuses him, but he thanks all the forces above for it, and he sighs in relief when you let him roll you onto your side so he can get his arm back. Before you can escape, even though you make no such advance, he drapes his newly functional arm over the dip of your waist, keeping you in an almost spooning position but still leaving space between your back and his front.
“We can talk or we can keep scrapping like cats,” He speaks calmly again, and by the movement of your shoulders he knows you can hear him clearly. “Up to you.”
“You wanna talk now? Like this?” You ask in disbelief, already starting to get on his nerves again.
“Yes. Now.” He drags you closer, expecting some sort of protest when he leaves just a couple centimetres between your bodies, settling close enough for his face to bury in the citrusy combination of your perfume and shampoo. Or moisturiser. Or whatever it is that makes him feel all warm and fuzzy. Regardless,he tries his best to stay as focused as possible. “If you don’t mind, I’ll start.”
You try to turn around. “I do mind actually–”
“Don’t care. I’m talking.” The arm he’s got around your middle keeps you in place, and he feels your sharp exhale against the arm your head is resting on. “I feel like you’re either in denial or you just have no fucking clue what’s going on here, which would be impossible considering you’re one of the smartest people I know.”
Silence. Good, you’re finally listening to him.
“Which leaves us with the first option.” He lifts his head a little, the tip of his nose touching the end of your jawline. He adores the way you shrink away from him, face tucked even further into his elbow, the heat radiating off your cheek and onto his skin. “And that would be a shame, cause that means you’re missing out.”
He feels movement on his arm again. Maybe your lips pursing, maybe your nose scrunching, definitely something. “On what?”
He takes that as his cue to eliminate the tiny space left between you. Chest to back now, ass to crotch, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Me. And you. Sitting in a tree. Kissing.”
The tiny shiver that runs through you is something that affects him more than it should. Something so minimal yet powerful enough to go straight to his head, shaking up whatever is left in there.
“You’re a fucking idiot.” You mutter stubbornly into his skin, a finger slowly tracing one of the veins on his extended arm, like you’re trying to distract yourself. “I’m not in denial. I’m perfectly aware of whatever weird vibe we have going on.”
Interesting. “Okay...?”
“I just don’t understand what you want from me.” Your index reaches his wrist, and when he expects you to withdraw, you trace further instead, onto the lines of his unclenched palm. It also mirrors what you’re doing beneath all of this. Trying to figure him out. So, he instinctively flexes his fingers, palm opening, giving you more space to explore.
He decides to tease. “You want a power point presentation or...?”
“No, I want you to tell me.” The joke clearly doesn’t land. Your tone doesn’t resemble the one your voice carries when you roll your eyes at him. It’s serious, like you’ve had enough of his shit.
He’s not ready to give in just yet, though. “Okay, I’m sensing your preferred type of love language is words of affirmation.”
“Be for real.” You lightly dig your nails into the skin of his palm in a quiet threat, which strangely, goes straight to his dick. That strips him of his playfulness, and he gives in with a sigh, forehead dropping against your shoulder.
“I don’t wanna say the wrong thing– like, I don’t know what you wanna hear. Or what you– like, what if I say something and then things get awkward and–
“Doesn’t matter what I wanna hear.” Your fingers stop tracing and you reach for his other hand this time, the one on your stomach, squeezing in something that feels like reassurance. “There’s no right answer. You already know what you want. You just need to tell me.”
Jaemin really does need to. He’s been dying to tell you. But now he’s actually getting the chance to, he feels slightly dizzy, like he’s experiencing an outer body experience. Like he’s looking at himself from across the room, warning himself, judging himself. He keeps hearing the words ‘watch what you say’, because what if he scares you away? What if you laugh in his face? Or worse, what if you don’t take him seriously?
“I want...”
You hum in anticipation, fingers slithering between his, your warm palm engulfing the top of his, exactly like he did to yours a few nights ago in that booth. Only this time it feels different. It feels like it matters. There’s nothing lighthearted about it. Just like the words he’s struggling to get out.
“I wanna know more about you.” He starts easy, buying himself time. “And I wanna spend time with you. Outside of work.” Your thumb playing with his distracts him from his deafening heartbeat, and he takes a second to swallow, but even that’s too loud. “Think that’s something we can do?”
You turn your head slightly, letting him nuzzle against your cheek. “That’s all?”
“No.” He wants to look at you, but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes. “I want... to make you laugh more.”
“Really?” You question in a tone so genuinely adorable that almost kills him.
“Mm.” He nods, eyes fluttering open when he feels you move his hand with yours a little further down.
“Do you… wanna take me on dates?”
“Yeah.” He nods again, ears focused on your words, but eyes glued to your intertwined hands and the journey the dangerous path they’re trailing down. “Wanna be good to you.”
“Good how?” Your lips graze his cheekbone, hand adamantly still guiding his, ass pushing back into him just a tiny bit, offering enough pressure to make his eyes shut for a second. “Nuh-uh.” You scold when his hand starts moving on its own, moving past the waistband of your skirt, and he immediately halts, letting you have the upper hand quite literally.
He exhales shakily, brain scrambled, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “I dunno, just… wanna do nice things for you and spoil you.”
“That’s sweet.” Your nose cutely nudges his cheek, and Jaemin starts questioning his sanity. “What else?”
“Wanna be able to kiss you whenever I want.” He admits openly, not having searched much in his brain for that one.
“How do you wanna kiss me?” Your locked hands are now just below the hem of your mini skirt, his fingertips brushing your inner thigh, and he can’t help but curl his impatient digits around the fabric. You don’t scold him this time.
Jaemin could easily show you how he wants to kiss you right now. He could so easily grab your face and shove his tongue down your throat. But that’s not what you're asking. You want words. And as much as he hates how obedient he’s become for you, it’s also turning him on. “How do you like to be kissed?”
“Hmm,” You ponder, clearly enjoying the torture you’re putting him through. “Slow. And a little wet.” Perfect. Exactly how he likes it too. Maybe more than just a little wet, but he’s sure you two can meet in the middle. He just needs to actually kiss you first. “Unless we’re fucking.”
He lets out an embarrassing moan at the obscene imagery his brain instantly creates, hips unintentionally grinding into your ass, hard cock now tucked between your cheeks, and he realises he’s got the pads of his fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thigh. So close to where he wants to be. “What about then?”
“Messy.” You mumble into his arm, sounding a little breathless yourself. “Want it really messy then.”
“Messy’s good. I like messy.” He finally cracks, not caring how desperate he sounds. He’s already given up on trying to win with you. He’s been losing ever since the first time he spoke to you. “Anything you want, I’ll fucking do it.”
Your resolve seems to be abandoned too this time, trembling hand leaving his momentarily to bunch up your skirt just enough for easier access. Just above your upper thighs, without revealing what’s underneath. He gulps in anticipation, not making a single move before your hand is back on his, not moving as slow this time, but dragging his fingers across your skin, over to the crease of your thigh and crotch, the seam of your panties moving a tiny bit from the light friction, but not out of the way.
“Shit.” He exhales in awe. “You’re so–”
“Shush.” You whine bashfully, dragging a weak laugh of disbelief out of him. He keeps his mouth shut by landing a long kiss on your shoulder. The first time he’s kissed your skin ever, and he wishes he could do it every day.
“Awh, are you turned on?” He coos, letting his middle finger drag over the fabric of your panties, feeling your wetness seeping through and coating his skin with your essence. It’s so slippery, and sticky, and just so perfect as the light pulse of your clit makes him slightly overflow with need. Your little nod against his arm makes him smile, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip in delight. “I’ll make it better, if you let me.”
“Mm, please.” It sounds more like an instruction than a polite request, and your fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist make it clear. You’re not begging him, you’re just demanding what you deserve. And he’s going to give it to you on a golden platter. He’ll give you anything you ask for. He’ll get on his knees for you if you say the word. As long as you keep letting him touch you. As long as you keep letting him please you.
“Fuck, I’m so into you.” He whispers needily, cock twitching in its confines, jeans suffocatingly tight as he tries to get some relief through subtle rolls of his hips, almost too worried he’ll accidentally start rutting into you like a dog in heat. Your drenched folds separating as he slips his finger between them, as much as your panties deem possible, don’t help him at all, especially when accompanied by the tiniest mewls you’re letting out each time he softly rubs over your already swollen nub. “Guide me again. Show me where you want me.”
Your fingers join his again, positioning his middle and ring fingers directly above your covered clit, panties still somehow clinging on even through all the slick that’s gathered at the seat of them. “Here, slow at first.” You urge him to stimulate the tender spot in small circles, fingers moving above his to show him how much pressure you like. Your deep sigh gives him all the confirmation he needs that he’s touching you just right.
Jaemin watches your reactions over your shoulder. The rise and fall of your chest with each shallow breath. The glimpse of cleavage beneath your crop top. The hem of your skirt hiding your joined hands and everything they're doing underneath.
Normally, he'd want a better view. Being a visual person, he would've found an excuse to hike your skirt higher or reposition you just enough to watch exactly what he was doing to your pussy, but right now, he couldn’t care less. Because somehow, this is hotter. Not seeing everything. Not having you bare beneath him. Just watching your body give him away, little by little. It doesn't compare to anything he's had before. And he has a feeling it never will.
Your hand comes into view when it leaves his, letting him take over, but it quickly takes its place around the back of his neck, fingers slowly sneaking through his hair, forcing his eyes shut at the soft feel of your touch. He keeps rubbing your clit just how you showed him, and lets you pull him close enough that his forehead brushes your temple, resting there for a moment, keeping his eyes closed and focusing on the sweet sounds he coaxes out of you and the slick that keeps accumulating beneath his fingers. He contemplates slipping his hand inside your panties to feel you properly. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t dying to. But you haven’t given him that green light yet, so he adds a little more pressure on your clit instead.
“Jaem–” Your hips buck into his hand, the needy reaction almost funny, but he contains his laugh with a bite on his lip and gently cups your pussy in his palm, preventing you from running away.
“Relax, Wiggles.” He says softly, landing a tiny kiss on your cheek before running his fingers over the expanse of your folds and then resuming the circular motions on your clit, a little faster than before but still gentle. Still giving you a lot less than he really wants to.
The harsh tug you give his hair makes him grunt in surprise, taking the gesture as a warning. He harshly grinds his cock into your ass in retaliation, earning a breathless laugh from you that brings a smile to his face, which spreads wider when you twist your neck to take a look at him, and he feels like it’s the first time you’re looking at him without a threatening edge in your eyes. He shuffles as close as he can, face hovering over yours as he takes in the pleasure littering your features like a canvas. He would kill to have his camera with him and snap a picture of it. His cock throbs with want as you slowly blink up at him, clearly taking him in too, and you’re not subtle when you let your eyes drift down to his lips momentarily.
“You wanna kiss me, don’t you?” He teases, already knowing the answer but enjoying the little crease of frustration between your eyebrows a little too much. You give him a small nod, letting your gaze drift down again. He still doesn’t budge, fingers slowing down too, on a mission to punish you a little for the painful hard-on he’s got going on because of you. “Say please.”
There’s a look on your face he’s positive he’s never had the delight of encountering before, one that obliterates any pride he’s got left. The puppy eyes you’ve put on are doing enough pleading. So much that you don’t even have to say it, and Jaemin instinctively lowers his face close enough to nuzzle his nose with yours, something he’s not sure he’s ever done with anyone before. He’s never felt the need to. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it until you raise your head to initiate the so desired kiss, your lips brushing his lightly for half a second. He pulls back just a fraction, taking one last look at your flushed face, savouring the haze in your eyes just a little longer, but a particular stroke of his fingers makes your eyes shut in pleasure. And it’s the sweet whimper you let out that makes him finally close the gap, tongue already slipping past your parted lips.
He kisses you exactly how you said you liked to be kissed. Slow and wet. Not too sloppy, no teeth. Just his lips dragging against yours, head tilted enough for his tongue to sneak inside your mouth just a little, and you match his rhythm in no time. Your mouth parts to let him in, your taste just like he remembers it. A little sugary from the drinks you’ve had earlier, enough to make him sigh from the relief of finally being able to experience this. Just like he’s daydreamed for what feels like too long. Maybe even better.
You swiftly flop onto your back, the movement catching him off guard, but your hands engulfing his face in them get him back on track. He breaks the kiss for just a second, so that he can steal a glance at his hand working between your now spread legs.
“Don’t stop.” You whine needily, your hips arching off the bed, chasing for more as you bury a hand in his hair, bringing his mouth back to yours.
“Fuck, baby.” He moans all muffled, sounding completely wrecked even though it should be the other way around. Your tongue coaxes his lips open this time, forcing itself inside his eager mouth, and he can’t help but cheekily suck on it as his fingers move on their own accord, slipping down, teasing your entrance over the soaked fabric of your underwear. You’re so wet he can feel the outline of your pussy lips as if there’s no barrier, and god, he wishes his face was buried between your legs. Wishes he could smell you and taste you for hours. The thought of devouring your cunt while your legs shake and lock around his head, suffocating him, sends a fresh jolt of arousal straight to his cock. And it hurts. It’s painful not to thrust against your hip, seeking for any kind of relief, so he does, letting you swallow his low whines as you keep him close.
“Mmh– can you–”
“Mm, what?” He nods frantically, desperate to give you more.
“Just...” You keep kissing him, one hand gently caressing his jaw, while the other finds his again, and before he can question you, you’re dragging his hand up until it reaches the waistband of your panties. And then you’re urging him to slip inside. He internally celebrates and obliges without a word; tongue tangling deliciously with yours as he quickly dips two of his fingers between your folds with a deep groan, quickly finding your clit again, picking up where he left off, with tight circles on your cute nub. Fuck, it’s pulsing, and he wonders if your pussy would pulse just like that around his cock, swallowing him. “Faster.”
Again, he obeys, denying you anything never an option, and he instantly starts stroking your clit with three of his fingers, fast and hard, from side to side, and your mouth parts against his in a silent moan, the vibration getting a reaction that claims a place in his brain. “Good?”
“Yeah,” You nod desperately. “I’m close.”
He nods back. “Want my fingers inside?”
“No, no.” You plead, clearly too in the moment to care. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
His free hand wraps around the back of your neck, holding you in place as he gives you what you want. “You’re so wet.” He mumbles between frantic breaths. “Didn’t know you wanted me that bad.”
You whine in protest, your panting making it impossible for you to speak words other than a broken: “Oh my god.”
“Fuck, you’re shaking.” He whispers, in complete awe of your pleasure, admiring how your face contorts, how your eyes roll back, how your legs tremble. “Don’t hold it, let go.” He encourages gently, able to see right through your self-control, and eager to demolish it. Even now, even on the brink of an orgasm you clearly want to reach, you try to squirm away from his touch, your legs clamping around his hand stubbornly, preventing any movement.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love it when you’re being difficult, but right now is not the time.” He huffs in frustration, hand fidgeting, fingers now squished between the plush of your thighs, unintentionally coating your flesh in your arousal. “If you wanna cum before someone finds us in here, I suggest you spread those legs again.”
The hand still nudged in his hair pulls him closer again, but he resists, not in the mood to give into your wishes anymore. He recognises the distress and conflict in your eyes. You’re not being stubborn, you’re just embarrassed. What for, he’s not sure, but he likes it. Because it’s unlike you.
It does click in his head, though. “I’ll keep kissing you if you let me make you cum.”
And with that, the clenching of your thighs eases up a little. And Jaemin can’t fight the amused laugh that bubbles in his chest. Because bribery does work. And he’s finally connected the dots.
You only got shy when he stopped kissing you so he could watch you. And, suddenly, so much makes sense, but he chooses to lock that thought away in the back of his mind. For now. Because your legs are parting for him again.
“Yeah?” He coos, fingers now moving freely, momentarily dipping down, collecting slick arousal that’s trickled out of your entrance before returning to your clit. He nods along with you when you let your eyes shut in bliss. “That’s it. Good girl.”
He doesn’t let you react to the praise, mouth slotting with yours like he promised, silencing whatever protest was bubbling in your throat. He knows he was treading on thin ice with that, repeatedly having been made aware how you’re not about to let a man patronise you or degrade you. Ever. Your boundaries have always been clearer than water, the harsh tug on his hair proves that much. But Jaemin’s not backing down again. He’s had enough of your shit, and so he kisses you harder, sloppier.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You tug harder, making him grunt and rub you in quicker and firmer circles.
“Shut. Up.” He almost doesn’t recognise the harshness in his own voice, never having felt so annoyed at someone and wanting to please them at the same time. It’s usually one or the other. It seems you’ve proven him wrong once again. “Be grateful I’m not bending you over and fucking the shit out of you.”
He pulls on your hair too, his level of roughness not enough to match yours, but enough to have your teeth biting down on his bottom lip, and he’s pretty sure you’ve drawn blood.
“Fine.” He challenges, his limits already crossed. “Have it your way.”
His knees hit the floor before he can think, his hands grabbing on your thighs, dragging your body to the edge of the bed, and before you can let out more than a yelp, Jaemin’s pulling your panties to the side, revealing your dripping centre.
“What the–”
“So cute.” He mumbles as he watches his middle and ring fingers slip inside your clenching hole too easily, the wetness making everything nice and slippery for him, and when he curls them, your back arches. Too fucking pretty.
“Jaem, oh my god.” You whimper out weakly, clouding his already jumbled head.
“Fuck, I love that.” He whispers mindlessly, circling your visibly swollen nub with his tongue once. “You sound so sweet.”
He can tell it’s finally (thankfully) game over for you, when your legs open further for him, and he wastes no time. He soon finds a rhythm with his fingers that has your walls tensing, but he keeps hitting what he believes is the right spot. And when he angles a little more upwards, his doubts are instantly gone.
“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, right there.” You exclaim in despair, chest heaving, legs quaking just like before.
“I got you.” He mumbles against your folds, then engulfs your clit in his mouth, sucking gently while drawing slow circles with his tongue, finally able to enjoy your taste like he’s always wanted. A satisfied hum escapes him when your hands slip in his hair again, holding him in place as your pussy quivers around his digits. The tighter you get, the louder the squelching noises become, and when he fucks his fingers into you a little faster, he knows you’re finally climaxing.
“Shit, I’m cumming.” You exhale abruptly, like you’re caught off guard, legs closing in around his head, only this time, he doesn’t mind. Far from it. If he could suffocate between your thighs, he’d probably thank you.
Your little cries are more than gratifying. The kneading of your walls as he tries his best to drag out your high goes straight to his erection, his balls feeling so heavy and sore, and when your nails lightly scratch his scalp, he feels his abdominal muscles contract, pelvis involuntarily thrusting into nothing. It’s when his cock throbs painfully that he knows it’s inevitable, and before he can even pull away from your core, Jaemin is shamefully releasing in his pants. Untouched. Coating his boxers in his own cum.
He blames it on the edging and the fact that he's been sporting a hard-on for at least half an hour, but deep down he knows it’s just his unfiltered want for you. He knows it’s you. You and everything about you.
He can hear your overstimulated whines when the haze starts to dissipate, and he slowly slips his fingers out, realising that his mouth is just aimlessly parted against your folds, nose squished against your pubic bone as he tries to regain his breath.
“You okay?” He pants, sounding like he’s just ran a marathon instead of given head.
You let out a fucked-out laugh. “I feel like I should be asking you that.”
“Shut up.” He laughs with you, forehead defeatedly resting on your tummy as he tries to conceal his hot face. Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt embarrassed in front of a woman. It doesn’t help that he’s currently on his knees either. Your soft fingers carefully combing through his damp hair offer a little bit of calmness, however.
“Is that, like, a recurring theme or should I feel honoured?” You tease, the light heartedness in your tone making him smile like an idiot. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you like this before.
“Keep testing me and you’ll find out.” He feigns annoyance, landing a light slap on your outer thigh before squeezing the flesh hard.
You whine in protest, and even though he can’t see your face, he can picture the frown you’re sporting. His imagination not being enough, he decides to lift his head so he can look at you properly, only to find that you’re already staring at him.
“Hi.” He lands a quick kiss just below your bellybutton, where your top doesn’t meet your skirt.
“Hi.” Your lips twitching in a half-smile urge him to kiss your skin again, and then once again until you’re giggling. “Stop.”
He hums against your skin in fake contemplation, already knowing he doesn’t want to, but then he glances down between your legs, drenched core still on display, puffy folds glistening from before, panties still messily pushed to the side, and when you attempt to shut your legs, he beats you to it, holding them in place, refusing to miss out on the pretty sight. So enticing.
“Can I clean it up?” He asks without a second thought, thumbs pulling the lips apart to reveal more of what a mess he’s made, your pretty clit still protruding a little from the attention it received earlier. He looks up at you, taking in your bemused eyes, and he chuckles at your cuteness. “It’s a subtle way of saying I wanna lick your–”
“I know what it means,” You cut him off with a pointed look, clearly disapproving of his crude choice of words. “I’ve just never had anyone ask that before.”
He clicks his teeth in judgment, internally laughing at the joke he’s about the make. “Really? Chenle not that freaky then?”
“Ew!” You shriek adorably, gently kicking him on the shoulder. “Don’t talk about him when you’re between my legs.”
“Why not?” He wiggles his eyebrows provocatively, face already inching closer to where he wants to be.
“Because it’s weird?”
“You had no issue with me watching him rail you.” He blows air on your clit on purpose, watching you squirm in his hold, his hands firm on the backs of your thighs. “I gotta admit, though...” He catches your little hole clenching. “You weren’t as loud then as you were tonight.” He chuckles when your hands come up to cover your face with a pained groan. “Don’t be shy. I loved it.”
“Just fucking do it.” You huff in frustration and buck your hips towards his face.
He leaves a wet kiss on your inner thigh, sucking the supple flesh teasingly, before he darts his tongue out, licking a wide stripe between your folds, doing his best to gather as much of your essence as he can, and repeats the action again and again, clearly not doing a very good job as the more he laps you up, the more arousal keeps gathering at your opening and your whimpers get louder and louder.
“Such a sweet pussy.” He relishes in your taste and decides he needs to stop when he feels his dick starting to stir back to life in his pants, otherwise you’ll be stuck in this room for god knows how long. With a gentle kiss on your clit, he withdraws and pulls your underwear back into place before giving your thighs a gentle but condescending pat. “All done.”
Before you can sit up, he’s crawling up your body, caging you with his arms, and fuck his life, you look so good under him. So soft and pliant, legs on either side of his waist. Nothing like the girl he knows from work. He likes both versions equally, but this one he doesn’t think he could ever get used to.
“You’re hard again.” You wiggle your hips against his, cock flush against your thankfully covered centre.
“Yeah, and you’re still wet.” He responds with a subtle roll, cock sitting uncomfortably in his damp boxers, but nothing he can’t handle. “So, please can we go before I fuck you in some stranger’s bed?”
You snort, arms loosely wrapping around his neck, urging him closer, and he easily caves in. This kiss is soft, no tongue or urgency, just little sucks on your bottom lip, until he’s temporarily satiated his need for you.
“Come on, don’t want my friends thinking you’ve kidnapped me.” He leaves another chaste smooch on your lips and gets up with a dramatic groan, already missing your body heat against him.
A few minutes later, when he’s leaning against a wall next to the bathroom, waiting for you while pretending he’s aimlessly scrolling through his phone, Jaemin thinks back to how he ended up in this situation in the first place, and realises he still doesn’t really know where he stands with you. Yes, clearly, you’re both attracted to each other, and there’s no doubt in his mind that he likes you. But do you genuinely like him? Or do you just find him hot and fuckable? What if you’re just getting bored of whatever arrangement you have with Chenle and Jaemin’s just another distraction until you find someone you’re actually interested in?
“Thanks for waiting.” You interrupt his thoughts, ready to head for the stairs, but Jaemin feels like if he doesn’t clear this up now, he might lose the courage to do so later.
“Wait, hang on a sec.” He gently pulls you back by your hand, and you quickly face him, seeming clueless about his internal turmoil, eyes blinking up at him curiously.
“Is something wrong?” You ask carefully, worry laced with your tone, making Jaemin’s stomach do a little flip.
“No.” He shakes his head, and smiles when your shoulders drop in relief. “I guess I’m just still a little confused.”
“About?” You squeeze his hand, a tiny gesture of encouragement that makes him feel warm and fuzzy.
“Well...” He’s suddenly incapable of holding your gaze, your fingers posing as a distraction as observes your hand in his and how good they look like that. “I mean what I said. I want to, like, you know…”
“Be good to me?” You tease, referring to what he said earlier in the heat of the moment. Not that he didn’t mean it.
“Mm, that too,” Both hands are now playing with yours like it’s a fidget toy. “But also spend more time with you and go on dates and stuff. If you also want that. Obviously.” He lets out a nervous laugh. God, he sounds pathetic.
You step closer, leaving no space between your bodies, and Jaemin feels himself relax a little, finally able to look at you. You’ve got an adorable grin on your face, as though you can already see right through him. Like the idea of making his heart go crazy is so enticing to you. “I also want that.”
“Really?” He perks up, excitement already brewing in his chest at the thought of holding your hand in public.
“Mhm,” You nod, hand flexing in his, fingers extending like he’s just proposed to you and you’re waiting for the ring. Maybe he should start saving up for one at this point. “But–”
“But what? Why but?” The questions roll off his tongue without permission, and he hates how desperate he sounds.
“Relax, loser. I’m not rejecting you.” You laugh at his misery. It’s kind of hot. But he won’t admit that. At least not right now. “I was just gonna say, I’d rather we kept it low-key at work. If that’s okay with you.”
“I can do low-key.” He says quicker than he’d like to. “I’ll behave.”
“Okay, well, don’t behave too much.” You poke him in the chest with a smirk that makes him feel all tingly and giddy. He feels like a teenager speaking to their crush for the first time.
“Oh?” He pouts playfully, fluttering his eyelashes like he knows you hate, his arm loosely circling your waist, hand resting at the small of your back, slowly pulling you close, the proximity clearly something you’re both still getting used to. “Why? Would that be too sus?”
“It’s good you’re self-aware.” You say sarcastically, your free hand coming to squish his cheeks, surprising him. “Has anyone ever told you your eyelashes are, like, freakishly long?”
He laughs loudly at the random observation, remembering that time you said something about him flying if he blinked too fast. “Yeah, you.”
“Have I?” You tilt his face, evidently too busy inspecting his lashes to actually pay attention to what he’s saying. “When?”
“Right before you gave me the bedroom eyes and made me watch you–”
“Shhhhh.” You squeeze his cheeks harder, making it impossible for him to finish his sentence. “You’re pretty, but you talk too much.”
“Mmph–” He’s not able to complain, not due to your tight hold on his face, but mainly because you’re suddenly shutting him up with your mouth on his. You leave a loud smooch on his lips, and then a second one, and before you can pull away, he doesn’t even realise he’s got a hand in your hair, holding you in place.
Your hand trails from his face to his chest, resting there, allowing him to tilt his head so he can deepen the kiss. And just when he’s about to turn you around and pin you against the wall–
“Woah!” Jisung’s high pitched exclamation makes you both pull away in surprise. And when Jaemin looks up, there’s his younger friend, barely able to stand up due to the amount of alcohol he’s consumed, yet enough in touch with his surroundings to understand what you two are up to. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, absolutely not, stop it right now, that’s vile. Bye.” He slurs and abruptly sits down at the top of the stairs with his forehead resting on the wall.
Jaemin struggles not to burst out laughing when he takes in your comical expression, eyes wide, lips pursed tightly to contain your own snicker. And then he internally groans, realising that he’s probably Jisung’s saviour for tonight. “I think I’m gonna have to take him home.”
“Yeah, that’s all you.”
It’s maybe three or four quick kisses later that Jaemin, hesitantly of course, manages to find the will to pull away from you.
𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃
You’ve learnt to expect everything from Na Jaemin. At this point you could say you’ve mastered the art of not getting surprised at things he says or does, regardless of the outrageousness they sometimes carry. You were confident that his unfiltered and blunt way of navigating life didn’t really faze you much anymore.
Until last night.
Last night, you were surprised. Last night, you were fazed. Pleasantly so, but still. What you were expecting were vague answers, boyish excuses, charming batting of long eyelashes and maybe the distracting smile that always gets him out of trouble. What you were not expecting was your insufferable coworker getting on his knees for you and giving you one of the most mind-blowing orgasms you’ve ever experienced, right after admitting he wants to date you (to put it plainly). What you also didn’t expect was his neediness. And how weak it made you feel. So much that you left the party wondering what his cum tastes like.
Who in their right mind wonders that about someone? Clearly you. Because clearly, you’re not in your right mind. You can’t be. Since when can you not control your impulses? To the point where you allow yourself to drag a man into a stranger’s room only to ask for explanations you don’t really need anyway? Since when do men’s explanations matter to you? Na Jaemin’s out of all men’s thoughts should be something of low significance to you. So why were you so bothered? Yeah. He kissed you out of the blue. So what? Something so easy to ignore, yet it had been gnawing at your brain like a parasite. A stupid fucking kiss that tasted like rum and coke.
You're still in bed, staring at the ceiling when your phone starts going off, slightly startling you out of your snoozy state.
“Hello?” You pick up without properly checking the screen.
“You sound cute when you’re sleepy.” Before you can even finish processing him, Jaemin’s annoyingly chirpy voice blasts through the speaker, breaking through the quiet of your room. Of course he’s a morning person.
“How’d you get my number?” You grumble, still not entirely awake but oddly pleased to hear him.
He must be in the middle of typing as you hear the keyboard clicking in the background. “Work group chat, silly.”
“And you’re calling at eleven am on a Sunday because...?” You shuffle onto your front and place your phone on your pillow after putting Jaemin on speaker.
“Well...” He drags the word as though he enjoys the suspense. Knowing his dramatic ass, he probably does. “I got up early to finish a paper, and now I’m feeling clingy with no one to cling onto.”
You catch yourself smiling into the pillow like an idiot. He should not have this effect on you. “Don’t you live with a thousand other men.”
“Just four actually.” His chuckle echoes, and you can picture his bright teeth a little too easily. “And you’d be surprised at how busy they all are. Well, apart from Jiji. He’s just dead.”
You’re not surprised in the slightest Jisung is not up and about considering the state he was in last night. What a messy boy. “What could they possibly be doing on a Sunday morning?”
“Hmm,” You imagine him swivelling in his chair in deep thought. “Haechan and Jeno are out on a double brunch date with their females, and Renjun... I actually have no idea. He doesn’t like seeing me in the mornings.”
It’s your turn to laugh. It comes out all muffled but you’re sure he can hear you. “I can see why. Also, females?”
“Yeah, speaking of females, can I come see you after I submit this?” He asks, like it’s something he’s asked a thousand times before. The question itself doesn't surprise you. You could tell it was coming from miles away. It’s just his casual tone that leaves you slightly perplexed.
“You sound awfully comfortable asking to invade my personal space.” You flip onto your back again, phone now on your chest.
“You didn’t mind me invading your personal space last night.” How can someone be so quick witted? Damn his sexy brain.
“Consider yourself lucky you’re not in my space right now.”
“Nothing lucky about that.” He whines playfully. “C’monnnn, I’ll bring food, and sweeties, and we can watch a film. Or just talk. Or you can sleep and I’ll just watch you.” He pleads hopefully, and a little too adorable for you to hold your ground.
“Creep.” You mumble defeatedly, and it’s mostly meant for yourself, but he picks up on it judging from the little hum he lets out, like he agrees.
You wonder if this man has ever had anyone tell him no in the past. If so, you’d like to ask them for advice.
When you hear his knock, you have just about finished putting fresh clothes on after your shower, your hair is still wet, and the taste of toothpaste too strong in your mouth.
Ever so punctual, there he is, leaning against your doorframe when you swing the door open. He doesn’t look as fresh and bright as he sounded on the phone, the tiredness evident in his eyes, but somehow, he looks even more handsome like this. You notice you’re matching, both wearing hoodies with your university’s logo printed on them, his grey sweatpants mirroring yours.
“Well, this is uncanny.” He speaks first, amused eyes taking in your attire the same way you’re taking in his.
“Come in before I change my mind.” You step aside to let him inside, unable to fight your smile when he takes off his shoes without you having to ask.
“I’m here now, no need to be so aggy.” He says with a reassuring pout you never fail to question. Because how does a grown man so masculine act so feminine and cutesy without a care in the world.
“We can chill in here, Winter’s at her boyfriend’s for the day.” You dismiss his antics and lead the way towards the small living room space you and your flatmate share. “We’ve got Netflix and Disney plus.”
He gasps, making you turn to look at him. “So we can watch Keeping Up With The Kardashians?”
“Absolutely not.” You deadpan. You refuse to watch something that will most likely obliterate your already barely functioning brain cells.
“Blue planet then?” He drops the takeout bags on your coffee table and you can see there’s a huge bag of Skittles and a pack of fresh cookies on top of the boxes. You try not to laugh at the thought of him standing in a bakery waiting to buy overpriced treats. As funny as it is, you can’t help but find it incredibly endearing too.
“So it’s either brainrot or full-on intellectuality with you.” You nod in fake approval.
“If you have beef with sir David Attenborough, I’m afraid I can’t invest in this.” He protests but still plops down on your sofa and snatches the TV remote off the table like he owns the place.
“Invest in what exactly?” You narrow your eyes at the ballsy statement, and he side-eyes you in return, brows lifting like the answer is self-explanatory. “Also, I don’t think anyone has beef with David Attenborough.”
“Wise.” He keeps his attention on the screen as he scrolls through Netflix, and suddenly you feel like you’re intruding in your own home. “I knew you were wifey material.”
The eye-roll is inevitable when you head for the kitchen to get water. Not because his silly comment offended you. But because it should have.
It’s maybe halfway through the first episode that you and Jaemin both have devoured your bowls of pho noodles and he quickly reaches for the cookies.
He offers you the box with a sweet smile, as if saying ‘do the honours’.
You instantly shake your head. “I’m too full.”
He pouts stubbornly, like you’ve offended him and confused him at the same time. “Wanna share one?” He asks, eyes big and full of hope and so unfairly pretty. And you can’t find it in you to deny him a second time.
“Yeah, fine, I’ll do half.”
“Yay.”
You observe him as he tears the lid off, carefully picks a cookie like it’s an important decision, and then splits it in two. You notice how cautious he is not to drop any crumbs on the blanket you’re sharing, keeping his hands above the container that’s resting now on his lap. You only realise you’re smiling when he offers you the slightly bigger half, and if he's noticed, he doesn’t comment on it, just waits patiently for you to take a bite, whales and dolphins forgotten in the background.
When the second episode starts, you realise you and Jaemin have barely exchanged any words since he stepped foot in your apartment. The silence hasn’t felt awkward at any point, but you can’t deny it’s a slightly unusual dynamic.
His newfound restlessness makes up for it, however.
You don’t say anything when you feel him staring, but you also can’t hide the little twitch of your mouth. And you know he notices when he shuffles a tiny bit closer, not enough to close the distance between you, but enough for you to get a whiff of his clean boyish scent. A chuckle brews in your chest but only escapes when he gently tugs on the blanket, trying to get your attention in a way that doesn’t require words.
He’s yet to tear his persistent eyes off you, probably amused by the deeper shade of your burning cheeks, so you bring your knees up to your chest, along with the hem of the blanket, seeking for cover. Your hand blindly reaches over to his side, fingers poking into his cheek, forcing his attention back on the TV, at which he shamelessly giggles. You don’t manage to retrieve your arm as he swiftly but so gently takes hold of your wrist and tugs the same way he did with the blanket, a subtle request for you to move into his space.
It’s way too easy. Just like most things in his life it seems. And as easily as you give in, it doesn’t feel wrong. Not when you so comfortably allow yourself to curl into his side. Not when he wraps an arm around your shoulders and lets you snuggle closer. Not when your cheek squishes against his chest, ear right above his steady heartbeat. Not when you feel his nose nudge you on the forehead. And definitely not when you hear his little sigh of relief.
You could pretend it doesn’t mean anything. You could just blame it on the tiredness and the fact that you’re both slightly hungover from last night. You could just be two people who casually ended up cuddling on the sofa while watching a documentary about creatures of the ocean. But the way your heart speeds up defies that. Just as easily as you fell into his arms just now.
“You smell nice.” He murmurs, the contentment in his voice and body language difficult to not make you feel warm and fuzzy too.
“So do you.” You slip, not really meaning to admit that you’ve been having the same thought. “Hope you don’t use one of those three in one shampoos that could kill a Victorian child.”
His chest vibrates under you, his loud sneaker making you laugh along. He lets his weight sink further into the cushions, moving you with him. “That’s actually offensive. I take my skincare very seriously.” His fingers threading through your hair make you feel woozy, goosebumps prickling on your nape, accompanied by a little shiver, which unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed by Jaemin. “Aww,” He coos, hand repeating the action, this time lightly scratching your scalp. “That’s so cute, you like head scratches.”
“I’m not a fucking dog.” You grumble, with no intention of pulling away from his soothing touch.
“Hmm, I don't know,” He trails sceptically, fingers now scratching at the crown of your head, coaxing you further into drowsiness. “You are kind of like a puppy at times. All bark no bite.”
You nuzzle deeper into his neck, allowing your eyes to shut. “I bite when necessary.”
“I’m in deep shit right now if you’re a vampire.”
You let out a lazy giggle, hand tugging on his hoodie to reveal more of his neck. “Yeah, I could so easily eat you.”
“Sexy.” He says in a playful tone. “Doubt I’ll taste as good as you did last night.”
You’re weak. So fucking weak.
What the fuck are you even meant to say to that? And why did the words make your toes curl? You’ve been trying so hard not to let your mind wander to last night’s events, and not because you’re ashamed or embarrassed. Quite the opposite.
It would be wise to swerve the subject. Hell, it would be easier to pretend you’re asleep. But where’s the fun in that? Why miss the opportunity to see him squirm a little?
“I mean...” You hook your fingers over his neckline teasingly, before letting them trail upwards, your knuckles grazing his skin; first his neck, then the opposite side of his jaw, where your palm settles. “We could’ve found out last night if you hadn’t jizzed in your pants like a teenager.”
Silence. Even his breathing stops. You’re almost starting to worry you’ve pushed too far. And maybe you have. But his hand in your hair tightening and then pulling, even though harsh, it reassures you he's fallen face first into your trap. And a breathless laugh slips out when he forces you to look at him. The wicked smile on his face does something to your tummy.
“We could find out now.” He suggests. So predictable.
“I thought you wanted to watch Blue Planet.” You pout just like he would if he had the upper hand. Just like he did last night. Condescendingly.
His hold on your hair loosens, giving you leeway to bring your face closer to his, hand still cradling his jaw when you give him a very quick kiss on the cheek. You sense the hesitancy in his actions, both hands hovering close, but not properly touching you anymore.
“You okay?” You ask with genuine concern, urging him to look at you, not used to this demeanour from him.
“Yeah,” He nods quickly, arm settling around your waist in no time. “I’m just– I don’t want you to think that I came over for…”
“I don't.” You hold his face with both your hands, thumbs stroking his soft cheeks, a little rosy now.
His tiny nod makes your stomach do a flip. “Okay, good.” He nods again, more to himself this time, like he’s fighting an internal conflict. “Like, I know you might’ve heard things, and you probably think I just wanna get in your pants, but I swear I don’t– I mean, obviously, I do, but not in that way, you know?” He swallows visibly, and you’re too taken by his sudden outburst to interrupt him again. “Like, I do want you and I’ll do anything with you, but I don’t want that to be the main thing. Like, yeah, sex is great and I’m sure it’ll be fire with you, but I swear I just wanted to hang out today–”
“Jaemin.”
“Hm?” He looks at you with big eyes, like you’ve startled him out of a trance. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“Breathe, please.” You lightly shake his head, in hope of knocking some sense into him and bringing him back from his spiral. “I don’t know what you think I’ve heard, but I couldn’t care less about idiotic rumours–”
“Not all of it is, though.”
“Okay, and?” You straddle him abruptly, suddenly annoyed at his uncertainty. He’s blinking up at you like he needs something he’s not sure of. Such pretty eyes. “It’s sweet that you worry about this stuff. It means you care and I like that. But I'm not one to judge people based on their past. Unless they're cheaters or misogynists.”
"I've only had one girlfriend in high school and I think women should get paid more than men." He quickly admits.
Your heart overflows with fondness at how he clutches the blanket that’s loosely scattered around your thighs, his fingers fidgeting in an anxious manner you’ve never seen from him before. Adorable.
“I know you like me, I’m not dense.” You give into your instincts and shuffle closer, overcome with the need to have some form of direct contact, to feel his warmth. “And I'm absolutely fine with you wanting to get in my pants. As long as it’s not all you want.” You smile at his mouth parting, expression changing into something that resembles awe and realisation, as though you’ve solved a puzzle he’s been getting tortured by.
“It’s not.” He shakes his head in denial, his hands now on your thighs, a comforting weight.
“Good.” You encourage him with an affirmative nod, the tip of your nose barely touching his. You take in his features as he shuts his eyes and inhales slowly, his chest touching yours momentarily before he exhales, and you feel the intense want to smother him in affection. “You’re so cute.” Your lips pucker against his cheek like it’s a reflex. Like kissing his skin would scratch a long-lasting itch. “Why are you so cute, huh?” Another smooch, a lingering one this time. “So annoying.”
“Why are you being sweet?” He whines, as though bothered and confused by the sudden turn in your attitude. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m actually very clingy behind closed doors,” You trail more kisses down his jawline, letting your tongue make contact when you reach his neck. “So, you should be scared.”
He outright moans at the threat, or maybe at the way you’re lightly sucking on his pulse, his head tipping back to give you more space.
“Maybe you’re just bipolar.” He teases mindlessly, one hand sneaking into your hair, holding you in place, as the other drags up your thigh and stops at the small of your back, fingers ghosting over your ass, palm pressing you into him. You feel him growing under you, the subtle bulge poking you against the crease of your thigh, so you reposition your hips slightly, this time making sure you’re sitting directly on it.
“Yeah, I bet your freaky ass would love it if I had a mental disorder.” You tug on his hair, your mouth now on his left clavicle, teeth grazing his skin like a warning. “You’d probably wanna fix me.”
"Damn," He breathes out a fucked-out laugh, clearly entertained by your choice of words. “Am I that easy to read?”
“I just pay attention.” You say the words without much thought behind them, but the second they slip out, his mouth is on yours. And you give in quicker than you would’ve allowed if it were anyone else. His hand in your hair doesn’t give you much choice anyway, and neither does his tongue, swiping across your lips as he tilts your head gently. He tastes like candy and something familiar that has your mouth eagerly parting for more. The quietest of moans escaping your lungs reminds you of how much he weakens any restraint you always try to maintain.
Suddenly, ruining him seems more enticing than any other thought that occupies your mind in that moment. You could edge him enough to make him beg. He’d like that, right? He’d look so pretty crying.
You let him kiss you however he wants, without failing to notice how he tries to keep it languid and wet enough that it resembles the way he kissed you last night. Exactly how you told him you like to be kissed. Your tongue plays with his slowly, just like your hands slide from his neck to the zipper of his hoodie. It comes undone easily, and you can’t help but slip your hands underneath, nudging the fabric off his shoulders before you indulge in giving his uncovered arms a squeeze. He reciprocates with both his hands on your ass, kneading the full flesh and urging you to move your hips against his.
“Fuck,” He gasps against your mouth, his pelvis bucking off the sofa just a little, trying to get more friction when you keep your movements too slow.
“What do you need?” You break off the heated kiss, hands flat on his chest to hold him in place when he tries to trail after you. “I’ll do it, just want you to tell me.”
You know you’re being slightly selfish, but you also can’t pass on the opportunity to get him all putty and needy under you. He looks scrumptious with his cheeks all flushed, and his cute nipples poking through the white tank top he’s got under the hoodie that now hangs off his elbows. He looks so good that it feels wrong to touch him. Like you shouldn’t be allowed to, but he’s somehow letting you.
He’s fully erect now, his hard length resting a little too comfortably between your folds, proud and thick enough that you can feel the outline even through the layers of both your layers. He’s got a look of contemplation as he stares at your connected crotches, his legs spreading further, inevitably sliding you a little upwards, and his cock brushes against your clit just right, pulling a tiny whimper out of you.
“Anything I want?” He asks innocently, bunny teeth digging into his bottom lip as he bats his eyelashes up at you. There’s the devilish look you know.
“Mm, you gotta ask nicely first.” You match his tone, playing along whatever game he’s decided to start.
His eyes travel down, fingers slipping past your waist band just a tiny bit before letting it snap against your skin. “Just want these off.” He gestures at your bottoms.
“Panties too?” You climb off his lap to stand between his legs, already looking forward to feeling him with less layers in between.
“Up to you.” He shrugs, eyes now on your face as you slip the baggy garment down your legs, your intimate area covered by your long hoodie, that as opposed to his, is still zipped up. “Actually, yeah, those too.”
You instantly raise a challenging eyebrow, head tilting in warning.
“Pretty please?” He recovers quickly, sweet smile and obedient eyes making you feel giddy. He really does catch on quickly. Or maybe he just gets you too well.
The thin cotton tickles as it drags down your legs, some of your slick smearing on your knee as the seat of your underwear touches you directly. “Now, what?”
“Sit back down.” He doesn’t play as nice this time, and you don’t really need him to. You reclaim your seat, knees on either side of his hips, but you hover, too conscious of how wet you are and how easy to stain his gray sweats are.
“I’ll be real with you; those will get ruined if you keep them on.” You point your chin at his crotch, and he doesn’t say a word before pulling the unnecessary barrier down, letting it rest mid-thigh. His white boxers come into view, matching his tank top, making him look like he’s about to pose for an underwear ad, if you ignore the outrageous hard-on of course.
His hands feel hot on your thighs, the pads of his fingers sinking into your skin slightly. “Wigs? Please?”
“Wigs?” An unexpected giggle tumbles out of you at the somewhat new but cute nickname as you lower your bare centre onto the bulge beneath you, weight completely dropping on him. The throbbing between your legs intensifies when you witness his expression go from troubled to serene, the crease between his eyebrows disappearing, shoulders dropping. It’s like he’s just melted into the cushions, and you wish you could take a snapshot of his reaction with your brain.
“So wet.” He whispers, eyes fixated between your thighs even though he can’t see anything, and you shouldn’t, but you feel bad for him, all of a sudden wanting to give him anything he’s after.
“Wanna see?” You lean down, cupping his face in your palms, connecting your lips with his before he can speak. He moans against your mouth, the sound vibrating between your chests, your nipples pebbling at the needy sound. You kiss him harder in response, licking into his mouth like you need to quench an inexplicable thirst, and the more you keep kissing him, the louder he gets. One of his hands curls around the back of your neck, while the other one grabs onto your ass, forcing your hips to move.
“Don’t need to,” He mumbles, teeth biting onto your bottom lip, pulling at the skin before letting it snap back into place. “Can feel you just fine.”
For some reason, in your twisted mind, that sounds hotter than him begging to see the mess between your legs. What’s even hotter is the fact that you’ve barely done more than kiss him, barely shown any skin, yet he’s so responsive. His strained breathing goes straight to your mushy brain, his whimpers each time you grind on him sound sinful and soft at the same time. You're so lost in the heat that you’re not sure which pulse is more rigorous, the one in your chest or the one in your pussy.
“Ow!” You accidentally let out a loud whine when Jaemin’s hand pulls at your hair a little too hard.
“Sorry.” He laughs lightly, loosening his grip just a tad but still forcing your head back so he can start scattering kisses down your neck. The wet swipe of his hot tongue on your skin sends a shiver down your spine, hips accidentally rolling against him, exposed cunt dragging over his clothed cock, your mixed arousals seeping through the cotton, making everything slippery. Each time you grind down on him, he thrusts upwards, every movement turning into a push and pull game as his length slides between your folds just perfectly, the head nudging your clit just right.
“Shit, that’s so good.” He murmurs softly against your neck, both hands on your backside now, each one grabbing onto a cheek, guiding your rhythm whenever your hips stutter. His touch on your bare skin, tugging, squeezing, sends a bloom of fresh heat in your belly, more arousal dripping out of you and adding to the unholy mess.
“Aw, you gonna cum in your undies again?” You counter in a condescending tone, not quite settled with him thinking that he’s got the upper hand here.
“I will if you want me to.” He pants, no ounce of shame detected; his dignity clearly left somewhere behind.
You halt your movements, hands moving to his chest for support as you take in his perplexed expression. “Actually... Can you do something else for me?”
He nods without hesitation. “Mhm.” So sweet.
You scoot back on his lap, his hands dropping to his sides as he waits for your instructions. He looks like a lost puppy, staring up at you like you’ve got the solution to all his problems. And maybe you do. “Touch yourself.”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, lips parting, his cute two front teeth poking out a tiny bit. “Really? Right now?”
“Yeah.” You lean back with your hands on his knees. “Wanna see.”
“Fuck.” He exhales shakily. “Why are you doing this to me?”
You catch yourself biting back a smirk at his unexpectedly shy demeanour. And you feel your heart stutter at the incredibly cute way he lifts his bum off the sofa as he shoves his briefs down, just enough to reveal what’s hiding underneath. And holy fuck.
It’s not just the length or the girth; it’s more the way it lightly slaps on his stomach, the tip not too far from his belly button, cute, pink and angry, the shade matching his swollen lips. It looks heavy, and you can’t help but wonder how it would feel to have him inside you, stretching your snug walls more than anyone has before.
“Pretty.” You mutter in awe, the word sneaking out before you can contain it.
“Did you just call my dick pretty?” He breathes out a bemused laugh.
You laugh along, more in confusion at your strange outburst of honesty, your eyebrows tensing. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
You almost feel guilty for the objectifying thoughts that pollute your brain, but it’s not like there’s much of his decorum left to preserve anyway. And how are you meant to behave yourself when he looks like he’s been plucked straight out of some sort of anime universe. Now you understand why he walks and carries himself the way he does. No one with a dick this good looking should be humble.
He wraps his fist around his twitching length, slowly teasing the head first, while his free hand reaches to grab onto your thigh. It seems more like a grounding gesture than anything else, as if he needs to be touching you somehow to stay sane. He carries a baffled expression, like he can’t believe he’s actually enjoying this, but a quiet moan proves exactly that.
“Wigs?” He squeezes your thigh lightly just to get your attention, obviously not aware that you’re transfixed by his every move.
“Hm?” You dumbly nod, the view too precious to miss, but in the back of your mind you’re very aware of the wetness that leaks out of you and onto his bare thigh.
“Can you– shit–” He hisses as his thumb brushes over the glistening tip. “Um, can you get it wet for me please?”
You obediently lean closer, head tipping forward so you can aim, and just like he so nicely asked, you let a long string of saliva dribble from your lips. It lands on the underside of his cock and trickles down to his fingers where he’s tightly gripping the base. He lathers the added lubrication all over his length, making the glide smoother and louder.
“Better?” You scoot a little closer, letting your hands cradle his flushed face, and you can’t help but push his messy fringe back, his sweaty forehead coming into view, dark eyebrows pinched in pleasure as he sets a steady pace; not too fast, not too slow.
“Yeah.” He sighs, leaning into your touch, nuzzling into your wrist before leaving a sloppy kiss there, just above the ink on your skin. “I don’t think I’m gonna last long.”
“That’s okay.” You encourage him with small pecks on the exposed side of his face.
“Fuck, I want you.” He pants needily, shattering your heart a little.
“I’m here.” You tangle your fingers in his hair, messily kissing down his neck, comforting him through the pleasure. “Want you too.”
His head lolls back, resting against the back of the sofa, and when you feel the speeding up of his arm, you inevitably look down, drinking the sinful sight like a renaissance painting. The slit of his cockhead oozes more precum with each upward stroke, the skin is more flushed than before, veins more prominent. You study how he likes to be touched, how he focuses on the tip more, fist twisting slightly before he glides down again. A tiny spasm of his pelvis sends an intense throb to your cunt, and the accidental moan you let out seems to spur his hand into faster and less coordinated jerks.
“Gonna cum.” He announces urgently, nails digging into your thigh as he starts trembling. “Oh my– fuck fuck fuck.”
You manage to lift his tank top just below his chest right before the first spurt of release paints his abs, and the second his lips part in ecstasy, you don’t miss the chance to stick your tongue past them, swallowing his deep grunts with a loud and sloppy kiss. His mouth barely moves, tongue lazily poking out to lick against yours between laboured breaths, and you feel powerless not to smile at his free hand cupping your jaw weakly, even through the haze of his orgasm and his inability to kiss you back properly.
"I'm so fucked." He whines, sounding like he's in pain, and for some reason, you don't urge him to elaborate, ignoring the need to know the exact meaning behind his words as well as the heavy feeling in your stomach.
“Can I clean it up?” You mumble mid kiss, throwing his words from last night back into his face.
He kisses you harder in response, his pleased groan vibrating between you. “Yeah? You wanna get on your knees for me?”
“Behave.” You let your fingers wrap around his throat in a quiet threat, though it doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. His wicked smile only betrays enjoyment and makes you pulse around nothing, reminding you that you’ve most likely drenched his thigh.
“I gave you a full on show and you’re worried about me behaving?” He presses a lingering smooch on your chin, then one on your cheek. “I think we’ve established the power imbalance here, don’t worry.”
What an oblivious, silly little man. He clearly has no grasp on the effect he has on you, and it couldn’t get sweeter than that. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, though, and you certainly wouldn’t want his head getting any bigger. “Whatever you say.”
“What–”
“Shush.” You shut him up with a light squeeze around his throat before swiftly sinking down to your knees between his spread legs, the carpeted floor slightly digging into your skin, but not enough to distract you. What does distract you is the mess he’s made. His fingers are now limp around the base of his softening cock, covered in his release that has somehow not reached his chest. You mentally give him points for decent aim, having experienced unwanted facials in the past. Nothing you would have minded in this case, though.
“This feels awfully scrutinising.” He points out with a playful tilt of his head, clearly unbothered by your staring but impatient enough to kick up a fuss. “It’ll dry if you– oh shit, okay.”
His reaction is almost laughable when you lick a stripe from his balls to his tip, lapping up as much of his cum on your tongue as you can in one go and swallowing the salty essence before diving in for seconds. You teasingly suckle onto one ball, before repeating the same with the other one while intentionally letting out a moan that earns you his praise. "Fuck, you're so filthy."
You slowly blink up at him as you provocatively flatten your tongue over his coated fingers, and he gets the hint with a lustful glint in his eyes. He so willingly slips three of his salty digits past your wet lips whimpering when you eagerly slurp everything up, sliding your tongue between them before sucking hard and maintaining eye contact. You drag your mouth off with another performative moan and focus on his cock again, now replacing his hand with yours and relishing in the way he feels in your palm. Heavy, warm and overwhelmingly thick like you predicted, the skin velvety soft and slippery with your spit. So fucking perfect.
"You tryna make me hard again or what?" He rasps in most likely warranted frustration, though, his clean hand on your nape says otherwise.
“As if you’d mind fucking my throat.” You whisper, scattering languid kisses up one side of his shaft, your lips dragging across the sensitive skin until you reach the bulbous head that almost begs for your attention.
“I wouldn’t. That’s the problem.” His thumb strokes along your jaw, soft as ever, making you swoon, goosebumps raising along your neck and arms, your thighs rubbing for some much-needed friction.
“How’s that a problem?” You ask innocently, glancing up at him before swirling the tip of your tongue agonisingly slowly around the shiny head, then letting your lips vacuum around it, welcoming his taste in your mouth straight from the source, like slurping on an ice lolly on the hottest day of summer.
“We’ll be here all fucking day.” He lazily laughs, wincing when you suck harder and take him a little deeper. “Easy you demon, it’s still sensitive.”
You decide to ease up on the torture and abandon his cock with one last kiss before moving onto his abs, slurping and shamelessly licking along his skin, making sure not to miss a drop of his cum. And when you’re satisfied with your work and he’s whining and squirming as you hoped, you finally resurface for air. You don’t get much of it, though. His mouth quickly finds yours in a filthy battle of tongue and teeth, and you feel helpless at the thought of him moaning at his own taste. You're pretty sure there's cum smeared on your nose and chin, but he doesn't seem to give a fuck.
“Bend over the table.” You feel the seriousness in his tone in your stomach, excitement, and uncertainty blooming.
“I thought we weren’t fucking today.”
“We’re not.” He confirms with a snap of his boxers back into place, covering your new favourite toy.
“So, why–”
“Bend the fuck over, Y/N.” It sounds more like a threat, and you can tell he’s very much done with your bullshit now the blood has travelled up to his brain again. You also don’t miss the lack of a cutesy nickname this time. And you’re positive your name has never sounded sexy in a man’s mouth before. And so, you hold back on the questions this time and do as you’re told, curious and eager to find out what his dominant side entails.
The yelp you let out when he manhandles you abruptly almost sounds animated. Your front is pressed against the wooden surface of the coffee table you remember purchasing from Ikea about a year ago, and your remaining layers are shoved up, now resting just below your tits as Jaemin hovers behind you on his knees.
"So pretty like this," He praises as he slots between your legs, easily probing them apart, and you suddenly feel incredibly exposed with your backside and pussy out in the open air. "Knew your ass would be a fuckin' dream."
“Jaem?” You call for him more desperately than you intend, arching your back a little to tempt him more.
“Yeah?” He whispers above you, running his hands over the dip of your waist and down to your hips. So gently you feel your eyes getting heavy. He's then gathering both your hands at the small of your back, hold loose around your wrists but it's enough to make a point. Enough to leave you aching and helpless.
“Please do something.” You try to sound serious, but the whiny edge in your voice slips through regardless as you waggle your hips in desperation. "My clit feels like it's about to explode."
“Awh,” He coos with a satisfied laugh, his chest now flush against your back, radiating warmth as his lips leave a trail of tiny kisses from your temple down to your ear. "Needy baby.
He gently sucks on the lobe before letting his tongue tease the shell and then your helix piercing, all while his free hand sneaks around you and down to the apex of your thighs. You’re so worked up and sensitive, even a light swipe of his fingers across your swollen nub makes you squirm, arms fighting his firm hold off fruitlessly.
“Shhh, be good.” He instructs, voice steady with a sultry edge to it, sending more sparks through your body. Your nipples are so erect and tingly against the hard surface, they almost hurt with need for attention.
Your pathetic mewl resembles a cry that sounds offending to your pride. So much that you manage to piss yourself off. “Stop playing games with me, you prick.”
You feel him falter for a second, and then he taps on your pussy lips in warning, halting any movement from your pelvis. “That’s rich coming from you.” His two middle fingers, the ones you earlier had your lips wrapped around, prod at your weeping entrance before he runs them up and down your slit, spreading your slick down to your clit where he focuses his attention after a couple more teasing strokes. “Been fucking with my head since day one.” He admits openly, the honesty sitting heavy in your guts, making your lungs malfunction as he slowly swirls his fingers around the bundle of nerves. Too delicately. So much that it feels like the wickedest game of edging. So much that your pussy contracts around emptiness.
“You’ve known for a while now, haven’t you?” He whispers against your neck, and you aimlessly try to suppress your cries when the circles on your clit become a little harsher than you can handle, the heat in your belly begging for a release that approaches shockingly fast. “That I’m obsessed with you.”
The feeling is euphoric, almost overwhelming in a way you can’t explain. You could swear it’s the infatuation his voice drips with that clouds your senses more than the intensity of the unexpected orgasm itself. “Oh my god, what the fuck.”
“You’re doing so good.” He murmurs, clearly affected as he releases your hands and brings a safe arm around you, grounding you through every little spasm of your muscles, the strokes on your pulsing nub still precise and relentless, even as your legs tremble with oversensitivity. “That’s it, baby.”
“Please, I can’t cum again.” You feel tears threatening to spill from the overwhelming pleasure. “I feel like–” You’re spluttering nonsense along with weak sobs as your cunt keeps clenching around nothing, dripping slick down your inner thighs. “Ah–!”
You’re pulled upright without warning, clearly losing a battle you’re not even fighting as you let Jaemin drag you with him on the floor, positioning you between his spread legs as he leans against the sofa with a strong arm slung across your torso like a seat belt.
“Legs up.” He instructs promptly, clearly not in the mood to hover, and the second your knees are bent and far apart, you don’t even have time to accommodate your body in the new position before two of his fingers find their way in your sopping hole this time, the stretch intense but somehow delightful.
“Shit, Jaem– wait!” You exclaim in utter shock at the unexpected intrusion, your walls fluttering around his nimble digits.
“Does it hurt?” His fingers stay hooked inside you, tickling a deep spot that only you can normally find this quickly, but he stops moving at your distress.
“No, just – just give me a sec.” You lean back in his embrace, melting against the warmth of his chest, head limply resting on his shoulder while he drapes his arm over your sternum, hand finding its way to your jaw, urging you to turn your head and meet his dark eyes, full of want and hues of brown you hadn't noticed before.
“You’re so pretty.” He mumbles sweetly, lips brushing against yours before delivering a soft peck that makes your stomach flutter along with your stuffed pussy. “You like it when I talk to you?”
You can sense the teasing lilt, but you nod anyway, not having the backbone to talk back when he’s got you spread out all to himself. And now you hope he knows there’s no point talking about power imbalance when just a few words of praise and a slow drag of his fingers against your walls have you suffocating. Your legs are already fighting to stay open when slow strokes gradually turn into short jabs against your g-spot, and gentle pecks turn into lazy open-mouthed kisses that leave you both breathless.
The fact that he's using the same hand he pleasured himself with to get you off, tickles your brain in ways you didn't think possible, making your insides feel funny. And you find yourself wanting to shake your next thought out of your lust-clouded head. I shouldn't have sucked his fingers clean. Are you really that twisted? Wishing a man would fuck his cum in you? Na Jaemin of all men?
“M’so close.” You pant into his mouth when you feel the tight bubble of tension in your tummy threatening to burst for the second time, only not as quick as before.
“Yeah?” He drags his hand to your neck, fingers tightening like a necklace over your pulse points. “Gonna cum for me?”
“Uh-huh.” You absentmindedly let your tongue brush against his bottom lip, and he eagerly sucks it in his mouth while the obscene squelching of his hand ruining your pussy echoes around the quiet room.
“Fuck, how are you so wet?” He moans, adding momentum in the motions of his wrist, fingers now pistoning in and out of you, palm faintly slapping against your folds. Just when you're about to say you need more, he buries his fingers deep and crooks them along the curve of your front wall, rubbing against your sweet spot and pulling an incoherent exclaim of astonishment from you. His thumb starts rapidly flicking up and down, stimulating your needy clit just the right amount, and when you glance down, catching a glimpse of the sinful sight – him pleasuring you like it's a mission – it’s game over for you.
“Shit, shit, shit I'm–” Your mouth parts in a silent squeak, head tilting back in eye-rolling pleasure that feels too good for your sanity to stay intact. You feel the thick arousal trickling down to your ass as Jaemin’s fingers keep pressing upwards through the constricting of your throbbing walls. Your hips uncontrollably stutter with the little aftershocks of pleasure that he forces out of you, and you realise how tightly your hands are clutching on his thighs, nails clawing onto the cotton of his sweats as you hang on by a thread.
“So fucking hot.” He mumbles against your temple, his breath warming your already heated face as he slowly drags his fingers out of your still lightly pulsating opening. He coos when you wince at the emptiness, his hot palm resting over your folds in a delicate and oddly comforting manner. “You good?”
You close your legs around his hand, trapping him there as you try to get your lungs to regain proper function. You manage to hum with a weak nod, already aware of the sweat dripping down the side of your face. “I feel like I need another shower.”
“Nuh-uh,” He keeps his free arm wrapped around your shoulders as he gently rocks you side to side, slowly bringing you back down from the clouds. "Wanna cuddle you.”
You let out a long sigh of contentment, already feeling too exhausted as you descend from cloud nine, and a little too smitten to deny him anything. "I suppose we can cuddle."
"It's so cute that you're still trying to act all mean." He giggles cutely before sucking onto the apple of your cheek, making you whine in disgust at the slobber he leaves on your skin.
"Ew! That's gross, you–"
He kisses you on the wet patch he just left, laughing at the way you try to swat him away. You can't help the giddiness that blossoms in your chest, hating how weak you feel for his odd ways of affection.
"Oh, no! We forgot about Blue Planet!" He exclaims in fake distress, finally ending the wet torture he was putting your cheek through.
A breathless laugh erupts from your chest when you glance at the forgotten TV, Netflix somehow aware of your distraction as the screen reads in big letters: Are you still watching?
The documentary has long since faded into the background. The snacks are half-finished. The blanket is messily draped on the floor.
Somewhere between pho, cookies, and whatever the hell just happened, the day has slipped away from you. And for the first time, the thought of Jaemin leaving feels a little unbearable.
Not just tonight. But eventually.
Because while you've spent the last few months trying not to think too hard about Na Jaemin, time hasn't exactly stopped moving.
You're only half a semester away from his graduation. From whatever big plans he's got for his future and from him becoming someone you'll no longer rely on to make shifts feel a little less monotonous and a little more chromatic.
Half a semester away from watching him walk out of your life just as easily as he barged into it.
Part two coming soon... <3
cookie's note: for the love of GAWD take my laptop away from me i almost went insane writing this 😀🔫 i hope it's what people wanted/hoped for and if not then don't tell me bc i will dead ass cry haha im so serious haha pls don't be mean like oc, i'm not like jaemin!! i will only accept loveeee!! part two is still in the wips but i'm hoping it won't take as long as part one (god forbid). as always pls pls pls share your thoughts with me!! i love interacting with ya'll and reading your reactions! ILY 🤎
👩❤️💋👩 i'd also like to give an honourary mention to my beloved wife @withlovemark who read this before i posted it and shared her honest thoughts with me when i was in desperate need of a helping hand (also guys, you didn't hear it from me but i think she likes jaemin a lil too much if you ask me.... not jel or anything... just saying...)💓
✨ ps. pls spare me some liquid love on kofi if you liked this story help a girlie out i'm so broke and i need to book a flight home 🧚🏼♂️
It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.
Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.
Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…
pairing; kim seokjin x f reader
au/genre; unplanned pregnancy, strangers to lovers, slow burn, romance (dare I say romcom in places), smut, angst, (melo)drama, dual pov
words; 2,350
It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.
Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.
Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…
pairing; kim seokjin x f reader
au/genre; unplanned pregnancy, strangers to lovers, slow burn, romance (dare I say romcom in places), smut, angst, (melo)drama, dual pov
words; 4,073
warnings/includes (!) honestly nothing but happiness
It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.
Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.
Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…
pairing; kim seokjin x f reader
au/genre; unplanned pregnancy, strangers to lovers, slow burn, romance (dare I say romcom in places), smut, angst, (melo)drama, dual pov
words; 3,817
warnings/includes (!) a birthing scene but not very graphic!
It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.
Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.
Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…
pairing; kim seokjin x f reader
au/genre; unplanned pregnancy, strangers to lovers, slow burn, romance (dare I say romcom in places), smut, angst, (melo)drama, dual pov
words; 5,057
warnings/includes (!) IT’S TIME! GLOB IS COMING!!!!
⟶ ao3 link
*inspired by the manhwa ‘Positively Yours.’
note; The Astronaut is 1000% playing while they have their little slow dance during the party 🤧 Also, for visuals: here is the inspo for the photoshoot outfit and here’s inspo for the tux!
It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.
Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.
Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…
pairing; kim seokjin x f reader
au/genre; unplanned pregnancy, strangers to lovers, slow burn, romance (dare I say romcom in places), smut, angst, (melo)drama, dual pov
words; 5,404
warnings/includes (!) mild angst, Oc is feeling very shaken up and emotional (rightly so), mentions of parental death, hospital phobia, sweet confessions 😘
It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.
Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.
Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…
pairing; kim seokjin x f reader
au/genre; unplanned pregnancy, strangers to lovers, slow burn, romance (dare I say romcom in places), smut, angst, (melo)drama, dual pov
words; 5,821
warnings/includes (!) characters getting their hea, mild sexual content, crocs, and now for the serious: this chapter features a MINOR car accident. It does end on a little bit of a cliff hanger, but I want to reassure everyone that everything is fine, and Oc and the baby are okay! (I feel evil for this one…) I’m reiterating: EVERYTHING IS FINE. OC AND THE BABY ARE OKAY!
It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.
Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.
Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…
pairing; kim seokjin x f reader
au/genre; unplanned pregnancy, strangers to lovers, slow burn, romance (dare I say romcom in places), smut, angst, (melo)drama, dual pov
words; 5,786
warnings/includes (!) a name is chosen for Globby! plenty of cute and sweet moments, the fluff cannot be contained!! there’s a dinner party filled with (comical) tension and jabs (guess who), Jungkook has a…girlfriend?! Namjoon’s mystery woman is revealed 😘
syn — you’re running late, but jeno doesn’t seem to care. apparently, he’s got all the time in the world to make you stay.
you were already ten minutes late to class.
your tote bag’s stuffed lazily, headphones tangled in your hand, and there’s a quiz you absolutely can’t miss. but none of that matters right now, because jeno’s walking slowly beside you on purpose, hand brushing yours every few steps.
“you’re gonna be fine,” he murmurs, tilting his head down to look at you.
“i’m already late,” you say, quickening your pace.
he tugs gently at your shoulder strap, just enough to slow you down again. “you could be later.”
you glance at him. “i could fail.”
“you could skip.” he stops walking completely, shrugging. you try to keep moving but his hand is warm on your wrist now, easing you toward the shadowed hallway off to the side of the main one. you could protest, but god, you’re not made of stone.
his back hits the wall first, but then he pulls you around the corner and switches positions so it’s your back against the cold block and his hands resting on your hips. he’s close, not too close, but just close enough to make your stomach drop.
“jeno,” you whisper.
“hm?”
“i really need to go.”
his other fingers graze your hip, just barely, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt like normal. like it he wasn't on the brink of driving you crazy.
“you sure?” his voice drops a little. he leans in, his lips near your jaw. “you don’t wanna stay with me?”
you do. god, you really do.
“i studied so hard for this quiz,” you say, almost breathless because of how warm his mouth is, how his thumb’s stroking lazy circles on your waist.
“cute,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear now. “just let me distract you.”
you press your hand to his chest. not to push him away. but really just to feel him. his heartbeat is steady, calm, like he’s got all the time in the world to keep you pressed between him and this wall.
“if i miss it, i’ll have to beg the professor to let me retake it,” you say, eyes flicking up to meet his.
he smirks. you could already sense the remark coming your way. “or you could practice begging with me.”
you bite back a smile. “you’re so annoying.”
“you love me anyway.”
his forehead touches yours, noses brushing, his breath warm as his hand curls more securely around your waist. you lean in just enough to test it, like you might kiss him if you didn’t know better.
he almost kisses you first.
almost.
but then he pulls back with a quiet groan, hands sliding off you, running his fingers through his hair, like he needs to cool himself off.
“go,” he mutters reluctantly, stepping back. “before i change my mind.”
you stare at him for a beat. “you sure?”
he exhales through his nose. “absolutely not.”
you grin, heart pounding, and start walking backwards toward class. he watches you go, hands stuffed in his pockets like he didn’t just try to pin you to the wall on a thursday morning.
you’re barely halfway down the hall when he calls after you.
“you’re mine after,” he says, loud enough to make your stomach twist.
