Your boyfriend can’t help but think your new lip gloss might look better smudged along his cock.
paring connor bedard x fem!reader warnings oral (m), established relationship wc 1.7k note first connor smut ayy, i have a few reqs for him but don’t be shy to send more <3
“New lip gloss?” Connor trailed his finger along your bottom lip, his breath hitching as he watched the way the colour transferred onto his thumb. The pretty colour was enough for his mind to conjure images of it smeared across different objects.
Wine glasses, the deep red liquid enhancing the colour you’d leave with each small sip. Your thumb as you inevitably got it on that small area of skin where your lip meets your chin, your clumsy fingers rubbing it off on him. He could already see the way it would bleed across his cock, the colour that he already memorized from one look painting his lower body so deliciously.
You've been teasing him all day, and now you pull this? From one look into your darkened eyes, he knew that you knew exactly what game you were playing at, and that you were planning to win. And if it ended in the way he wanted it to, he’d let you win over and over again.
You playfully nipped at his finger, your teeth barely grazing him before pulling back. His jaw tightened when your captivating lips pulled up into a catty smirk when you realized that he’d reacted the exact way you intended for him to.
His eyes were already dropping before you barely even started, his eyelashes pressing against the plush of his cheeks as he pulled his lip between his teeth.
“Why? Do you like it?” You made a show as you slowly dropped to your knees, your hands kneading his upper thighs as you went down, your nails tracing along the folds of the denim, finger tips pressing deep into the strong muscles visible even through his pants.
Connor was well aware that you could hear his sharp inhale, see the way his stomach tightened through his tight shirt as he stared down into your seductive eyes. But God, did he love it. He was under a spell; his mind enraptured by your siren sounds, your purring voice, and purposeful touches near his tented pants,
“Mhm, I love it” Connor barely mumbled out a reply as his eyes now followed the finger that came up towards your mouth, the way your thumb purposefully smudged the smallest bit across your chin as you attempted to rub away the mark he’d made moments before.
“It makes me look so pretty, doesn’t it, Connie?” Connor could imagine at least fifty ways to ruin the pretty look on your face and another couple dozen to ruin your even prettier lips, but he’d never lie to you.
A deep hum rumbled from his chest in agreement, “The prettiest, baby.” His voice was grovelled enough to tint your cheeks and light a fire in your lower stomach.
Connor reached down to take a gentle hold of your cheeks, your lips puckering open due to the force of his hold. He leaned down towards you – pausing for a second to look into your eyes. He could faintly see his reflection in your eyes, the way he already looked so ruined.
“My pretty baby.” he could see the way his mouth pulled into a devious smile when you preened at the praise, your body scotching closer to his body, and your hands squeezing harder. It was easily a sight that would later resurface whilst fisting his cock in your absence, which you’d only find out when you woke up the next morning to an abundance of audio messages, and graphic videos.
Connor flickered his eyes back down to your lips, once, then again, before he leaned down to brush his lips against the tip of your nose, a small smack sounding in the room as he placed another two in the same spot. It was as obvious to you as it was to him- he didn’t want to ruin you just yet.
But the need only lasted so long, his resolve dissipating when he saw the way the colour transferred to his jeans when you pressed a teasing kiss right where he was tented, an obvious kiss mark resting directly above his clothed cock. “I think it would look much better smudged along my cock, hm?” Your eyes fluttered closed at his deepened voice, his need for you leaking through his usual nonchalant demeanour during foreplay.
“You’d make such a mess on yourself…” He paused for dramatic effect, to watch you squirm under his loaded gaze, “on me.” He continued, never letting you get a word in before he spoke again – one hand fisting your hair, the other going down to undo his pants button, “just the way you like it”
Connor chucked at your whine, your head nodding at his degrading words as your big crocodile tears filled your eyes. “Please, please, please.” Whines fell from your lips when his hold on your hair tightened, the burn of your scalp bringing hot tears to your eyes.
“You’re going to cry now? Making a mess across my cock isn’t enough for you, is it?” he was so mean in the way he mocked you, his constant need to remind you of your messiness never failed to be brought up. “You just have to ruin everything you can. My pretty baby can’t help herself, can she?”
“M’not messy” Connor let out a small coo at your obvious lie, his head nodding to your pleas as he pretended to believe you.
His hand briefly let go of your hair to move down to wipe at your fallen tears, the damp lines on your cheeks getting washed away with the pad of his thumb, faint coloured streaks being left in place due to it being the same finger he’d used earlier to wipe your gloss. “No you’re not, I'm sorry.”
You nodded at his comforting words, your lips pouting into a deep mouth as you leaned your cheek against his thigh, the denim comforting you. You looked up at him through your wet lashes, your mouth only inches away from the stain you left earlier.
“S’okay, I’ll prove it to you.” You pushed his hand away from your face and the other hand unbuttoned his pants, replacing the latter with both of yours.
Connor raised his hips enough for you to tug his waistband down, his underwear coming off with his pants. Your mouth watered at the sight of him so close to you, his cock twitching at the feeling of your eyes staring at him. He was so big, so thick. You've seen him bare enough times to memorize each vein, each sensitive spot that makes him come undone faster than others.
“Open your mouth, baby.” You didn’t try to fight back knowing that Connor wouldn’t take your brattiness and that as a result it’d prolong the amount of time before you take him in your mouth, before you could fall apart to the taste of him, and the weight of his cock against your tongue,
Connor’s hand returned to its position on your face, using his hold to pull you closer towards him, the other gripping the base of his cock to help him guide it. Your hands are travelling down his legs, your fingers gripping around whatever muscle bulges at your touch, the bare skin vastly different from the denim.
Connor tapped his tip against your lower lip before tracing it along the entire bottom, his thighs flexing under your hold when it met his expectations. He was right, the colour looked much better rubbed off against him,
He groaned at the way your lip gloss coated him, small amounts gathering along the edges of his cock, and the corners of your mouth. Connor pulled back the tiniest bit before using his hand to push the excess lip gloss down his entire cock, his hand using it as lubricant as he fisted himself.
You watched as he pumped himself a few times, his hand rotating against the tip the way you introduced him to, before he pushed himself through your lips. Your mouth opened wider, tongue flattened impossibly flatter as his head fell back at the feeling of your lips finally wrapping around him.
A low groan spilled from his lips as he used his hold on your face to move your jaw, your tongue tracing the most prominent parts of his dick. “Mm, so perfect.”
He opened his eyes again just to confirm that he’d been right about his earlier prediction, and God was he correct. His mouth dropped open at the sight of your sparkly gloss spread even more across the entirety of his cock, and across your face.
His eyebrows pulled in on their own accord as small vibrations came from your filled mouth, small chokes and gags barely audible due to the obstruction he was causing. You really were his messy baby, he realized between hot white flashes of pleasure.
“I was right, my baby is s-so messy – fuck” he cursed to himself as he pushed your head down further, his hips twitching as he reached a deeper part of your throat.
“I-I knew you’d make such a pretty mess on me.” he stuttered through his heavy pants, the sight of you being something he’d never forget. You are a sight to be seen, and entirely his.
You tried to argue his words with your mouth full, your glazed eyes narrowing up at him as you tried your best to get your unsaid words across.
Connor released your face to, once again, grab your hair instead, his hand pulling at your scalp to stop your movements. “Don’t give me that fucking attitude.” Connor hissed at you while giving you the best glare he could muster through his unadulterated pleasure.
Connor’s hard resolve never faltered even after your earlier tears returned. If anything it only motivated him more. He was right when he said that your lip gloss would look better smeared across him, but the added sight of your tears in the mix? Truly, nothing could compare.
Without noticing that his hold had loosened, you pulled him out of your mouth with a quiet gasp of air, “Please, let me ride you? please.”
Well, nothing but the sight of your tight cunt squeezing him as you struggled to take him without prep, your thighs shaking as you attempted to bounce on him. He could still see traces of your gloss everywhere you touched, and smell the fruity scent that came with it.
He was sure he’d smell it for the rest of his life, and taste it for just as long. Because now that you've introduced it to him, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever let you go without it.
SUMMARY: Connor loves you. You know he does. But somewhere between road trips, late practices, interviews, recovery days, and the endless demands of hockey, loving you becomes something he assumes you’ll always understand instead of something he actively shows. On your birthday, when he promises he’ll be there and doesn’t show, you finally realize the worst part isn’t that he forgot you. It’s that you expected him to.
WC: 6.6K
WARNINGS: Angst, emotional neglect, missed birthday, breakup, groveling, hurt/comfort, no cheating, eventual reconciliation, Connor realizing he messed up badly.
For years, you had been proud of being easy to love.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
You were understanding. Patient. Flexible. The kind of girlfriend who never made a scene when plans changed last minute, who smiled through phone calls that started with I’m so sorry, baby, who learned the difference between a optional skate and mandatory practice before most people even learned the names of Connor’s teammates.
You knew what his life demanded from him.
You knew hockey wasn’t just a job for Connor Bedard. It was the thing he had chased since he was old enough to hold a stick. It was early mornings, aching muscles, ice baths, media scrums, flights at ungodly hours, trainers, coaches, expectations, pressure. It was the sound of an entire city placing its hope on his back before he was even old enough to rent a car.
And you loved him for it.
You loved his dedication. You loved the boyish focus that came over his face when he watched game tape on the couch, one arm wrapped around you like holding you was muscle memory. You loved the way he lit up after a win and the quiet, hollow way he folded into himself after a bad game. You loved that hockey was part of him.
You just hadn’t realized, until much too late, that you had started becoming the part he could afford to forget.
At first, it was little things, dinner reservations canceled because practice ran long, movie nights delayed because he wanted to get extra shots in, your calls going unanswered until close to midnight because his phone was buried somewhere in his stall, his mind still stuck on a bad shift from the second period.
He always apologized.
That was the thing.
Connor was never cruel. Never dismissive on purpose. Never the kind of boyfriend who snapped at you for wanting his attention or made you feel stupid for missing him. When he remembered, he loved you with this almost startling softness. He brought you coffee without asking. He memorized your comfort shows. He kept your favorite blanket on his couch even though it didn’t match anything in his apartment. He kissed the top of your head when he passed behind you in the kitchen, like his body naturally looked for yours.
So you forgave him, again and again and again
“It’s okay,” you would say, even when it wasn’t “I understand,” you would promise, even when the disappointment sat heavy in your chest “After the season, things will be calmer,” you told yourself.
Then the season ended, and training started, then summer came, but there were sponsorship shoots and charity events and skills work and development camps.
Then the new season began, and everything repeated, you became good at making yourself smaller inside his life, you stopped asking for Saturday mornings because those were for recovery, you stopped suggesting dinners on game days because he liked to keep a routine.
You stopped calling when he was on the road unless he called first, you stopped telling him when you were upset because he always looked so tired, and there was something guilt-inducing about adding your hurt to the weight already on his shoulders.
The worst part was that Connor never noticed the difference, he still thought you were happy because you were still kind, he still thought you were fine because you were still there.
Your birthday fell on a Friday that year.
Connor had known about it for weeks. Months, technically, since your birthday had been marked in his phone calendar since the first year you dated. He had asked you what you wanted to do in that sweet, distracted way of his, chin resting on your stomach while you played with his hair on the couch “Nothing big,” you had said. “Just dinner. Maybe cake with everyone after.”
He had looked up immediately. “Everyone?”
You smiled. “My friends. My parents. A couple of your teammates if they’re free. Nothing crazy.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, you raised an eyebrow. “You sure?” His face softened like the question hurt him. “Of course I’m sure. It’s your birthday.”
And because you were still trying, because some tired, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe that all you had to do was wait for the right moment and Connor would come back to you fully, you believed him.
You bought a new dress.
Not an expensive one. Not flashy. Just something soft and pretty that made you feel like yourself when you tried it on in the mirror. You made a reservation at a restaurant you loved, the kind Connor always said he wanted to take you to but never found time for. Your friends offered to help decorate your apartment afterward for cake and drinks, and your mother called twice to ask whether Connor needed her to save him a parking spot.
“He’ll be there,” you said, you said it so easily the first time, the second time, when your best friend Maya glanced at Connor’s empty chair fifteen minutes after the reservation started, you said it with a laugh.
“Practice probably ran a little late.”
At thirty minutes, you checked your phone under the table, No message, at forty-five, your dad leaned toward you and asked quietly, “Everything okay, honey?”
You smiled so fast your cheeks hurt “Yeah. He’ll be here.” at an hour, the waiter asked if you wanted to wait a little longer before ordering dessert.
Your friends looked at you, your mother looked down at her lap, Maya looked angry enough to break something, you looked at Connor’s empty chair and felt something inside you go terribly still.
Because you weren’t surprised.
That was the moment, not the missed dinner, not the unanswered texts, not the fact that your birthday candles were waiting at your apartment and your boyfriend was nowhere to be found.
It was the quiet, devastating realization that some part of you had expected this.
Some part of you had known, from the second you put on the dress, from the moment you fixed your hair in the mirror, from the second you told everyone he would come, that there was always a chance Connor would forget to choose you.
And you hated how unsurprised you were, you hated that your heart didn’t even break loudly anymore, it just sank, like it was tired.
When dinner ended, everyone tried too hard to be cheerful, your friends sang loudly. Your dad hugged you longer than usual. Your mom kissed your forehead and whispered, “You deserve to feel special today.”
You almost cried then.
But you didn’t.
You waited until everyone left your apartment after cake. Waited until Maya lingered by the door, holding her coat in her arms, staring at you like she knew you were one soft word away from falling apart “Come stay with me tonight,” she said.
You shook your head. “I need to talk to him.” Maya’s mouth tightened. “He doesn’t deserve a conversation tonight.”
“Maybe not,” you whispered. “But I deserve one.”
She hugged you hard before she left, the apartment was quiet afterward, too quiet.
There were balloons tied to the backs of chairs. Half a cake sitting on the counter. A bottle of champagne unopened because you hadn’t been able to pretend that much. Gifts stacked neatly near the couch. Your shoes abandoned by the door after your feet started aching.
You sat on the sofa in your birthday dress and stared at the clock. 23:47. your birthday was almost over.
Connor arrived at 00:18.
You heard his key in the lock first, then the door opened slowly, carefully, like he already knew.
He stepped inside with his hair still damp from a shower, a black hoodie thrown over his shoulders, and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Not gas station flowers. Not something thoughtless. They were your favorites. The exact ones. The kind you had once pointed out at a market two years ago, surprised he had remembered.
His face crumpled when he saw you sitting there “Baby.”
You didn’t move, Connor shut the door behind him, the flowers trembling slightly in his hand “I’m so sorry,” he said immediately. “I’m so, so sorry. Practice ran late, and then media wanted extra stuff, and my phone died, and I swear I thought I could still make it. I was going to call you from someone else’s phone, but then—”
“Don’t.”
The word came out soft, that made it worse, Connor stopped like you had shouted, you looked at him then. Really looked at him.
He looked exhausted. Guilty. Panicked. Younger than he usually did under the harsh kitchen light. His eyes flicked around the apartment, taking in the decorations, the cake, the gifts, the proof of everything he had missed “I messed up,” he said. “I know I did. I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow. Anything you want. We can go away on the next break. I’ll take you wherever you want. I’ll—”
“This isn’t about my birthday.”
His brows pulled together. “What?”
You swallowed, your throat hurt “This isn’t about tonight. Not really.”
Connor took one step closer. “Then what is it about?”
You let out a shaky breath and finally said the thing you had been avoiding for months “I don’t feel chosen by you anymore.”
The flowers lowered slightly in his hand, the apartment felt colder “I choose you,” he said quickly. “Of course I choose you. I love you.”
“I know you love me.” Connor looked thrown by that, as if he had expected the fight to be about whether he loved you or not, you wished it were that simple.
“You love me,” you continued, voice trembling. “But you don’t show up for me. And I have spent so long telling myself that those are the same thing because I didn’t want to be unfair to you.”
His face went pale “I know hockey matters,” you said. “I know your career matters. I’ve never asked you to choose between me and the thing you’ve worked your whole life for. I would never do that to you.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“But somewhere along the way, you started acting like because I understood, I didn’t need anything. Like because I’m patient, I don’t get hurt. Like because I’m always here, you don’t have to make sure I still feel loved.”
Connor’s eyes filled, he shook his head once, almost violently. “No. No, that’s not what I think.”
“But it’s how you act.” That silenced him, you looked down at your hands because looking at him made it harder.
“I kept waiting for it to get better. After the season. After the road trip. After the next game. After the next stressful week. But there’s always something next, Con. There’s always going to be hockey. There’s always going to be pressure. There’s always going to be someone who needs you.”
You forced yourself to look at him “And I can’t keep being the person who gets whatever is left.”
His lips parted, but nothing came out, the flowers slipped lower until they hung uselessly at his side “I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
You nodded, tears finally spilling over “That’s the problem.”
Connor flinched, you stood slowly. Your legs felt unsteady, but your voice stayed calm, and somehow that made his panic worse “I think we need to end this.”
“No.”
It came out instantly, he dropped the flowers on the table and crossed the room so quickly you stepped back on instinct. He noticed and stopped, hands lifting slightly like he wanted to reach for you but knew he had lost the right “No,” he said again, quieter. “Please don’t say that.”
“I’m tired, Connor.”
“I can fix it.”
“You always say that.”
“I mean it this time.”
Your laugh was tiny and broken. “I think you meant it every time.”
That hurt him, you saw it land, Connor dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard, eyes shining. “Tell me what to do.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Tell me and I’ll do it.”
“I have been telling you,” you whispered. “For months. In every way I knew how without begging you to love me properly.”
His expression collapsed.
“I don’t want to beg,” you said. “I don’t want to compete with your career. I don’t want to spend every important day wondering if you’ll remember that I matter too.”
“You do matter.”
“But I don’t feel like I do.”
Connor’s tears finally spilled over, he wiped at them quickly, almost angrily, like he didn’t have the right to cry when he was the reason you were breaking.
You walked toward the bedroom, he followed one step behind, voice cracking “What are you doing?”
“Packing a bag.”
“No, baby, please. Please don’t leave tonight. We can talk. We’ll talk all night. I’ll call the guys, I’ll call Coach, I’ll—”
You turned around “Connor.”
He froze, the way you said his name destroyed him. Not Con. Not baby. Not the soft, familiar version of him that lived only in your mouth.
Connor.
“I’m going to Maya’s,” you said. “I need space.” He looked like he wanted to fall to his knees, maybe he almost did.
“Can I call you?” You wiped your cheeks. “Not tonight.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.”
His jaw trembled, you packed in silence while he stood in the doorway, helpless and shattered, watching you fold pieces of your life into a bag.
When you walked past him, he whispered, “I’m sorry I made you feel alone.”
You stopped for half a second, then you kept walking Connor didn’t try to stop you, but when the door closed behind you, you heard the broken sound he made through the wood.
And that almost made you turn back, almost.
But not enough.
The first night without you, Connor didn’t sleep, he sat on the floor of the apartment surrounded by birthday decorations and stared at the bouquet he had been too late to give you.
He kept replaying your words.
I don’t feel chosen by you anymore.
At first, his mind tried to defend him, practice had run late, his phone really had died, media had been unavoidable, he hadn’t meant to miss dinner.
He loved you.
He loved you so much that he had imagined every version of his future with you in it. He had saved money for a house one day and pictured where your shoes would go by the door. He had thought about rings more than once, quietly, nervously, scrolling through photos and then closing the browser because he was terrified he’d pick the wrong one. He had imagined kids with your eyes. He had imagined summers away from the city, mornings where hockey wasn’t screaming for his attention, a future where everything was calmer and he could finally give you all the time you deserved.
But then your voice cut through every excuse.
Love isn’t the same as showing up.
By three in the morning, Connor understood the ugliest part, he had been loving you in the future, someday, he would buy you the house.
Someday, he would propose, someday, when the schedule got easier, he would take you on the trips he had promised, someday, when the pressure settled, he would be more present.
Someday.
Someday.
Someday.
And while he was busy building a future in his head, he had left you alone in the present, the next morning, he texted you once.
Not a paragraph, not a desperate flood.
Just:
I know you asked for space. I’m going to respect that. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m here when you’re ready.
Then he put his phone down and cried in the shower where no one could hear him, at practice, everyone knew.
Connor wasn’t the kind of person who could hide devastation well. He was quiet on normal days, but this was different. His face was hollow. His movements were sharp and mechanical. He missed a pass he could have made blindfolded and slammed his stick against the boards hard enough that Nick Foligno skated over and stared at him “What’s going on?”
Connor shook his head. “Nothing.” Nick’s expression didn’t change, Connor lasted three seconds.
“She left.”
Nick didn’t ask who, he already knew.
After practice, Connor sat in his stall with his gear half-off and told him everything, not dramatically. Not with excuses. Just the truth, stripped raw “I missed her birthday,” Connor said, voice low. “But it wasn’t just that. I’ve been missing everything.”
Nick leaned forward, elbows on his knees “You love her?”
Connor looked up, offended by the simplicity of the question “More than anything.”
“Then stop thinking love is something she’s supposed to just know.”
Connor looked down, Nick’s voice gentled. “You’re young, Bedsy. And you’ve had hockey demanding everything from you since you were a kid. But relationships don’t survive on intention. You don’t get credit for the version of yourself you planned to be later.”
Connor shut his eyes “She said she got whatever was left.”
Nick sighed “Then don’t try to win her back with big gestures. That’s not what she asked for.”
Connor swallowed hard. “What do I do?”
“You become someone who doesn’t make her ask twice.”
So Connor tried, at first, you didn’t answer him, he didn’t blame you, for one full week, he sent one message a day. Not begging. Not pressuring. Not asking when you were coming home.
Just small, accountable things.
I spoke to the team about adjusting my post-practice media when possible. I should’ve done that before.
I started using the shared calendar again. Not because it fixes anything, but because forgetting things that matter to you can’t happen anymore.
I passed the bakery you like today. I didn’t stop because I know showing up uninvited isn’t respecting your space. But I thought of you.
I’m sorry for all the nights I made you feel like you were waiting for me to remember you.
You read them, you didn’t respond, Maya hated him on principle for a while “He sounds miserable,” she said one night, sitting cross-legged beside you on her couch while you stared at your phone.
“He is.”
“Good.” You gave her a look, she shrugged. “What? I’m on your side.”
“I know.”
“But?”
“But I miss him.” Maya softened, of course you did.
Missing Connor was the worst part. The apartment smelled like him when you went back to collect more clothes. Your favorite mug was still in his cabinet. The blanket on his couch still held the shape of every night you had curled into him after games. His hoodie sat in your overnight bag, packed by accident, and you cried into it so hard one night that Maya quietly took it and washed it because she couldn’t stand seeing you break over cotton.
You missed him but missing him didn’t erase the ache of being forgotten.
Two weeks after you left, Connor called your dad, your father told you because he had never lied to you, not even when you were little and asked if the family dog was going to die “He asked if he could come by,” your dad said carefully.
You stiffened. “What?”
“Not to see you. To talk to me and your mom.”
Your stomach twisted “What did he want?”
Your dad paused “To apologize.”
You almost laughed because it hurt too much “He apologized to you?”
“And your mother.”
“For what?”
“For making us watch you make excuses for him.” you went quiet, your dad’s voice softened “He cried, honey.”
You closed your eyes.
“I’m not telling you that to make you feel bad,” he said. “I’m telling you because I think he finally understands that love doesn’t just hurt the two people in it when one of them stops showing up.”
Your mother told you later that Connor had stood in their living room with shaking hands and red eyes, looking nothing like the confident young man the world praised every night “He didn’t ask us to convince you,” she said. “He didn’t ask what he should say to get you back. He just said he was sorry for making your birthday a night you had to survive.”
That was the first crack in your resolve, not because it fixed anything, but because Connor had gone to the people who loved you and taken responsibility without making himself the victim.
The second crack came three days later, you had a terrible day at work.
The kind of day where nothing catastrophic happened but every small thing scraped against your already bruised heart. By the time you reached Maya’s apartment, you were exhausted and cold and trying very hard not to cry in the elevator.
There was a paper bag waiting outside the door, your favorite soup with your favorite bread next to a small container of the chocolate mousse from the restaurant Connor had missed.
No note asking you to call him, no dramatic apology, just one sticky note.
You forget to eat when you’re sad. No pressure. Just dinner.
You stood in the hallway and cried, Maya opened the door, saw the bag, and sighed “I still hate him,” she muttered.
But she took the soup inside and warmed it up for you, Connor kept showing up in careful ways, not loud ones.
Not ones designed to be seen.
When your car needed an oil change, he didn’t offer to take it in like he normally would have. Instead, he texted you the number of the place you trusted and said he had already checked they had an appointment open Saturday, but he wouldn’t book it unless you wanted him to.
When your younger cousin had a school play, Connor sent a message the morning of.
Good luck to Lily tonight. I know she was nervous about her solo.
You stared at that one for a long time, you had told him about Lily’s play weeks before your birthday back when you thought he wasn’t listening.
He had been listening, he just hadn’t acted like it mattered, that realization hurt in a different way because it meant the love had been there.
It meant the problem had never been absence of feeling, it had been absence of effort, a month after the breakup, you finally agreed to meet him.
Not at his apartment.
Not at yours.
A coffee shop in the middle of the city, during the afternoon, when there was no risk of the conversation getting blurred by nostalgia and soft lighting.
Connor was already there when you arrived, he stood too quickly, nearly knocking his knee against the table “Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
He looked thinner. Tired. Still beautiful in the unfair way that made your chest hurt. His hair was hidden under a beanie, his hoodie plain, his eyes fixed on you like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.
There was a cup waiting across from him, your order, he noticed you looking “I asked before ordering,” he said quickly. “They said they could remake it if you came later and it got cold. I didn’t want to assume.”
That almost undid you, you sat down, for a moment, neither of you spoke, then Connor said, “Thank you for coming.”
You nodded.
He took a breath. His hands were wrapped around his cup, knuckles pale “I wrote a whole speech,” he admitted. “Then I realized it sounded like I was trying to talk my way out of something I acted my way into.”
Your throat tightened “So I’m not going to do that,” he said. “I’m just going to tell you the truth.”
You looked at him, Connor’s eyes were wet, but steady “I thought loving you meant building something for us later. I kept telling myself the hard parts were temporary. That if I worked hard enough now, I could give you everything someday. A house. Stability. A life where you never had to worry. And I convinced myself that made the missed things okay because I was doing it for our future.”
He swallowed “But you were alone in the present. And I didn’t see it because seeing it would’ve meant admitting I was failing you.”
Your eyes burned.
“I don’t want to be the guy who only knows how to love you when it’s convenient,” he continued. “And I don’t want to be the guy who makes you grateful for crumbs because he’s busy.”
You looked down at your coffee, Connor’s voice cracked “I hate that I became that guy anyway.” A tear slipped down your cheek, he didn’t reach for you, that mattered.
“I’m not asking you to come back today,” he said. “I want you to. God, I want you to. But I know I broke something, and I know me being sorry doesn’t put it back the way it was.”
You wiped your cheek.
“What are you asking for?”
“A chance to earn your trust again.” He inhaled shakily. “Slowly. However you want. And if the answer is no, I’ll respect it. I’ll hate it, but I’ll respect it.”
You studied him for a long moment “I don’t know how to trust you anymore,” you whispered.
Connor nodded, tears falling freely now “I know.”
“I don’t want to be someone you schedule because you’re scared of losing me.”
“You’re not.”
“But how do I know that?”
His face twisted with pain “You don’t,” he admitted. “Not yet.” that honesty hurt more than a promise would have, he looked down at the table “I started talking to someone,” he said quietly.
Your brows pulled together. “Like a therapist?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “A sports psychologist, but also just… about life. About how I treat everything like if I work harder, I can fix it. But I can’t outwork hurting you. I have to actually change.”
You stared at him.
“I should’ve done it before,” he said. “I know that.”
You both sat there in the quiet noise of the coffee shop, surrounded by people living ordinary lives while yours felt split open on the table between you.
Finally, you said, “I can’t come home yet.”
Connor nodded immediately “Okay.”
“And I’m not promising we’ll get back together.”
His breath hitched, but he nodded again “Okay.”
“But…” You looked at him, heart pounding. “We can talk. Sometimes" for the first time in weeks, something like hope moved across his face, not joy, he knew better than to look joyful over the bare minimum, just hope.
“I can do sometimes,” he whispered, so that was where you began, soometimes.
Sometimes Connor called after practice, and when you didn’t answer, he didn’t spam your phone. He left one voicemail telling you about his day, asking about yours, and reminding you that you didn’t have to call back unless you wanted to.
Sometimes you met for coffee, sometimes you walked together through cold Chicago streets with space between your hands where there used to be instinct.
Sometimes it felt easy, and that scared you, sometimes it felt impossible, and that scared him.
Connor learned.
He learned to tell you when his schedule changed before you had to ask, he learned not to make promises until he had checked whether he could keep them, he learned that “I’ll try” meant nothing if it wasn’t followed by action.
He learned that flowers were nice, but remembering your presentation at work mattered more.
He learned that you didn’t need grand vacations as much as you needed him to sit across from you at dinner and not check his phone every five minutes, he learned that choosing you was not one dramatic decision.
It was hundreds of small ones, it was calling you before he watched game tape, not after he was too exhausted to speak, it was telling his trainer he had somewhere to be and leaving when practice actually ended.
It was showing up at your apartment with groceries and asking if he could cook for you, then leaving after dinner because you weren’t ready for him to stay, it was apologizing without making you comfort him.
It was accepting that some days, you were still angry, one night, two months after your birthday, you finally snapped.
He had come over to help you put together a bookshelf. It should have been simple. Domestic. Safe.
Instead, halfway through sorting screws, you looked at him sitting on your floor in sweatpants, tongue caught between his teeth as he frowned at the instructions, and you were suddenly furious.
“Why now?”
Connor looked up. “What?”
“Why now?” you repeated, voice shaking. “Why did it take me leaving for you to become this version of yourself?”
He set the screwdriver down slowly, you stood, pacing because if you stayed still, you would cry “I asked for you before. I needed you before. I was lonely before. And now you’re here, and you’re trying, and that’s good, but it also makes me so angry because you could have done this the whole time.”
Connor’s face crumpled “I know.”
“You could have loved me like this when I still felt safe with you.”
His eyes shone “I know.”
“And now I’m the one who has to figure out if I can trust you again. I’m the one who has to heal from what you didn’t notice.”
He nodded, wiping at his cheek with the heel of his hand “You’re right.”
“I hate that you’re agreeing with me.”
A broken laugh escaped him, wet and miserable. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Fight back,” you said, crying now. “Make an excuse. Tell me I’m being unfair. Give me a reason to stay mad.”
Connor stood, but kept distance “I can’t,” he whispered. “Because you’re not being unfair.”
Your face crumpled.
He looked destroyed by it “I wish I had a better answer,” he said. “I wish I could tell you I didn’t understand or that I was too young or too busy or too under pressure, but none of that changes what it felt like for you. I did have reasons. But I used them like excuses. And you paid for that.”
You covered your mouth.
Connor’s voice broke “I hate that I hurt you into needing proof that I love you.”
That was the first time you let him hold you again, you didn’t plan to, one second you were crying in the middle of your apartment, and the next Connor was there, arms around you, holding you like he was afraid to hold too tightly but more afraid to let go.
You sobbed into his hoodie, he cried into your hair “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m here.”
And for once, he was.
The first game you attended after the breakup was in January, you didn’t sit with the WAGs.
You bought your own ticket because you weren’t ready for the questions, the looks, the assumptions. Connor didn’t know you were coming. You told yourself it was better that way. Less pressure. Less expectation.
Chicago won in overtime and Connor scored the winner.
The arena exploded, you stood with everyone else, heart lodged in your throat, watching him get swallowed by his teammates against the glass.
Then his eyes found you, you didn’t know how, there were thousands of people there, all screaming, all moving, all wearing the same colors.
But Connor found you, for one suspended second, the entire arena seemed to blur, his face changed, not into surprise exactly.
Into something softer, something like gratitude, he didn’t make a scene. Didn’t point. Didn’t turn it into a moment for the cameras, he just pressed his glove against his chest once, small, private, yours.
You left before he could ask you to wait, by the time you got home, there was one message on your phone.
Thank you for coming. I know you didn’t come for me to know, but I’m really glad I saw you. Get home safe.
You stared at it for a long time, then you typed back.
Good goal.
His reply came almost instantly.
Thanks. I was trying to impress this girl.
You laughed, actually laughed, then cried because laughing with him still felt like coming home.
The night things truly changed wasn’t dramatic, no storm, no hospital scare, no grand confession in the rain.
It was a Tuesday, Connor had a rare evening off. Weeks earlier, he had asked if he could take you to dinner. Not somewhere expensive. Not somewhere that screamed apology. Just the little Italian place near your apartment where you used to go before everyone knew his name.
You agreed.
Part of you expected something to go wrong, a late meeting, a surprise interview, a call from the team.
Some reminder that hoping was dangerous, but at six exactly, there was a knock at your door, Connor stood on the other side in a dark coat, cheeks pink from the cold, hands empty, no flowers, no gifts.
Just him “I thought about bringing something,” he admitted when you opened the door. “Then I thought maybe being on time was the thing.”
Your lips parted, then you smiled, it was small but real “Good choice.”
Dinner was quiet at first, then less quiet, then almost normal He told you about a prank in the locker room. You told him about Maya’s disastrous date. He listened with his whole face, laughing in the right places, asking questions that proved he was paying attention.
Halfway through dessert, his phone buzzed.
You saw it, so did he.
His eyes flicked down,for one awful second, your body remembered, the waiting, the empty chair, the excuses.
Connor reached for the phone, your stomach dropped, then he silenced it without looking and turned it face down on the table “My agent,” he said. “I told him I’m unavailable tonight unless something’s on fire.”
You swallowed “You can answer if you need to.”
“I don’t need to.”
“But what if it’s important?”
Connor looked at you “You’re important.”
The words were simple, no drama, no speech, just the truth, your eyes filled with tears, Connor’s expression softened, but he didn’t reach across the table. He waited.
You were the one who slid your hand toward his, he stared at it like it was something sacred, then he took it, his thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and careful “I’m scared,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“I’m scared I’ll come back and everything will be good for a while, and then one day I’ll look around and realize I’m waiting again.”
Connor’s jaw tightened “That’s my biggest fear too.” You looked at him in surprise.
He nodded “Not because I think I’ll stop trying. But because I know I’m capable of hurting you when I’m not paying attention. I didn’t think I was before. I do now.” He took a shaky breath. “So I don’t want you to just trust me blindly. I want us to keep talking. I want you to call me out. I want to keep seeing someone. I want to make sure I don’t only change because I’m afraid of losing you.”
Your tears slipped over “I loved you so much,” you said.
Connor’s face crumpled “Loved?”
You squeezed his hand “Love,” you corrected softly. “I love you so much.”
His eyes shut, for a moment, he looked like the words physically hurt him, like relief could be painful when it came after starving “I love you too,” he whispered. “I never stopped.”
“I know.”
This time, when you said it, it didn’t feel like an excuse, it felt like a beginning, you didn’t move back in immediately.
Connor didn’t ask you to.
That mattered too, you kept your apartment. Kept your space. Kept rebuilding a life where he was wanted, not required, but slowly, carefully, he became part of it again.
He came over on off nights and cooked badly until you took pity on him and taught him how not to burn garlic, he remembered your friend’s promotion party and arrived with you, not three hours later.
He called from the road before bed, sometimes tired, sometimes quiet, but always present, on nights when he couldn’t talk long, he told you that instead of disappearing.
On days when you felt old hurt rising, he sat with it, he didn’t punish you for needing reassurance, he didn’t rush you into being okay.
He loved you in the present.
And little by little, the future stopped feeling like a place where you had to wait to be happy, your next birthday came quietly.
You didn’t plan a party, part of you didn’t want to give the day that kind of power again, Connor didn’t push, he simply asked what you wanted.
“Something small,” you said. “No surprises.”
“No surprises,” he promised.
That morning, you woke up to a text.
Happy birthday, baby. I’m already grateful I get to show up for this one.
You stared at it in bed, heart aching, then came another message.
Door in ten minutes. Coffee first. Then breakfast. Then whatever you want. My phone is off unless you tell me to turn it on.
You opened the door ten minutes later in pajamas, hair messy, eyes suspiciously wet, Connor stood there holding two coffees and a paper bag from your favorite bakery.
He smiled softly “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He stepped inside and set everything on the counter, no balloons, no crowd, no overcorrection.
Just coffee. Warm pastries. Your favorite flowers already arranged in a vase he must have dropped off with Maya the night before because he knew showing up at your door with a bouquet might remind you too much of the night everything broke.
You noticed, of course you noticed, Connor watched you notice “I didn’t want them in my hands this time,” he said quietly.
Your throat tightened, you walked toward him and wrapped your arms around his waist, he froze for half a second before holding you back “I’m here,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes against his chest “I know.” he breathed out shakily “I’m going to keep being here.”
You pulled back enough to look at him, there were still things to heal. You both knew that. Love did not erase history just because it wanted to. Trust did not return fully grown. It had to be rebuilt, piece by piece, choice by choice, ordinary day by ordinary day.
But Connor had learned the thing he should have known all along, love was not just the future he imagined for you.
It was the morning coffee, in the answered call, in the kept promise, in the empty chair that would never be empty again if he had any power to reach it.
It was choosing you when no one was watching, it was showing up not because he almost lost you, but because you deserved to be loved by someone who came before the breaking point.
Connor brushed his thumb over your cheek “Happy birthday baby” he said softly, you smiled through your tears, and this time, when you looked at him, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for him to choose you.
as the new nutritional coach, you’re tasked with the hefty burden of fixing will’s diet. will likes to please.
wc: 6.0k
tags! nsfw, pitcher!will smith, mlb au, oral fem receiving, spit kink, infamous back video irl, will is annoying asf, none of this makes sense, probable baseball inaccuracies, catcher!macklin (dynamic duo in every universe), not proof read, tons of dialogue, wsh is in love with you and his love language is making treats <3, kind of open ending I gave up lol
Will Smith is one of the best rookie pitchers in Major League Baseball.
It’s rare for someone so young to be taken out of the minors, but he was drafted straight out of high school, deemed too good a prospect to fuck around in college ball. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when a Shark’s reliever got injured at the beginning of the season, and the only player who could fill his shoes was Will.
It was just surprising how well he fit in. He wasn’t phased when the second batter he’d ever faced off against hit a home run. Then he went on to only allow two runs on base before he closed the game out two innings later. He’d go on to say in the post-game interview that it was his infield that played well that night, but everyone who was a Sharks fan went to sleep buzzing that they finally had a competent pitcher. One that wasn’t a thousand years old, one who wasn’t simply there to end their career after the better teams were done with them, because the Sharks were never an organization deemed capable of anything.
Except now. They’ve got Will, and Macklin, who, well, only got a few months in the minors before getting thrown in the big boy’s locker room, the sounds of Spanish and Japanese and English all mixing into one and freaking him out.
It’s why Mack clung to Will, only two years his senior.
They were cute. Their diets, however, were not.
Macklin was excusable. He was eighteen, nineteen in a couple of months, and you had worked with him then in spring training. He had been used to eating his mother’s cobbler pies and stuffing his face with whatever he could get ahold of. He had a good metabolism. He was malleable and took every piece of information you gave him with big, intense eyes, like he wanted to absorb it all, to be his best.
He confided in you the things he ate that his ever-so-strict father didn’t know about. So you smiled and gave him better snack options to satiate his growing body.
Will Smith, on the other hand, had the worst diet you’ve ever seen.
Not like alcohol, or anything, because you’ve had to have conversations about that with some players. No. It was the oddest thing.
He didn’t eat enough. He wasn’t eating enough protein from whole foods. He was addicted to protein shakes. He was consistently eating less than his teammates of the same stature.
And that day, in the second week of the season, when you finally were able to get an appointment with him because he was such a last-minute addition to the roster, he smiled, talking about all the desserts he makes. Copious amounts. His sugar intake was twice that of the other guys.
He didn’t look like it either—look like he ate brownies and banana bread four days out of the week, you mean. His words you’re quoting. He said it while grinning too, happily confiding in you the things he made for his triple-A team the past two years, and how he’d have to start doing the same with the guys here.
Which was so confusing.
You had pictures of him shirtless. It was part of tracking their performance throughout the season. He was all muscle, curves melded from strength, and tan, but that last part didn’t matter at all, obviously. Moving on.
He was leaner than the pitcher league standard. In short, he was too skinny. Too susceptible to injuries for anyone’s liking.
He threw like hell, though. Some guys just had phantom strength, and maybe he was one of them, chocolate chip cookies and all.
When you first met him that day, backwards cap on, blonde hair sticking out the back and sides, chewing gum extremely loud, he had the composure of someone older, infinitely more experienced. Maybe some people would describe it as cockiness, but that didn’t fully ring true to you.
He was still erratic on the edges. His fingers thumped on the armrest across from you. He assessed your office with a lazy look that was anything but.
“You look pretty young for this, you know?” he says on your second meeting a week later, and all you can focus on is the obnoxious pink bubblegum in his mouth. His teeth were pretty. His lips dark pink and always wet.
“Same goes for you,” you reply, flipping through your binders and coming up to his, which was practically empty.
“Thanks,” he grins. He was annoying. He took his hat off for a second, running his hand through his blonde hair, before placing it back. “‘Preciate it.”
“So,” you start, professional, “how are we managing that sugar intake?”
He huffs out a laugh. You told him to cut back this week. “It’s less, I think.”
“You’re making those meals I told you to?” You can only survey his breakfasts before morning practice and his pre-game dinners when he’s at the ballpark. You can only control so much. You were seriously at a massive disadvantage getting him after spring training. You swear, when you talked to the triple-A nutrition team, they laughed when you asked about Will, like he was some lost cause. How he was getting through the cracks of a major, profitable sports organization, you can’t figure out.
“Yeah, I’m a pretty good cook.”
“Are you? Most of the guys need their girlfriends to—“
“Nah, I can work a stove.”
“Okay,” you blink, a little taken aback because he cut you off so fast. It was merely a suggestion…“I want you to keep at it. Build a little bit more muscle mass, and we can get your fastball up to a 97.”
He nods, like he doesn’t fully believe you, like he will not take this seriously.
“You actually have to listen now, Will. Did you bake anything this week?”
“Made my family chocolate chip cookies, but I only had one, I swear.”
You can’t tell if he’s smiling so hard because he’s lying or because he loves himself so much or because he thinks literally everything is a joke.
“You sure?”
His face turns pink. “Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
You notice the glint of his silver chain peeking out over his compression shirt. He had an easy day today: resting to pitch on Sunday. The thing about him was that he was such a liability. He was designated reliever, and the head coach limited him to one game a week, if that. They were so worried about busting up his arm, all this media pressure about him, that it meant he spent a lot of time resting. A lot of time to bake, he had said, it gets boring.
You squint your eyes at him. “Really?”
He smiles, settles back in his chair, “Never, coach.”
It really shouldn’t have sent a rush of electricity up your spine. The other guys call you that because they have no clue how to name you. Sometimes it’s miss, or ma’am, because they’re older than you, but Will…Will says it intentionally, slowly, like he wants you to react to it. You shake your head. You want him out of your office.
“One pound this week, okay? Pete’s gonna get your weight before we go down the coast on Monday.”
“I’ll exceed your expectations,” he jokes, pushing up and off the chair.
—
Sometimes, you like to go out and watch the outfielders catch in the morning. Sometimes, it’s the bullpen warming up on the grass. Usually, this is a nice way to get sun, being cramped in an office 24/7 and all.
But Will is there now, obviously. The first thing you can hear is his gum smacking between his teeth. He’s fidgeting with Mack’s bat, one white gloved hand against gold skin, the other he’s holding between his arm and body, and his hat is actually put on the right way for once. He’s talking with the younger one at the dugout, and Mack seems content with Will stealing his things, like it happens too often to get fussy about. Will probably hadn’t hit since he was fifteen years old, but he still liked to be an annoyance in practice.
“Hey, coach,” Will says first, his head turning as he hears a new pair of feet on the grass.
“Hi!” Mack says, all enthusiastic. His hair flops awkwardly to the side, face red, but it’s always red.
“Hi, guys,” you say, opting to look at who is batting instead of either of them. That’s what you were there to do anyway. “Has Will been sticking to his diet, Mack?”
“Uhhhhhhh,” Mack’s head vigorously swivels between the both of you, like he doesn’t know if he should lie, even if he’s already made it obvious with the hesitation.
“I take that as a no.”
“Hey! Mack, shut the fuck up. I’ve been sticking to my diet. I’ve gained two pounds. You know that.”
“Yeah but we had banana bread last night. Sorry.” His head falls, like he’s committed some grave mistake. Will shoves him in the side.
“Less sugar. I swear, I made it with like a tablespoon of sugar. It was like, organic or some shit. With walnuts.”
You hum, not looking at the frazzled blond next to you. Eklund just hit a home run. “That’s good then.”
“Yeah, Celly, you’re so stupid.”
“It’s not my fault that you—“
Will strikes the boy with his own wood bat.
“I’m going to go now.” You say, trying to remove yourself from the argument you seemingly created. “Good job, Will.”
“Oh,” he straightens himself out. Mack is holding his forearm in pain. “Thanks, coach.”
You give him a curt smile, watching Eky bunt a slow pitch before you turn and leave.
—
You catch him eating sour gummies in the hallway. He’s waiting for Mack to come out of the locker room.
“Oh fuck,” he says, trying to put them behind his back but you’ve already caught him.
“In the hallways?” You ask, one eyebrow quirking up.
“Quick carbs. I swear. We’re about to go to lift.”
You study him for a second. He’s wearing a sleeveless tank and white sneakers. His nose is pink from being caught. His hair falls over his forehead quite nicely.
But he’s wearing these thin gray shorts, and you catch a glance at his dick print. You didn’t even— you weren’t even trying to look for one. It was just there. You know they wear cups all the time, but he’s not wearing one now, and that’s possibly worse.
“Oh. You got caught, Smitty.” Mack emerges from the locker room, and suddenly you remember where you are. It felt like you were the one being caught.
“Okay. I believe you.” You say to Will after a moment, face hot, twirling your ID lanyard between your fingers.
“I’ll, uhm, choose something better next time.”
“Have to go,” you say, not responding, muttering about paperwork, brushing past Will as you leave. You need to get ahold of yourself.
—
Will Smith brings cookies to your office on Monday mornings now.
So he’s ‘not tempted’ he says each time.
“You can stop buying the ingredients,” you always say, and he shrugs you off, some lame excuses running off his tongue. You could tell he likes to give gifts, so you don’t think much of it. He was giving baked treats to his teammates while he thought you weren’t looking. You knew though.
He never says they’re for you specifically either, just that he made too many, even if he’s at your door eight o’clock sharp every Monday.
—
You find yourself once again, on the border of outfield, right by the bullpen. You spotted one of your coworkers who takes care of the field, and now you’re chatting it up with her, watching a couple of the guys lob balls and fuck around. It’s three hours before a game, and none of them are in their uniforms yet. It’s sweltering hot in San Jose.
And the bane of your existence is there too. He hasn’t noticed you yet. It’s not weird, really, a lot of the staff members flow in and out, walk the length of the stadium, trudge through the stupid shenanigans the guys pull in the cemented corridors. There are a lot of coaches and personnel and whatnot.
And you like baseball, and you’ve grown to like a lot of the players. Obviously not Will Smith, though.
You notice, as you talk to your friend, two players grabbing a huge water jug from the bullpen. You don’t click two and two together until they’re right up behind Will, heaving it over their heads and then—
He’s drenched. There was no time for him to react. It soaked his warm-up shirt, making it cling to his body.
“That’s not good,” your friend says. Yeah, definitely not.
He wipes the water from his face and runs a hand through his wet hair. You hear him cursing, but you’re too far away to know the exacts, can’t read his lips because he’s facing away from you. You watch in slow motion as his large hands find the back of the collar, dragging it up and off his body. The water sticks and shimmers and makes his olive tan pop. His back muscles flex, and the dip of his spine is so…pretty. His body was thick. It’s a buzzy thought knowing you helped him get that way—stronger, more toned. He’s got new fat around his hips. He fills out his white pants better.
He flicks beads of water off his hair as he shakes his head like a golden retriever.
He turns, just the smallest bit, and sees you there, hand over your mouth, and grins. It only lasts for a second until he’s turning back to his teammates, laughing, but he knew you were there. Truly mortifying.
—
“You stalking me or something, coach?”
“Excuse me?”
“The other day,” he goes on, and waits for you to fill the silence. You don’t. You tried very hard to burn that image of his back out of your mind. You tossed and turned in bed, counting sheep, imagining distant, faraway lands that Will Smith could not venture to, but alas, it was no use. You remembered it, vividly. “Did you tell them to do that?”
“What? Of course, not. No. I was just there when it happened.”
“Right.” He sits across from you, in the chair, like he always does. “Am I doing good?”
You don’t follow.
“Do I look bulkier? I’ve gained a lot of muscle. What do you think?”
“I saw your recent body comp photos.” You say, ignoring the insinuation that you looked for long enough at his bare back to gather information. What a stupid thing to think, Will. “Yes, you’re following everything well. I’m impressed.”
“I can follow commands, you know. I’m good at that.”
“Except for when I caught you eating candy.”
“Except for that.”There’s a pause. “You sure I haven’t gained too much? I’ve got these love handles now—“
“You look a lot more like your teammates, Will. That’s good. We don’t want you getting injured.”
He shifts in the chair, tapping the armrest anxiously. “If you weren’t my coach,” he starts, cheeks pink, hair messy, “what would you think?”
“But I am your coach.”
He shakes his head. “What were you thinking when you saw me then?”
“That…that you’ve been eating the things I’ve been telling you to.”
“Yeah? That’s it?”
You nod, eyeing him, really, really, not wanting to let this go further. If you fall, you won’t ever be able to get back up.
He’s always noticed the way you take a millisecond longer to answer him compared to his teammates. How you look at Mack like a child, but then look at him and get all fussy and defensive, even through your professional jargon and demeanor. He picks up on lots of cues. He’s pretty smart like that, even though he denies it.
He’s wanted you from the moment he stepped into your office the second week of the season. He almost thinks it’s unfair, how whenever he eats, whenever he cooks those horrible healthy meals, he has to think of you.
He’s noticed when your eyes trail down, how you stutter over a word when you usually speak so clearly. He has terrible dreams about fucking you in your office, about kissing you until you shut up about his diet and all the nuances of new data and research that he couldn’t care less about.
“Okay,” he agrees, and some of the tension eases. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
You gawk.
“Got to go, coach.”
“You’re lucky, Will Smith.” He turns, sees you lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest, staring right back at him. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” That big, bright smile is permanently plastered on his face. You frown.
—
He comes in after a game. It started in the early afternoon, so it’s not too late, not too weird that Will Smith, the star rookie pitcher, has hung around. He didn’t play either. He came just to ask a question about a new meal you had given him to make, nothing serious.
You find yourself having a productive conversation, like, about nothing and everything. He’s quite charming in that he can reel you in. He’s a good talker.
“It’s just so disgusting—all the spitting.” You say, “I mean, I know why. It’s the body producing a thicker protein—“
He groans out loud. “I don’t understanddd. The words are too big.”
“I haven’t even said anything remotely confusing.”
“You know I’m a little slow, coach.”
“Come on, don’t say that.”
“I like it when you’re nice to me.” He says, totally out of the blue. Your brows furrow. “You look really pretty tonight.”
“Thank you?” You question, sitting up a little straighter, fixing your hair because you don’t know what to do with your trembling fingers. “Totally unprofessional though, Will.”
“Forgot,” he replies, eyes dark, “you’ve seen me with the press. I’m kind of bad at that.”
“Well, thanks, Smitty. You’re being awfully open today.”
He beams when you use his nickname. You’ve never done that before.
“I’m doing good, right?” He asks you this every time you meet, like he thinks you’ll change your mind, like he needs the reassurance that he’s sticking to your plan, that he’s making good progress. But lately, you think the phrase might have multiple meanings.
“Haven’t seen you eating candy, so I think yes.” You smile at him, and his heart bursts open.
“Sometimes I wish you weren’t my coach, you know.”
You’d be offended if you didn’t know exactly what he meant.
“Go get a girlfriend, please. You’re starting to think this is something else—“
“It’s real. You know it is.”
“You’re—“ your voice falters, looking over him again. His mouth forms a tight line as he watches the way you shift uncomfortably. “Go home, Smitty. It’s late.”
“Is it your bedtime?” He jokes. You glare at him.
“Go get laid.”
“God, you’re so fucking hot telling me what to do.”
You burn, electric shocks like warning signals shooting down every limb, every nerve ending in your body.
“Will.”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to go home and fuck some other girl. Forget about me, okay?”
He curses and stands up because you’ve given him direct orders.
“When can I have you?” He places his palms on your desk, leans over so his hair falls in his eyes, and he’s only a few inches from your face.
“You want to get me fired, huh?”
“You’d only get fired if they caught us.”
“That’s reassuring,” the sarcasm thick in your voice.
“When you talk about your stupid micronutrients and solubility and whatever the fuck you talk about, I just want to bend you over this desk.”
“You don’t pay attention to any of what I say?” You veer away from the atomic bomb he’s just detonated.
“Only the important things.”
You huff, looking sideways. You’re pushing your legs together, warm.
“Open your mouth.”
“What?” You peer up at him, confused. He just tilts his head and repeats the phrase, slower this time.
And you find yourself doing it. You swear, you blacked out, some other evil force took hold of your brain and made you part your lips, slack your jaw. He grins, eyes darting over your face.
He leans down, and you see his cheeks moving, a string of saliva falling from between his lips, and it lands right in your waiting mouth. Your eyes go wide, but you let this all happen. It had to be a dream. You’ll wake up soon, surely.
“It’s gross, huh?” He says. You swallow it, sputtering, coughing into your arm because it tickles your throat and also because this is the most humiliating thing you’ve ever done.
“It’s so disgusting.” You say, voice small, head spinning, even though you swallowed him without complaint. “Not—not tonight, Will.”
He pouts, eyes never leaving your lips.
“Go cool off. You’re not thinking straight.”
“You aren’t either, coach.”
“Yeah, but I’m the smart one here, remember?”
“Fuck, you just let me spit in your mouth. I think I’m in love with you.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Give me a kiss. Just one,” he pleads, eyes big, his palms never leaving the surface of your desk. He’s still leaning over. His back must hurt.
You meet his lips for a chaste kiss. You only just touch him, and it’s more like a middle-school-esque, first-time-ever kiss, but it sends Will crazy. He watches you lean back, all small, bending down to grab your work bag and stuff things away.
“Leave before someone finds you, you hot-shot.” You say, and the nickname should make him feel embarrassed because you try to say it in this teasing lilt, but he’s overjoyed. He leaves with a big smile on his face. You’re so fucked.
—
“You should really start bringing these to your girlfriend.”
“You know I don’t have one.”
He comes in on Monday morning, like usual. A cute plastic bag with a bow wrapped around it in hand. Inside are ten cookies stacked on top of each other.
“Just making sure,” you say. He places the bag down in front of all your paperwork, nods, takes a second longer to look at you, then tells you to have a good week, like he always does.
—
It’s 11:32 at night.
You hear rapping at your door, loud, hurried.
“Coach?”
You don’t recognize the voice at first. You have a lot of men saying things to you all day, and the voice is muffled a bit through the heavy hotel room door.
You aren’t up for visitors, and for a split second, you think it might just be another assistant coach there to ask you about what they’re eating for lunch tomorrow or something, but there aren’t many people who call you coach. You slink out of bed, pausing the show you were watching, and peek through the hole. Your stomach drops.
“What the hell are you doing?” You say through the door, your heart thumping loud in your chest. Out of all people, you did not expect Will Smith to be here, to be so bold. A million questions are swirling in your head. How did he know where your room was? Is he trying to actively get you fired? Is this some fucked up prank between him and Mack?
“Please just let me in, before someone sees.” He’s looking to his left and right, his cap low on his face.
You hesitate for a second. Even though he’s worried about the consequences, it doesn’t seem like he’ll budge if you ignore him. It’s better to just talk to him inside. Maybe you’ll get to slap him. That sounds nice.
He slides past you, bringing his hand up to help you close the door. His eyes immediately lock on you. He’s clad in a gray sharks hoodie and black sweatpants. His little hair wings are coming from his hat like a cute accessory.
“Wow.” Is all he says. You flush. You’re just wearing an oversized sleep shirt and scrunched-up socks, which is such a stark deviation from what he normally sees you in. He knows slacks and pretty sweaters because your office gets so cold with the AC blasting all day long.
“Why—how—where—?” You try to get one coherent thing out, but it all jumbles up. Any sort of confrontation you were going to say dies on your tongue.
“Hi,” he grins, turning his head to look at your room. You instantly flush. It was a mess, with your suitcase half-unpacked and things scattered on the floor and your thong….
“You need to get out of here,” you plead.
“I like what you’ve done to the place.” He walks further in. His gaze tracks down to your thong, lying beside your bed. You try to kick it under with your feet as you follow close behind.
“Will, whatever you think happened the other week—it just—nothing happened, okay?”
“Are you acting out cause you liked it so much?” He sits down on your bed, smiling, taking you in. He’s never seen you like this, and he feels like he needs to savour it.
“You’re breaking a dozen rules right now.”
“Answer my question.” He’s not angry. His face is monotone. He looks up at you, his hands bracing his knees. He takes his cap off. His hair is loose, curly blond streaks framing his face, just how you like it.
“I think you’re a freak.”
“Then what are you?”
You groan, crossing your chest and going around the side of the bed to pick up your bags of snacks and haphazardly placed clothes.
“I seriously didn’t plan this whole thing. Just…an urge. I only saw your room number by accident on a sheet of paper and I—I was going to message you on instagram after last week, but I chickened out.”
He’s shifted more on the bed so his thigh rests on it, half his torso turned in your direction. You make eye contact.
“That’s good. You’re getting better at fighting your temptations.”
“I’m really not. Came to see you.” He deadpans, looks down at your bare legs.
“Are you going to leave?”
“Why would I?”
You frown at his teasing voice, deciding not to respond. You tidy all the loose things instead.
“I know you want me.”
“Yeah, right. No offense, Will, but I can get my needs satisfied elsewhere.”
“Is elsewhere a person, or an object?”
You stutter around sounds. “Will, stop. That isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke. I’m curious.” You huff at that, literally stomping your leg on the ground because he’s starting to piss you off.
“You’re pitching tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“So you really shouldn’t—you should be asleep or something. Sleep is as important as nutrition—“
He groans, falls back on your bed like it’s his. His lips were wet from his tongue darting out, his blond hair splayed across the white bedding. He looked way too good. It wasn’t fair.
“Your bed is better, and Mack is annoying me.”
“How is that my issue?” You are mortified that he’s bringing up a teammate. It forces you to remember who you are in relation to him, how wrong this all is.
Will stares at the ceiling. “I have this…superstition.”
“Oh god. What is it?” You’re still at the edge of the bed, standing over him. Your voice is filled with anxiety.
“I need to—uh—eat a girl out before I play. Makes me pitch well, I think.”
Silence fills the room. “You think?!”
“Well, I know.” He turns his head, his cheek resting on the plush comforter. He blinks slowly at you.
“And there weren’t 500 other women in the metropolitan area that you could prey on?”
“We got in late,” he whines, “and Mack’s being all annoying because coach critiqued him hard, so he doesn’t want to go out.”
You shake your head and give him this incredulous look. “I don’t even know what you’re asking of me.”
“‘Course you do. You’re smart.”
“Absolutely not. I’m not doing that.”
“Come on,” he sits up, scoots closer to you. You’re unconsciously pouting your lips in frustration, your arms across your chest, guarded. “I want to thank you for all the work you’ve done.”
“A ‘thank you’ is perfectly fine, actually.” Your body is so hot, nerves tingling all throughout.
“Can I confess something?” You slowly nod your head. You’re too deep into this now. “When you told me to go home and find someone else, I couldn’t bring myself to. Can’t stop thinking of you.”
“You’re lying.” You move away, settling at the top of the bed, the furthest away you can get. Your body is pressed up against the headboard.
“I’m a bad liar. You’d know if I was.” He fucking crawls over to you. His hands land on the bedding on either side of your bent legs. He’s eye level to you, so much closer than before. “I need to play well tomorrow.”
“I can’t--“ your voice falters. This man, this pretty boy athlete, is begging to make out with your cunt. It sounds a lot better than what you had planned for the night—absolutely nothing. He leans in closer, eyes locked on your lips that are surely quivering under his gaze.
“Can I change your mind, baby?” Your head moves to nod before you can think it through. He’s kissing you, soft and tender, and his large hand is gripping your bare thigh. “I won’t ask for anything else.” He moves down to your jawline, pressing his lips all over. “I’ll be good for you, then I’ll go.”
He’s so odd. One second, he’s cocky; the next, he wants praise. He does it often in your office innocently, and it must have something to do with wanting to please everyone around him, but trying to mask it.
“Y-yeah,” you agree, “be good for me.”
He beams at those words. He’s got extra pep in his step, his pupils dilating. He finds the hem of your shirt and lifts it up slowly to expose your pretty skin. You lift your hips unprompted. He smiles at your boy shorts. They cling to your skin. You look so small pressed into the bed like this. Your shirt gets pushed up under your breasts, but he doesn’t strip you fully.
“When do you wear those?” He turns his head to look down at the floor, where your thong lies.
“No panty lines under my pants,” you answer, teeth between lip.
“You wear thongs at work?”
“It’s not—it’s not weird, Will.”
“I know it’s not, but that…wow.” It looks like he’s thinking about all the outfits he’s seen you wearing at work, wrapping his head around the concept of just a strip of fabric underneath while he sat across from you, unknowingly.
You slap his arm lightly. “Are you gonna do this or what?”
“Yeah—yes.” he falls in place, his mouth kissing up the inside of your thigh. He drags his fangs over your sensitive skin, and it already has your toes curling.
“This is only because of your superstition,” you say, more to yourself than him, as he pulls your shorts down.
“Of course.” He’s dumbstruck. You’re so pretty.
You didn’t expect the rookie to ever be good at this. Young men like him never are. They fumble around for a few minutes before they decide it’s been long enough. Though Will is a pretty talented person, all things considered, so you should have known.
You should have known he’d spit on your cunt. He lets the saliva fall from his mouth, and you watch the whole thing. It’s so disgustingly hot. He runs his rough fingers over your folds, mixing your wetness and his spit together. You’re already jerking your hips up.
Will grips you like you’ll fly away, latching onto your pussy and rarely coming up to breathe. He spreads you out with two fingers, pulling and sucking and kissing you in all the right places. He knows when you need more, knows when you’re feeling overwhelmed because your hand in his hair tugs harder, your thighs around his head trembling.
“So sweet, like candy,” he mutters against you. He’s out of breath, gasping for air. His pretty blue eyes blink slowly up at you. He has one of your legs on his shoulder now, heel digging into his muscular back. The other is spread wide, almost falling off the edge of the bed.
How embarrassing—you can’t put it into words—how humiliating of him to compare your sex organ to the sugary things he consumes. It sends your brain into a spiral. You run your hands through his locks, and he smiles, lips wet with your slick. “I knew you’d like it.”
“Shut up.”
And he listens, licking a long stripe down your center. He laps at all your wetness, groaning softly when it starts to get everywhere. It gets on his cheeks, coating the pink blush around his face, then on your thighs and into the bedsheets. You feel his pointer finger prodding your entrance, and you gasp, your body tightening up at the pressure. He stops his assault on your clit. “Ya have to relax, baby.” That nickname, again.
You nod, quiet sobs through your closed mouth. You’ve been trying to be as quiet as possible. The walls are thin. He’s making it one of the hardest things you’ve ever done.
Will lets you squirm around his fingers, watching the way you writhe against the pillows. He’s already thinking about when this is over, when he has to make the treacherous journey back to his room, and how he’ll explain to Mack the reason he was gone. He hates that thought.
He adds his tongue and it’s blinding white pleasure. His fingers curl forward, brushing that spongy part inside of you as he sucks your bundle of nerves. It really isn’t long before you’re crumpling under him, just a total wreck. You say his name as you do, and he’s never been more pleased with himself. He made the girl he’s been pining after cum. He kisses all over your legs, up between the crease of your hip and thigh, around your belly button. You’re panting as you come down, and whine when his fingers leave you. Will looked a mess. His eyes were blown out, his hair a mess from your death grip. This was the best he’s ever looked.
“Was it good enough for you?” He asks, lips and cheeks glistening with your arousal.
“What do you think?” You close your eyes. Your body was slumped into the bed, unable to really move.
“Need you to say it.”
“F-fine. It was really good, Smitty.”
He sighs dreamily, squeezing your thighs one last time before he gets up out of bed. The creak of the springs makes your eyes open. You ache. You don’t want him to go. “Don’t—“ you hear yourself say. You feel like your body is somewhere else, but your voice is in this room. He looks at you, expectantly.
“Yeah?” Your eyes are still a bit blurry, but you notice the subtle movement of his hands over his crotch, how he adjusts himself in his black sweats. Maybe it would be easier to hide on anyone else, but you knew he wasn’t particularly small. You saw his dick print that day, and even soft, you could tell. Jesus Christ.
You can’t get yourself to say ‘stay’, so instead you resort to, “I can help you, too.”
“Hmm, you’re tired, coach.”
“No, no, I’m not.” You try to lift yourself onto your forearms, but you kind of fail and fall back into the pillows. He laughs.
“I have to get back.”
You nod. You see him turn to the bathroom, the light turning on. He comes back out with a towel. He doesn’t have you all over his face anymore.
“This can’t happen again,” You say as he cleans you up.
“We will see.”
“I’m serious.” He shimmies your shirt down so it covers you again. He grins because he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not true.
“You’d better play well tomorrow, or I’ll….I can’t think right now.”
His fingers pet through your hair for a brief moment. It shocks you, how tender it is. “I’ll play good, don’t worry.” It happens quickly; your door is opening and closing, and he’s gone.
Before you fall asleep, you turn over to check your phone on the nightstand and notice your thong isn’t there on the floor anymore. Your heart hammers loudly in your chest, thinking about Will with your underwear in his pocket, going back up the elevator to sleep in his twin bed next to his best friend, still hard.
summary: two years had passed since you first met gojo satoru, and it was two years of having an agonizingly one-sided crush on the white-haired genius. for the most part, you were okay with keeping it down and acting like the nights you spent fantasizing about what it would be like to be his were normal. you were fine keeping it hidden until something between the two of you shifts, and you're left wondering if this crush you have on him is truly as delirious as you think.
genre: 18+, nerdjo, slow burn, angst + happy ending (duh), fluff, eventual smut (nerdjo being a munch), some mention of insecurities but nothing major
word count: 33k (oops)
note: nerdjo bu set in oxford! art credit! @to00fu
jjk masterlist
It began at one of the English department get-togethers.
Two years ago, when you felt like you had to come to every single event in the hopes of striking expeditious luck at one of them. And it’s not that you particularly disliked these events, but they weren’t the first thing you’d think of when it came to how you’d prefer to spend your free time.
The weather was just getting chilly enough where you’d rather stay in your dorm and wrap yourself in three blankets and a sweater, and the year had been dragging on long enough where you’d rather just talk about the wonders of Shakespeare and his sonnets in the confines of your next research paper and not with academics who made you feel inferior.
You had been invited weeks in advance, and yet you still found yourself dreading being here, the more it led to it, and even more when you were in the thick of it. Awkward small-talk with students you’ve seen around briefly and stiff handshakes with male professors who think that they have better places to be were just mentally taxing, and you counted the seconds until it was all over.
Thankfully, it was busy enough that you could slip into the background without many people even noticing you were there, but not so crowded that you could just slip away entirely without somebody asking where the great Dr. Howard’s research assistant had gone. And anyways, it wasn’t too horrible. You had taken to silently recounting Othello in your mind moments before everything changed.
There was a small tap on your shoulder. It startled you at first, and you looked around in your small corner to see a man waiting patiently behind you, a sheepish look on his face as you tried to gather yourself up.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, and you blinked out of your stupor as you tried to recall in your brain if you had met him before to save yourself from the embarrassment of him having to re-introduce himself, “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
He looked familiar. His eyes were a deep amethyst, his smile was soft and kind. His dark and shaggy hair was tied behind his head in a small bun, and his ears were adorned with multiple piercings. Although many at Oxford, especially the men, tried to appear as blank as usual, he seemed apt and content with going against the stuffy and old notions.
You must have seemed confused because the man stuttered as he introduced himself.
“I’m Suguru,” he restarted, his hand leaving his side as he extended it to shake yours, “I think we had the same English survey course last semester.”
Your confusion melted away into a wide smile as you shook his hand, his own eyes crinkling around the edges as he grinned back, letting out a breath of relief as you nodded insistently, shaking your head at your own self.
“Right, right, Suguru! I remember you!” You exclaimed, setting your cup down to the side as you watched him tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear, “You sat a little bit in front of me, right?”
His head ducked down momentarily as he chukked, putting his hands in his pants pockets as he nodded.
“I did,” he chuckled slightly, “Right in the line of fire for when Howard needed to pick on someone.”
Your lips quirk up slightly as you nod, remembering how the professor you work for now used to terrorize your class and quiz random students on particular syllables and grammatical imperfections in the reading they were supposed to have done.
The class was small, as were most major-specific courses you were taking. Although you didn’t have many of your friends in the class, you had gotten a good sense of who was in there and who Dr. Howard preferred to pick on. Suguru, for the most part, did the reading and did his work, so he came out unscathed compared to some of the other students. He sat near the front with some of his own friends, and you had talked to him in passing a couple of times when the class as a whole would band together to compare comments on assignments. He was kind, from what you remembered, which is probably why you felt your shoulders growing less tense the more you two talked.
“That’s her style,” you say, shrugging as you fiddle with your fingers. “It took a while to get used to it,” you admit. Suguru rolls his eyes at your humility, remembering clearly just how much Dr. Howard favored you, but he doesn’t say anything as he lets you continue, “I don’t know if you’ve had Creemer yet, but he’s worse with his cold calls and isn’t half as nice.”
“I have him right now for rhetoric and grammar,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head in dismay, “He’s…sadistic, I think.”
You giggle, nodding feverishly at the statement as you recall your past couple of classes with the hellish professor, an infamous name for many English majors and someone that you try to avoid at all costs if possible.
The party, or gathering, as it said on the invitation, drones on in the background as you look around to see if anybody is looking in your direction. Most of the time, you can do what you want, but seeing that Dr. Howard had warned you before tonight that somebody from the department might want to swarm you to ask questions that you most likely didn’t have answers to, had put you on edge.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, motioning to the rest of the people with a knowing glint as you politely smile, shrugging your shoulders as your lips press tightly together. Whether it be your shy nature or how you preferred smaller crowds, it must’ve been evident on your face that you weren’t necessarily having the most amount of fun.
“I am,” you answer, wincing at the way your voice sounded warbled, “I’m trying to make the most of these opportunities, I guess.”
Suguru’s head dipped in understanding, taking a sip of his drink as he bit the inside of his cheek, leaning in slightly as he lowered his voice.
“These things drag on for a bit, though, yeah? I’m feeling my fingers prune from how long I’ve held this glass.”
You let out a sigh of relief, sharing the same sentiment as the two of you share a knowing look.
“I…I, um, I heard that Howard chose you to research with her, though, right? That’s gotta be pretty cool,” Suguru asked after a beat, bringing you back to the conversation as his head tilted slightly, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you swallowed. He seemed kind, not asking the question bitterly as some other people have.
You nodded again, trying to contain your smile as you leaned against the stone pillar next to you. Letting out a small hum, you swallow again, trying to scope out what sort of place he was coming from.
“It is,” you answered, biting on the inside of your cheek as you were still reeling from being selected from such a wide pool of applicants and such a rigorous interview process to work on her next paper analyzing More’s work through a modern lens, “It’s…strenous, sometimes, but I’m having a lot of fun working with her,” you fidgeted with your fingers, “So yeah, it’s pretty cool.” You say sheepishly.
Suguru smiled at your hidden enthusiasm, the tip of his boot nudging something on the ground. He went to usher you to continue before his eye caught something behind your shoulder, his eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise as his smile grew even wider, his hand raising in a wave.
“Sorry,” he apologetically muttered, and you craned your neck around to see what it was, or rather who it was that Suguru had seen, “I think my friend just arrived.”
That’s when you felt your breathing stop.
The bustling group of students and faculty members almost seemed to part theatrically for the man walking towards the two of you, but you couldn’t even blame them.
He stuck out like a sore thumb, with his icy white hair and strikingly beautiful eyes. His lengthy frame made him nearly a head taller than even the tallest man in the room, and his wide shoulders helped him wade through the bodies as he navigated to his friend. His face seemed stoic, bordering on bored, but you couldn’t help but widen your eyes in shock at seeing the most devastatingly gorgeous man to ever exist. He adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose, his lips moving in quiet apologies as he tried to move through the people without bumping into them.
You suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that it had been days since you had last had a good night's sleep and that the bags under your eyes were most likely even more evident in the dim lighting of the old hall, and how your sweater was lumpy from being shoved in the back of your closet for so long. You swallow thickly as Suguru quickly excused himself as he stepped away and walked a bit away to hug the stranger, exchanging some words with each other as you stood awkwardly to the side.
You watched them silently as they talked for a little bit more before Suguru stepped away, his hand on his friend's back as he, for some horrifying reason, seemed to guide him towards where you were stiffly standing as the two of you made eye contact before you became aware of the way your eyeballs felt in your socket and how heavy your tongue was in your mouth.
When Suguru finally pulled away from the modern-day Adonis, you felt like a creeper and a loner as you wondered whether or not to leave or stand in the corner while they talked, but ever the kind person that he was, Suguru led the man by the back to where the two of you were with a wide smile on his face.
“Sorry about that,” Suguru abashedly apologized, chuckling deeply as he rubbed the back of his neck, “But this is my friend, Satoru,” he said brightly, pushing the man a little harshly towards you as you stared at him silently.
The man, Satoru, gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding once in your direction as he looks around, looking uncomfortable and shifty. Suguru rolled his eyes, sighing deeply as he patted his friend's back.
You grinned back, swallowing the spit in your mouth as you felt him stare at you once he was done looking at the room, your cheeks heating up. You felt his eyes drift over your outfit, at your posture, and the way your hands were clasped tightly together. This stranger assessed the way you swayed slightly, awkwardly, not knowing how to fill the silence as you tapped the tip of your battered shoes on the ground. When he was done, his chin lifted again, his stare lingering on your blinking face as you glanced between him and Suguru, waiting for somebody to say something before you imploded and left with the lingering scent of your vanilla body spray.
Seeing that he was fine with checking you out, you took the time to do the same. He seemed like one of the generational students of the school, the ones whose parents and grandparents and cousins and siblings all came and went and made something important with their lives. They weren’t hard to detect, especially him, with his steamed jumper and his creased pants. His leather shoes were shining back at you, and though his hair was somewhat messy, it seemed to be classily messy, unlike what you and some other students would call freely messy.
“I force him to come to these things with me,” Suguru explained, but you could barely hear him over the rhythm of heartbeats in your ear as you tried to fly, appreciate the man a few feet in front of you, “Our friend Shoko sometimes comes, but she had things to do tonight.”
The man’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly, his brows drawing tightly together as he glanced at his friend with a look.
“I had things to do too,” he muttered, his voice deep as you felt your heart stupidly tumble at the sounds.
Suguru snorted, shaking his head as he shrugged indifferently.
“Sure,” Suguru replied sarcastically and glanced at you, his brow slightly raised at the way you had gone silent, his lips quirking slightly when he noticed the way you couldn’t stop staring at his friend, not voicing anything as his hand on Satoru’s shoulder loosened, “Just act like you want to be here for twenty minutes, yeah?”
You bit your teeth into your cheek, a finger raising slightly as you pointed to the newcomer's face.
“I like your glasses,” you said brightly, your smile gentle as you fidget with your own, watching the way his striking eyes moved over to you again, squinting slightly as his hand raised upwards, as if he had forgotten that his glasses were even there, “They frame your face really well.” Your head tilts a little as you try to place something, “Where’d you get them? If, if you don’t mind me asking. Mine is so old and dingy, and the rims are basically glued on, and I’ve only had them for a few years.”
“Erm, well, thank you,” Satoru says stiffly, not used to the direct attention and compliments, his cheeks slightly dusted with pink as Suguru watches his friend struggle for words, taking the glasses off as he turns them to the side, trying to read the logo, “These are, erm, from Cartier. But I usually wear contacts, anyway.”
You let out a startled laugh, not a stranger to hearing students at this place don expensive items, but this being the first time you’ve seen one of them bashful about it.
You nod, your smile still there, softer as you take in his slightly awkward nature and let him put the glasses back on before you continue.
“Contacts are more practical,” you agree, even though you’ve always had a phobia of things touching your eyes and would never wear contacts unless somebody forced you, shrugging as you say, “But I’ve always appreciated the look of glasses.”
Satoru gnaws on his lips, nodding quietly as Suguru starts talking about his friend's major (biochemistry, you came to find out), and how long they’ve known each other, but you could only feel your stupid feelings when Suguru stayed, his friend included, and talked with you for the rest of the evening.
That was your sophomore year.
Nearly two years passed after befriending Suguru alongside his small group. He introduced you to Shoko after that night, swearing up and down that the two of you were destined to be near each other. And we weren’t wrong, not in the slightest. You two girls bonded strangely fast, as if you were twin flames that were being fanned out. Suguru and Satoru seemed to mirror the two of you, but the group functioned as a whole, for the most part. You spent so many nights over at their dorms that you could walk around blindfolded and still find your way to the others with no issue. It was fun, it was what you had dreamt of for so long. It was something that you were fine with, more than content with, ending your university career in a couple of months.
Well, everything for the most part, you could consider it as such if it wasn’t for your debilitating and soul-crushing feelings for the stranger you met that night.
It’s been four semesters, and you still don’t think Gojo Satoru has a clue. Which, in all honesty, is for the better.
Although his stoic nature spares nobody, it feels as though you're always on the worst end of it. With his lingering stares that seem to border on questioning why you were even there whenever he sees you, to the way he grows dim and quiet around you, it feels like you’re actively attempting to hurt yourself the more you fall in love with the little things you hadn’t noticed the day prior.
Even worse, you know deep down that such feelings are most likely, under this sun and every other universe, with most certainty and heavy grief, unrequited.
But you’re fine keeping it down.
You were fine until recently.
—
“I’m debating switching majors.”
Shoko declared from the couch, her legs hanging off the side, knocking occasionally on your shoulders as you crane your neck back on the cushion form where you were seated on the ground to look at her upside down.
“To what?”
She shrugged, rubbing at her eyes as she held her neuroanatomy textbook in one hand, her phone in the other as she scrolled through the different majors Oxford offered, as if she wasn’t a semester away from graduating.
“Film?” She read out, and you snorted, rolling your eyes at the prospect of Shoko going into film, “Hm…maybe art history?”
“Gave up on the med school dream?” Suguru quips from the other side of the couch, knowing fully that Shoko was just going on another one of her tangents as she shifted slightly to shove him harshly with her socked foot.
“I’m sure your counselor wouldn’t mind,” you reply, looking at her as she glares, her eyes falling back to her phone as she peers at the screen. She looked boredly a little bit before her eyes flitted upwards slightly, squinting as she read the new notification.
“Satoru said he’s going to be here in a few minutes,” she muttered, reading the next message, “And that he wants you,” she nudged Suguru with her foot again to motion that it was him that Satoru was referencing in the text, “To move to your bed so that he can do his work on his side of the couch.”
Suguru peeked up from his doom scrolling to look at Shoko, his eyes narrowed in a glare as he let out a huff of annoyance.
“His side?”
Shoko shrugged, her knee knocking on the side of your head as you knock it back, the book you were reading resting in your hands as you listened to Suguru mutter distastefully about how this was his dorm and that Satoru had no right claiming his couch, but you heard him shuffle to his feet nonetheless.
You tried not to show any peek of interest when the infamous name was called out, but it was hard not to. It had been two grueling years of mulling over your childish crush, yet the sound of his name could still send pulses to your veins that you were sure were minor heart attacks.
Because it was Gojo Satoru. You wanted to bang your head against the coffee table just hearing it.
Truth be told, you weren’t a stranger to having crushes. It was normal, it was human. Or at least, that’s what you convinced yourself when you were sprawled out on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as you tried not to think about the way his fingers ever so slightly grazed your wrist when he handed you some chopsticks earlier at the restaurant.
But your crushes came few and far between, and you preferred keeping it that way. Seeing that you were too terrified to ever admit them, and the few, very few times you have, they’ve backfired horrifically, you try not to catch feelings as much as possible. But there was something about Gojo, something beyond reason, that pulled you to him.
At first, you bargained. You tried convincing yourself that it was just his appearance that was drawing you in, his suave looks that made people’s heads turn whenever he entered a room. But you have seen him at four in the morning with his old band tees (a sight that still made you swoon), with his hair crusted with glitter and his eyes pink with eyeshadow as Shoko attempted to put him in drag. Even then, he was insanely gorgeous, so you knew it had to be beyond that.
When you had finally accepted that it was a mind-numbing and life-ending crush that you were feeling towards him, you finally gave in and decided to admire the tall brute from afar. It helped that the two of you had gotten somewhat closer over the past two years, but out of everyone in the group, he was the one you talked to the least. In your defense, he didn’t have much to say to anybody, and that was just his nature. He spent most of his time studying and researching, and the other time watching, observant as other people gossiped. It wasn’t his forte, and nobody pushed him.
So you took in his quietness and his stoicism, appreciated his god-like looks and his overwhelming presence. That was fine.
What made it even worse was that he was so unattainably perfect in other ways that your crush festered into something that made you scream into your pillows and throw your balls of clothes at the wall as you wallowed in self-pity.
Everyone at this damned university was intelligent, and you had made amends with them early on. But you loved men who were smart, guys who could actually hold a page down and dissect it and make the most of it. And worst of all, Gojo Satoru was probably the most intellectual person you have ever met, and will ever meet. It seemed like his memory was photographic, his mind working twenty thousand times faster than the regular brain as he computed formulas and equations at speeds that you couldn’t fathom. He made biochemistry seem easy, something that you sometimes felt guilty for not pursuing. And sure, it didn’t help that you were on the other side with your texts about Russian classics and books diving deep into the restoration period, but even Shoko, who could rival Gojo at times, would begrudgingly admit under her breath just how stupidly genius he was.
Therefore, when you put those things together, his charming looks, his bookish self, his brooding structure, and just everything else, it made him unattainably perfect.
And that’s when you get the man you’ve been hopelessly in love with since the moment you saw him at that wretched party that wasn’t a party.
So, when Shoko read off his texts, there was good reason why she looked at the top of your head, a knowing look in her eyes as she playfully nudges you again, watching as you threw her a dark glare to just keep it down seeing that she was the only other soul who knew, despite you trying your best to hide it, about your feelings towards her other friend.
“Did you hear that Toji is graduating a semester late?” Suguru asked, leaning back against his pillows, his long legs strewn along his bed as he chewed on some gum.
You and Shoko both hummed, not looking up from your respective tasks, having found this information out weeks in advance.
Suguru groaned in annoyance, his chest vibrating with the noise as you snorted, rolling your eyes as he threw a small pillow at your head. It bounced off the side of your face, but you didn’t look up from the page you were on, too engrossed to hear the door behind you click open and heavy footsteps suddenly thudding through the dorm.
You shuffled against the couch, your back feeling stiff as you tried to get comfortable, not knowing that the man of your dreams was moving around somewhere behind you as he hung his coat up (vintage leather, something you found out as he grumbled about getting it wet when Shoko and Suguru insisted on walking in the rain once), kicked off his shoes, and slung his bag around as Shoko craned her neck to see what he was doing.
“Hey,” Shoko called out, and your eyes widened slightly when you heard a familiar voice grunt back a tired greeting, trying not to look as your ears suddenly sharpened to pick up on the sound of him pulling on his sweatshirt as he rounded the couch, standing at the opposite end as he plopped his backpack on the cushions.
You finally allowed yourself to peek over, your eyes following his figure upwards until they landed on his face, and your fists balled in frustration at how pretty he was even when he was simply existing.
Gojo sent you a small, tight-lipped and courteous nod, polite and curt as he looked between you and Shoko, glancing back at the bed where Suguru was lying, his fingers barely lifting from his phone as he gave his childhood best friend a lazy three-fingered wave.
“Why’re you here?” His blunt question was directed at Shoko, something that held no bite but mere wondering as he situated himself on the soft cushions, his large hands feeling around his bag as he opened up the zipper to get his laptop.
“I thought that it was allowed,” Shoko replied dryly, “Apologies.”
You chuckle softly, flipping the page, trying not to let his signature cologne distract you from the words in front of you.
“How was your lab?” Suguru asked, sounding monotone as his thumb swiped on the screen.
You watched as Gojo gave him a glare, his nose wrinkling, something he often did when he was frustrated but didn't want to ruin his outward appearance, and rubbed at his tired eyes. His hair was messy with goggle indents lining the upper half of his face.
“An offense to my intelligence,” Gojo grumbled, his face illuminated by the glow of his laptop as he clicked around a little bit, “I can’t believe some people have made it this far.”
You flipped another page, not fully having read the contents of the last one, but in an attempt to seem indifferent, tried to keep up with your regular reading pace as if anybody was keeping track.
Watching as he riffles through his bag again, you know, almost like clockwork, what he’s going to pull out. His routine is one that you’ve familiarized yourself with despite your best judgment, and you know that what comes next are his glasses.
Glasses are normal. You have your own pair that you only wear for lectures and outings, but forgo them for times like this because they sit a little too heavy on your nose. But his glasses are something else.
They elevate his face ever so slightly, but so much so that it makes you want to keel over and scream. They accentuate his perfect nose with the perfect crook and his freckles that sometimes sit just beneath the frames. He looks even more dashing, if that was even possible, with the way he looks up sometimes, and the lenses make his eyes seem even more blue.
He took them off for labs and put them somewhere safe. In moments like this, you were reminded of just how truly stunning this man really was.
Gojo unfolded the two prongs, holding them up to a source of light as his nose wrinkled again.
Smudges.
You watch silently as he dives back into the bag, his long fingers searching through his pockets for something you knew you always kept on hand for yourself and deep down, for him.
After a few seconds of not finding the microfiber cloth that you both silently cherished, you gave in, pulling your own bag towards you as you unzipped the smaller pocket, pulling it out stealthily and motioning for Shoko to hand it to Gojo.
He took it, his face going so far to relax momentarily as he went to clean the lenses, his head nodding once in quiet appreciation in your direction as you allowed yourself a nod in return.
Shoko looked at you with a raised brow, and you chose to hide behind your book.
“Was it Lainey?” Suguru asked, looking over at his friend, the name piquing your interest as you cast a quizzical look at Shoko, but she shrugged, watching Gojo as his expression soured. He handed you back your little cloth, muttering a thanks under his breath as his bitter gaze found Suguru, as if he was cursing him silently for bringing up the sensitive subject.
“What do you think?” He grumbled out, his right eye almost twitching as his fingers stretched out, typing something quickly as Suguru huffed out a laugh, noting how you and Shoko were both confused, and his smile only grew.
“You didn’t tell them?” Suguru asked, a gleam in his eyes as he shuffled to sit upwards, his back resting on the headboard, “Oh, this is class. Do you two know Lainey? Lainey Andrews?”
You cast a look at Shoko, your lips pursing as your eyes squinted, trying to recall the familiar name.
“The ginger?” Shoko asked, her head tilting to the side, her hair falling around her shoulder, “Pixie cut?”
Suguru nodded, his shoulders raising as your brows furrowed before your mouth slightly fell open when your head bobbed quickly, snapping as you matched the face to the name.
“Oh, Lainey!” You exclaimed, “She’s really pretty,” you added, remembering her bright green eyes and the spattered freckles that made her look like a painting, “She’s also crazy smart - she’s double majoring in bio and poli sci."
Shoko laughed softly under her breath, giving you a small look because this was somewhat typical of you to know random people, with nearly everyone on campus having had a conversation with you at some point during your four years here.
Suguru raised a brow, clicking his tongue as he pointed his phone at Gojo, seeming like he was already anticipating one of his sly comments.
“She’s also just crazy,” Gojo muttered, looking above his laptop, above his wispy lashes at you and then to Shoko, “She spent half of the lab playing with my hair.”
Your book almost fell out of your hands as Shoko sat up with a barking out a stunned laugh, your hands mirroring each other as they flew to cover your mouths in shock, and Suguru nodded again, his eyes wide as he clicked his tongue.
Another thing about Gojo? He hated being touched. Despised hugs, only suffered through quick handshakes, and shuddered at the thought of someone touching his face. You’ve seen the way he pulls back whenever someone approaches him with open arms, seen the way he tries to brush people off of him. He can tolerate Suguru and his insistent bear-hugs from time to time, can sometimes allow Shoko to swat a fly away from his face, and for some reason, doesn’t grumble whenever you try to fix his ties before events, but whenever a stranger or someone he isn’t close to attempts to touch him, he grows reclusive for the rest of the day.
“I told her to stop, too,” he adds, his big frame seeming to grow in frustration as he thinks back to it, “It was only after I had to shove her off that she got the hint. I forgot my disinfectant too, so I was just…” he shuddered, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted uncomfortably, and you watched him let out a restrained exhale as he dropped it and went back to work.
But, after studying him for as long as you have, you know that he probably washed his hands and his face a couple of times after that. You know that he also wouldn’t feel complete without some sanitizing wipes and a good shower, so you do the closest thing to that and fish out a hand sanitizer from your bag, an item that you refused to move around without due to your own cleanly nature, which was ironically something else that you and Gojo silently shared, and passed it to him, knowing that he was probably itching till he was able to shower again.
Your friends sometimes joked that you had a Mary Poppins bag, but it came in handy for times like this.
Gojo’s ears perked up at the sound of your rumaging, his eyes almost brightening at the sight of the hand sanitizer, and you pinched it between two fingers before throwing it his way, watching as he effortlessly caught it and began spraying his large palms with the lavender scent.
“Thank you,” he mumbled again, his voice slightly losing the edge it had from before as he passed it back to you, and you smiled, nodding once before you zipped it back up.
You tried to ignore the way Shoko was staring at you.
“Lucky us that we don’t have labs, huh?” Suguru called out, throwing another tiny pillow in your direction, but this time you dodged it, moving your head down slightly so that it would miss. You huff a bit, looking over at Suguru as he shrugged, winking as he went back to his phone.
Suguru was another English major, the reason the two of you got familiar in the first place. He liked to say that the two of you balanced out Gojo and Shoko, but you just thought that it pushed you even further down the list of potential people your pathetic crush could be interested in.
There were a couple of things that you had come to terms with if you were going to crush on him. One was that you had to know in full certainty that nothing was going to come from it. You weren’t going to risk the friendship, no matter how small, by going and confessing and having everything be messy. Two, was that you weren’t going to feel, or at least try not to feel, jealous if he entertained the idea of pursuing something with someone else. And three, was that Gojo Satoru was so incredibly picky when it came to potential partners, that it might be impossible for even the most amazing people to snag a chance.
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, eyes squinting as you tried to make out what one of the characters was saying, “You didn’t have to do that project with Armie.”
Suguru hummed, his brow raising as he thought back to your shared class and the project that paired you up with people you didn’t know, Suguru getting the better end of the stick while you were stuck with someone who insisted on plugging the project prompt into a generator.
“Didn’t you report him?” Satoru asked, his eyes still trained on his work, but the question was now directed to you given the fact that he had sat in on a couple of your tirades in which you would drone on about how the boy was nearly about to graduate and still couldn’t cite sources when he, in one of his brief moments of providing comments, would reiterate to report it to the professor.
You sank into your spot, giving him a suppressed look, one where your eyes met before you shared a glimpse with Suguru. Your friend rolled his eyes from across the room, shaking his head in annoyance as Satoru looked between the two of you.
“She said that she didn’t want to ‘be a bitch’,” Suguru said, restating the words as his fingers move up and down in the air, quoting the statement you had said to him moments before you had to present the assignment in front of the class, shushing him as you pushed him away, insisting that even though you had done the entire project on your own, that it wasn’t worth the hassle to make a report with the professor and potentially have someone out for you, “I said otherwise, but she,” Suguru gave you a pointed look, “Said she’d cut my hair if I made it a ‘big deal’.”
Satoru’s eyes lingered on the side of your face, and you purposefully kept your head ducked and the book closer, so close that it was nearly touching your nose, as you tried to shield away their judging eyes in embarrassment.
“You need to stop caring about what other people think,” Shoko said as she shoved you with her knee, this time just a little bit harder because she knows you and knows what you hide in the fear of making others think something of you that wasn’t good, “I really think your professor would’ve heard your case if you made it.”
You groaned, swatting at her leg with your book as you shuffled away, backing into another corner as you tried to readjust to the new position.
“Yeah,” Suguru added, resting his phone momentarily on his chest, “I think it would help if you were more selfish.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the prospect.
“I just hate confrontation,” you murmur defensively, gnawing on your bottom lip as you flip a page, “And, plus…you have to give me some credit - at least I told him that he was being frustrating,” you say, pretending to ignore them, your eyes re-reading the same word over and over again until you were confident that they were going to drop this subject, this horse that they’ve beaten multiple times, one that ended with you assuring them that you were going to speak up more until it all looped back again to times like this.
“Speaking of confrontation, did you ever get a refund for that ticket?”
There was a beat of silence before you let out a frustrated groan when Shoko reminded you of the one task you had forgotten to do in the past couple of days, your head falling to your knees as your palms jammed into your eyes.
“No, oh my god, you’re so right,” your voice is muffled as you bookmark your page, your fists clenching at your own mistake as your eyes crack open, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot to follow up on that!”
Shoko chuckled, rolling her eyes as Suguru and Satoru shared a look, them now sharing confusion as you writhe on the floor at the thought of knowing you could’ve saved a couple of bucks had you not forgotten to call up the school of drama help center for accidentally buying an extra ticket to the showing of The Beggar’s Opera. And, seeing that it was Tuesday and just days before the theatre program, one that needed funds, was about to perform, the deadline for your refund was most likely up.
“So does that mean you need me to come with you next Saturday?” Shoko offered, her lips quirking up slightly as your head shot up, nodding quickly as your hands flew to hers, shaking them feverishly.
“Would you? Would you really?” You ask, and her laughter grows, shoving you off playfully by pushing your forehead back to where you were sitting.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says with a sigh, winking at you before she goes back to her phone, and you settle back in your seat as you gnaw on your lips, thinking back to how on earth you could have possibly messed up so bad when you so usually only buy one ticket for yourself, but you push it aside, thankful that your dearest friend was at least going to make use of it.
You, Suguru, and Shoko shared a small laugh and went on with the conversation, but you heard a low, deep noise, something only you could hear, as Suguru and Shoko returned to bickering about which major Shoko was best suited for.
The sound made you glance up briefly, looking over the pages to see Gojo still staring at you, his lashes fluttering before he snapped back to it and went back to doing his work.
Minutes turned into a few hours, and the room was filled with the occasional story and laughter, but mostly the four of you worked together on different assignments, sometimes looking up as you would recall something from the past couple of days that you were saving to tell them in person.
It seemed like everything was going smoothly until Suguru got a notification on his phone, his face lighting up as he swiveled out of his bed, jumping onto the floor as he tugged his shoes on, not explaining anything as the three of you glanced up, waiting.
“My food’s here,” he said over his shoulder, practically gleaming as he cocked his head in Shoko’s direction, “Come down with me, will you? I need some help.”
You scoff, smiling to yourself as you try to imagine just how much food he had ordered, but careful not to be too loud because you knew he would be sharing it with you all after some choice complaints were heard.
Shoko grumbles, but obliged, lifting up from the couch as she stretches, nudging you playing with the tip of her foot as she throws a pillow your way, walking towards Suguru as he holds the door open for her, the two of them calling out some brief goodbye as they head down to the lobby.
When the door clicks behind them, you’re suddenly aware of the fact that it’s only you and Satoru left, and you let your stare linger on the wall for a bit before you look away, suddenly sheepish when you catch his glance from his seat on the couch.
He clears his throat, eyes flickering from his screen to the book in your lap, the highlighters strewn around you, sticky notes sticking out from between the pages, and he points a finger at it.
“What’re you reading?”
Your brows raise slightly, and your chin ducks down to the book, and you sit up a little straighter as you place a bookmark in the middle of your page you lifting the cover, letting him read the cover as he adjusts his glasses over his eyes.
“Oh,” he says, his voice holding a lithe of acknowledgement as he slowly sets his laptop to the side, shifting slightly closer, “I’ve read this, I think.”
Your head tilts a little, lips quirking a little bit at the sides with a small smile as you look back at the cover.
“You’ve read The Norton Anthology, Volume C before?”
His mouth parts, closing it before he gapes at you, and your grin turns into a big smile, waving it away as you shake your head, shrugging at his stammering expression. He’s so cute when caught in a lie.
“I’m only kidding,” you swear, setting your book down, your knees pulled towards your chest, arms wrapping around your legs, “I’m sure you’ve had to read something like this for one of your previous classes.”
“You’re bothersome,” he murmurs, but his voice holds no bite as you let out another barking laugh, rolling your eyes as he tries not to smile, “I’m only trying to be polite.”
You purse your lips together, giving him a questioning look as he shoots you one back.
“I didn’t know politeness was in your artillery,” you quip, and he scoffs, moving his glasses upwards as he rubs at his tired eyes, resting backwards into the cushions as his legs part, and you try not to let your eyes linger on his thighs.
“I have a reserve for choice people,” he says, opening his eyes back as he looks back at you, yawning as he moves on, “How was your presentation?”
Your smile falters for a second as your stare turns questioning, chewing on your lips as it turns into something sweeter, something smitten because he’s asking about the presentation you had mentioned once in passing the last weekend you had hung out, stressing over your slides and sources, and trying to seem nonchalant as you finger traces little patterns on the floor.
“It was good,” you tell him, trying not to seem too prideful as you murmur, “My professor said it was exactly what he was looking for.”
His face shifts, no longer annoyed as you try not to appear bashful, but his teeth shine as his rosy cheeks pull upwards as he gives you one of those smiles that makes you feel warm and happy and giddy.
“Yeah?” He asks, shifting a little bit as he waved his teasingness off, rolling your eyes as you groan, nodding exaggeratedly as you go back to organizing your highlighters and pens, but he seems intent on pushing this: “Didn’t you say it was the hardest assignment of the class?”
You look up at him from above your lashes, trying not to smile again as you shrug indifferently, done with arranging your stationery based on colors as your knees knock together, throwing a pillow his way that he effortlessly catches.
“I mean, everyone told me that it was really, really hard, so-” But you’re cut off by the door swinging open, and the two of you crane your necks around to see Shoko and Suguru arguing over something irrelevant, food nestled in their hands as they close the door behind them with a slam.
They start telling you two about the delivery fee and the outrageousness that one of the containers had tipped over, but you’re still busy thinking about how Satoru remembered something so trivial, giving them quiet hums as they spread out the food on the small coffee table, and trying to act normal.
Like you have for the past two years.
—
The week passed as it usually does, with papers, readings, and assignments that needed to be completed at an unmanageable rate.
You had expected the usual and mundane things, and for the most part, that’s what came your way. Nights spent in each other's rooms as you finish up your work, spliced with moments where you would all talk, days filled with going to lectures and walking around campus till you found a quiet study spot. Things that you could predict and plan for.
For the most part.
Another thing that your little group would occasionally do was meet up at the end of the week at one of the pubs around campus, most of them serving mediocre food and somewhat better drinks, and offer you all a time to reconvene after a usually stressful couple of days.
The pub was small and quaint, but you enjoyed the warmth and laughter that muddled together to make the ambiance somewhat private. Either Suguru or Shoko would arrive there early and try to secure the usual spot at the booth near the end of the establishment, seeing that either of them didn’t have classes on Fridays, while the other three would meet up outside of Satoru’s biophysical chemistry class and walk there together.
Which is why you found yourself back on that Friday, sitting next to Shoko, settling into your seat as she clambered in after you. Suguru almost pushes Satoru in, impatient to sit down and get back to talking, and you watch as the white-haired man sits in front of you, his hands clasped together as he stares at the wood-grain of the table.
“How were classes?” Shoko finally asks, looking between you and Satoru as she takes a sip from her drink.
You sigh, shrugging as your fingers play with the bottom of your cup, the condensation slipping down as you rub at your tired eyes.
“Fine, I guess,” you say, drinking some water as you wipe at the corner of your lips, “My professor could’ve ended the class, like, twenty minutes earlier than he did.”
She nods solemnly, patting your thigh in solidarity as she passes the bowl of crisps towards you, nudging you to take one to help settle your stomach after having back-to-back classes, knowing how hangry it made you.
“Is this the professor who needs you to see a classical play?” Suguru asked, taking some of the snack as his arms crossed on top of the table, leaning in slightly as you licked some of the salt from your lips, nodding.
“Yeah,” you heave another sigh, elbowing Shoko as you continue, “Which is why I’m seeing Beggar’s Opera next week. I mean, the theatre program did a couple of Shakespeare ones earlier this semester, but…ugh, I just can’t watch another performance of Romeo and Juliet.” You murmur with a groan, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as Suguru hums in agreement.
“You don’t like Shakespeare?”
Your eyes shift over to the man in front of you who asked the question.
Your brows furrow slightly in the middle, lips pulling into a small pout as you shake your head, playing with the ring of water your drink had left as you itch your nose, trying not to focus too hard on the pretty pink color on Gojo’s cheeks because of the slightly toasty feel of the room.
“I do,” you say slugishly, “It’s just that when the only work of his that tends to be popular isn’t The Tempest, I get a little annoyed.”
Suguru snorts, shaking his head as his fingers wag at you.
“That’s not even nearly his best stuff,” he argues, and you roll your eyes, your head tilting badly in annoyance after knowing what this was going to lead to, “I can’t believe you still think that it outweighs Richard II.”
Satoru and Shoko’s eyes bounce between you and your ink-haired friend.
“I’d rather die on the hill of petty magic versus royal family drama,” You quip back, your brow slightly raised.
Suguru huffed, shaking his head in dismay as he lightly shoved your foot underneath the table, a small smile on both your faces.
“Is Tempest the one with the shipwreck?” Gojo asks, his head tilting slightly as his glasses lean on his nose bridge. You nod, grinning at the fact that someone in the group was able to identify such a classic piece of literary work.
You open your mouth to agree, but Suguru beats you to it.
“How do you know that?” He glances sideways at his friend, his brow raised in slight shock as Shoko snorts.
Gojo shrugs, his elbows resting on the table as the fabric of his sweater tightens around his arms, making him look delectable and otherworldly. You have to tear your eyes away from it before it becomes too noticeable.
“We went to the same secondary school,” Gojo argues, saying it as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world, “I paid attention…clearly more than others,” he adds under his breath, causing you to drop your hand to your mouth to hide the satisfied grin from when Suguru deflated in slight embarrassment.
“Oh, speaking of blast from the past,” Shoko shuffles, looking at her phone screen as if suddenly remembering something, “Vi’s coming back for break.”
You watch as Gojo and Suguru stop their silent bickering by messing with each other's stuff as they look up to Shoko. Suguru’s thin brow shoots upwards, his mouth turning into a surprised line as Gojo stares blankly, an unreadable expression on his face as you poke Shoko’s thigh, shaking your head in confusion.
“Who?” You murmur, your eyes squinting as Shoko looks at you, her mouth slightly dropping as she also remembers that you didn’t grow up with them.
“Vivienne March,” Suguru explains, beating someone once again to explain something because he could never hold onto a piece of information for longer than three seconds if he knows that somebody in his vicinity doesn’t know it, “She went to school with us for, what? Five, six years?” He looks between Gojo and Shoko, and they both nod, Shoko unlocking her phone as she goes to pull up the girl's instagram to show you what she looks like, “She’s his ex,” he murmurs as if secretly, pointing at his friend next to him as you feel something in your gut shift, but he clearly doesn’t tell because he leaves that point entirely.
“But I thought she preferred to stay in America till her spring semester was over?” He asks, confused, waiting for you to be done looking, as he waits for Shoko to explain it.
You take her phone gingerly, looking at the girl's account as you carefully click through her posts. You’re greeted with an aesthetic array of photos, some of her friends, some of her cat, and pretty pictures of old brick buildings and fall trees. But your eyebrows slowly move up your face when you see her.
Your thumb swipes through each post as you see her stunning hair framing her face in freshly done curls, her eyes striking and delicate as she wanders around a bookstore. Her outfits are always perfectly curated, and her makeup delicately done to accentuate her already natural beauty in a way that makes a part of you, something you tried to bury and starve, twist with envy at the effortlessness of her perfection.
“Guess she had a change of heart this year,” Shoko says, taking her phone back from your outstretched hand, turning it off as she placed it face down on the table, “She texted me this morning saying that she was ‘gonna be here for December and some of January and that she wanted to catch up.”
“You would like her,” Suguru directs his attention back at you, his words matching the genuine smile on his face, “She’s super bright and bubbly. And she’s so funny. Oh, and she's, like, insanely smart. She graduated from Cambridge when she was nineteen, and she’s doing grad school at Harvard.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Shoko hums, “I mean, she almost came here if she didn’t get the call from Harvard,” she nudges you with her shoulder, “But I don’t know how much he,” she points her eyes to Satoru, watching the way his mouth slightly parts at being called out, “Would’ve appreciated that, though.”
He scoffs, his tongue poking at his cheek as he leans in slightly, his arms crossing the table as Suguru snickers.
“I have no issue with Vivienne,” he argues, his brows pulling into a cute little frown, “She was just…”
“What?” Suguru juts in, Shoko scoffing a laugh next to you as Gojo only peers at him from the side of his eyes, “Madly in love with you? Was going to pick Oxford to be with you? And you were…what, days away from breaking up with her when she came sobbing to us that you have the emotional intelligence of a rock?”
Your eyes widen slightly, looking over at Shoko for confirmation, one she returns with a faint grin. Despite the sunken feeling in your heart, one that you often get whenever you are reminded of the fact that, unfortunately, literally everyone is also in love with Gojo Satoru, you have to control your face not to giggle at the statement.
Gojo makes a noise deep in his throat, the tips of his ears slightly pink from the added attention.
You swallow as you try to grapple with all this information. But, as always, the conversation moves on and you push everything back as you find yourself smiling once again, listening to how Suguru animatedly tells the story of how he bombed one of his essays because he forgot which citation format to use, and you try to not make it obvious how you’d peek over at Shoko now and then and see who it was that she was stalking, probably some girl from her class that she was plotting on.
The music lolls on in the background, the pub getting more packed with students and tired workers, and you find yourself content with listening to your friends tell you about their week, taking small sips from your straw as you grin and laugh as poke Shoko’s thigh whenever a cute guy, devastatingly never as cute as Gojo, walks by the table, and she, gripping your knee whenever a girl her type flashes her a look from over their shoulders.
“I think I’m wanted somewhere else at the moment,” she whispers, leaning closer to your ear as you follow her line of sight to a girl sitting at the bar, her long blonde hair thrown over her shoulder as she steals the occasional glance at your friend, “I’ll be back.”
You giggle, pushing at her to go as she swats your hand away playfully, sending you a wink as you send one back, watching her go as Suguru and Gojo watch silently, sending each other knowing looks before Shoko disappears behind the other booths.
“Well, if she’s going, might as well take this time to piss,” Suguru states, putting his hands on the wood as he hoists himself up, sending a cheeky little smile as he imitates Shoko’s sashay, “Don’t wait up.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to watch him leave as if to draw out the silence that will inevitably follow, seeing that it’s just you and Gojo remaining. Your fingers play with your empty glass as you glance back to him, sending him a small smile as you feel chagrin already seeping into your veins.
He clears his throat, his eyes darting from your face to your arms, his tongue poking his cheek as he swallows. You wonder how much he’s dreading the awkward silence that has the possibility of ensuing.
“Water?”
Your eyes squint at the sudden question, looking down to the long finger he has pointed at your glass, and you look back up at him, wondering if he was stating the obvious or if your feelings for him had made you delirious and unable to compute anything that comes out of his mouth.
“Do you want some more water?” He explains, and you feel your cheeks heat again at your blunder, “I’m going up there to get a refill anyway.”
You nod gratefully, swallowing your feelings down as you glance up at him, handing him your empty glass with ice sloshing around as your smile wobbles.
“I’d appreciate it, thank you,” your voice dips slightly as you grin stupidly the longer you look at his long lashes and his pink lips, somewhat glad that he was getting away so you could less opportunities to screw up, and you watch as his beautifully large hand wraps around the glass like it was nothing, sending you a small nod as he crouches slightly so that the overhanging light wouldn’t hit his head on the way out.
Leaving you alone, you pull out your phone, also thankful to have a little moment to yourself as you quickly try to catch up on the notifications you had gotten in the past couple of hours, as the noise around you mixes, adding a comforting ambience as you lean against the old walls, your head leaning against your fist.
You were so engrossed in your own little bubble that you didn’t notice the figure hovering near the other end of the table, only noticing the man when you looked to the side, thinking that either Suguru or Gojo was back, only for your eyes to widen in shock and surprise to be greeted with an unfamiliar face.
Letting out a small noise, adjacent to an audible gulp, you sit up straighter, looking bashfully at him as you turn your phone off, taking in his slender frame and the rectangular-framed glasses that sit wonkily on his nose as he fidgets nervously with the hem of his lumpy sweater. Ironically, having everything that Gojo has but wearing it so drastically differently that you have to snap yourself out of the comparison.
The boy's hair is slightly parted, light blonde, and his eyes framed with what seemed like brown lashes. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and his smile is lopsided as he scratches the back of his neck.
Cute in a schoolish way, you think.
“H-hi,” his voice is high, squeaking and wobbly as he leans on the booth, not knowing what to do with his arms as he uses the back of his hand to push his glasses upwards, “Hi, I just…”
Your head tilts slightly, curiosity filling your eyes as you give him a gentle smile, waiting patiently for him to find his words.
“I’m Kento,” he stammers after a second, scratching behind his ears as a red flush settles over his high cheeks, “I’m sitting over there,” he points to a table behind him, and your neck cranes to see a group of boys his age all staring at his back, “And I just thought-”
He opens his mouth to say something else, but pauses, his gaze drifting to something, or rather someone, coming his way, and you’re too focused on the way sweat dots at his hairline or the way he fidgets with the hem of his sweater to even notice the full glass of water sliding in front of you from the other side of the booth.
Your back straightens as your head whips to the side, eyes widening when you realize that Satoru had returned, his one drink nestled in his hand as his stare bounces between you and, who you evidently had just discovered, Kento.
Blue eyes flicker over your face, a moment's decision faltering in his mind as he slithers into not his original seat in front of you, but next to you, his large frame taking up half of your side of the both as your brows furrow in confusion, lips pulling into a tote as your eyes squint at the way he hunkers in like it was normal.
Is he okay? You try not to have your heart burst out of your chest and flip flop around on the table like a fish out of water at being in such proximity to Satoru, but you don’t even have time to think about that as the rest of your mind falters, trying to make sense of this behavior.
One of his beefy arms unravels from his side as it stretches above your head, resting atop the cushioned seats as he sighs deeply through his nose, taking a sip of his drink as if he hadn’t interrupted anything, and his chin turns over to the boy, waiting.
Kento stammers, even worse than before, as he pushes back his spiky hair with a hand, looking between you and Satoru as you blink slowly, not really knowing what to do, awkwardly lingering in your seat as you wonder if anybody’s going to talk.
“Everything alright?” Satoru asks finally, his voice slightly lower than usual, somewhat taunting but hard to tell, seeing that his face was blank, thick as it almost bounces off Kento’s skull, his cheeks turning into a bright pink as you lets out a small exhale of air, something resembling a shocked laugh at the strange and sudden shift in his behavior.
“I, uh, I,” Kento’s voice wobbles as he seizes up Satoru’s size and his overall presence, a strange look of shock and even awe as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, not fully knowing what was going on as Kento’s head dips in embarrassment, “I’m sorry…I didn’t know, uh, that you, you were…yeah…sorry…”
His arm raises in a small wave, quickly turning on his heels, the back of his neck almost red as you blink rapidly, letting out a small huff of air as your neck almost snaps towards the man next to you, stammering as you try to find your words.
Satoru looks at you, taking another sip.
“What?”
You scoff, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you stumble over a slew of words.
“What? W-what do you mean what?” You let out a bewildered laugh, looking across the pub at the boy and his group of friends that almost seem to be comforting him, their hands on his shoulders as he profusely shakes his head, “What the hell was that for?”
His white brows pinch in the middle, as if he doesn't understand your startlement, as if you were the one being crazy.
But you weren’t being crazy. Not in the slightest.
You brushed it off the first time Satoru scared off a guy who was talking to you. You thought it was strange, sure, how in the middle of your lively conversation of John Milton and Paradise Lost that he wandered from the other side of the room, suddenly attached to your side, his height towering over the other guy as he quieted down and scurried away. You just chalked it up to him being bored, despite how annoyed you were.
The second time, a guy was seconds away from putting his phone in your number when Satoru’s voice rang in your ears, and you watched, horrified, as he peered down at the guy's cracked phone screen, scoffing at the fact that he was listening to some stupid band he disapproved of.
Then there was the time when you were at this same pub, getting some drinks for Shoko, waiting at the counter, flirting with the guy next to you when Satoru found his way back to you, as if pulled by a magnet, and asked the guy if he always chose to talk to girls he didn’t know with a fresh hickey on his neck. (That one you weren’t mad at, more so embarrassed).
But it’s happened countless times. At the pub, at gatherings, at galas he’s invited you to as his plus one because he said nobody else could make it, at the library when he came a little too early and a guy from your class was sitting next to you, at the cafe, and at the small party he threw last year.
And if you weren’t so in love with him, you’d be madder than you were. You knew he was just being a protective and caring friend, not wanting you to get hurt, but you knew you’d have to start moving on from this debilitating crush, and he wasn’t making it any easier.
“I just asked him if everything was alright,” he explained, his tone bordering on bored as he pulls out his phone, checking the time as he angles his body slightly to look at you better, and you're somewhat aware of the fact that his arm is still somewhere above your head, “He’s the one that scurried away.”
Your mouth drops open, your palms jamming into your eye sockets as your head hits the table, banging it a couple times as you try to pull away from him, slightly angered, slightly, and very, ever so slightly, internally flustered at something you definitely should be flustered over.
“You…you scared him away!” Your voice is muffled as you groan, not caring much as you shoot him an angry and bitter look.
Satoru’s lashes flutter slightly, his pink lips pulling into a confused line as you shove his knee with your own, realizing that you were, in fact, not joking and were seriously considering the idea of giving that blubbering mess a chance.
“Are you - are you serious?” His thumb jabs in the general direction of where he had gone, “Him?”
You roll your eyes, chest heaving with a sigh as your forehead continues to rest on the cool tabletop, the tip of your nose rubbing against the varnish as you groan.
Deep down, you know that this crush of yours is fruitless and useless. It’s never going to get anywhere, and the only thing it can offer you is more hurt and rejection. You know that you are so far from his type and out of your league that he’d never see you as more than a friend, if that, but you continued to have it because it lit a fire inside of you that you sadistically enjoyed.
That being said, you would prefer, at some point, to have a romantic moment, even if fleeting, and having the man you’ve been in love with for two years chase away the only guy who’s had the balls to come up to you made you irrationally annoyed for some reason that you didn’t fully understand.
“He…he seemed nice,” you argue, your eyes closing shut as your hand shifts, and you rest your cheek on the back of it, your back bent at an angle as you look up at him from your position on the table, “And he was cute-”
Gojo cuts you off with a startled laugh, a disbelieving one as his eyebrows shoot upwards, showing more than the five emotions you usually see him with as genuine shock laces his features, and it only spurs on that angry fire inside of you as you press.
“What? What? He was cute!” Your head lifts quickly from its spot on the table as your body shifts to look at him even better than before, trying not to notice the cute wrinkle of his nose or the frosty irises of his eyes that are looking so intently at you that it could knock the air out of your lungs if you stare long enough, “And I…I don’t know, I think he wanted to talk to me!”
Gojo snorts, his arm tightening around the cushion behind you, his hand dangling off the end, his fingers dangerously close to the side of your ear as you swallow thickly.
“Well, of course, he wanted to talk to you,” his other hand pushes his glasses upwards, the veins on the back of his hand evident, “ I just can’t believe that he’s someone you’d want to entertain.”
You stutter, hurt flashing across your face as it pulls into sour bewilderment.
You’ve barely talked to Satoru for more than a couple of minutes at a time about classes or projects or annoying classmates, and you can’t believe your luck that the first conversation between the two of you that stemmed outside of those points is about this.
“What, what’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice dips slightly, embarrassed, as his own expression slightly shifts at your tone.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly not expecting this to blow up in his face as it did, and he sighs, retreating to his old, composed self as he explains himself.
“Look, I have him in a couple of my classes,” he starts again, lips pulling into a thin line as he looks over his shoulder to Kento and then glances back to you, “He shows up late and never does his work and always asks to most ridiculous questions,” Satoru adds and you try not to have your lips quirk at the sudden revelation, not wanting to give in and let your foolish feeling stake the wheel and guide you to forgiving him, but it’s not use as he continues, “I just figured that…someone like that isn’t someone good for you. Even if he did just want to talk.”
Your mouth dries up, and you try not to let your head burst and remind yourself that he’s thinking about this from a friend's perspective, something kind and caring and companionly, but not in the way you would want from your crush, but Satoru is still waiting on your response so instead you swallow everything down and your lips tote, avoiding eye contact as you attempt to seem indifferent despite your outburst.
“How ridiculous are his questions?” You finally ask, peeking over at him from where your gaze had been training on the ice in your water, and you swear you see a flicker of surprise take over his gorgeous features, as though you were going crazy with the way his blankness faded momentarily and gave way to a little smile.
He sighs, this time lighter, his hand behind you shifting ever so slightly to push at the back of your head, gingerly but in a teasing way as you try not to smile a giddy smile, one that doesn’t reflect the fact that you couldn’t really care about the guy who had come up to talk to you when Satoru cared enough because he didn’t think he was good enough for you to talk to.
“Even more ridiculous than asking if adding ice to rice would help it steam up more than if you used water,” he says, picking up his drink as he nurses it over his mouth, fighting back a smug grin at the way you sputter, pushing him roughly as your cheeks heat up again for bringing up one of your late-night queries.
“Fine, fine, fine, I’ll give you this one!” You rub at your eyes, shoulders hunched, “But you have to stop scaring off every single guy that tries to talk to me! He could be a normal guy who’s going to come up, and you’re going to disapprove of him just because he wears mismatched socks or only writes in pen!”
Satoru snorted indifferently, proving your point that he didn’t seem to care.
“Writing solely in pen is psychotic behavior,” he grumbled to himself, recalling the time one of his classmates had the gall to ask you for your number before he quickly shut it down, inserting himself in the middle of the conversation until the guy gave up and left.
You groan, head dropping back onto the table as you tap it lightly, a quiet thud reverberating in your tiny corner of the room.
“One of these days you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that the reason you shut people down is different from the reasons I shut people down.” You say, moving your arms upward so that you could set your cheek on it, looking at the empty seats in front of you instead of the man you’ve had a crush on, sputters.
“What do you mean?” His voice drops a little bit, and you angle your head to look up at him, brows pinching in the middle as you let out a little laugh, something sardonic as you shake your head to yourself.
“You…” you pause, stopping, sighing to yourself as you try to control your words before you say something you’ll regret, “You have like…perfect people coming up to you. And if you choose to reject them, that’s up to you, I get it. But last week you turned a girl down because she said that Star Wars was a waste of money,” the two of you share small laugh because you can recall just how red he got, embarrassed but peeved when somebody just offended his entire lifeline, but you continue, “It…it’s just,” you press your lips together as something in your chest clenched, “I don’t really have that luxury. I don’t have perfect guys coming up to me with little quirks, you know? There’s always something wrong with them, even if I don’t see it then. Like they don’t show up to dates or they make fun of my major, or just…only want to sleep with me, and then when they find out I don’t want that, they leave. And any of the sane ones that have small issues, you’re always there to shoot them down!”
You stop, taking in a deep breath as you try to regulate your emotions, refusing to look at him right now as you let some pent-up feelings loose, just grateful that he hasn’t left and decided to let you figure this out on your own.
“Look,” you glance at him, giving him a small smile, “I’m thankful that you care. Really, I am. But…but I just want to experience something…with someone, y’know? At least once when I’m still in university. I’m almost twenty-one, and I haven’t even had my first kiss!” Despite how embarrassing it is, it slips out, and your chees heat up as you hurry on with your ramble, “And if it has to be with something who asks stupid questions or says my name wrong on the first attempt or doesn’t know what my favorite color is, I guess I’m just gonna have to bite the bullet and take that risk. I,” you look away, back to focusing on the leather cushions in front of you as you gnaw on your lip, “I don’t really have any other option.”
Giving it a moment, you let your shoulders sink, going back to playing with the straw wrapper in front of you as you debate whether it would be better to just throw yourself out the window or risk saying something else that you’d stay awake the next couple of nights pinching yourself over.
You heard him inhale exaggeratingly, the arm behind you moving a little downwards in order to hook one of his fingers around the collar of your sweater, trying to grab your attention. You tilt your chin sideways, lips pursed, and attempt not to let his overwhelming presences budge how bitter you were feeling for some reason.
“I think,” he sighed again, gnawing on his bottom lip as he tried to formulate his thoughts, the overhead lamp casting a soft orange light over his face and it made your pitiful stomach churn with desperate want, “I think that if you’re too pessimistic.”
That get’s a dry laugh from you, and you roll your eyes at his statement. Before he’s able to say anything, he gets interrupted by Suguru rounding the corner, sliding into his seat with a wide grin, one that falls when he sees his friend has changed the seating arrangement.
“Why’d you move?”
Satoru paused, tearing his eyes away from the side of your face as he glanced at his friend, his fingers moving upwards as you tried not to look at him and make anything obvious. You hope he doesn’t bring up Kento and your little meltdown, but he seems to read your mind.
“You were bothering me too much,” he mutters, and Suguru lets out a startled scoff, throwing the hair tie around his wrist at him as Sator just flings it to the side. Suguru doesn’t push, though, and starts telling the two of you that he was held up at the bathroom entrances because a couple was having a ‘lover's spat’, his words not yours, and he just had to hear it before he left.
The rest of the night continued as it usually does.
If you could consider the uneven rhythm of your heart as normal.
—
Another week had passed, another seven days of agonizingly slow school work and duties.
It seemed like the days would flicker away at a snail-like pace until it got you to the one day of the week that you actually wished wouldn’t arrive, and would force you to stalk around the limited space of your dorm room as you think about what to wear to the theatre production that’s taking place in thirty minutes.
Your hand was on your hip, feet tapping against the floor as you looked at the two outfits you had hung on your dresser, lips pursed as your eyes moved back and forth between the one that would go better with those pair of kitten heels you thrifted with Shoko, or the dres that you rarely get to wear.
It took a couple more seconds of deciding, but you ultimately picked the more comfortable option, knowing that the university theater was always freezing, especially in October, and that a cute sweater was probably the better choice.
Thankfully, this gave you some more time to fix your hair and touch up your makeup, humming along to the music as your eye kept wandering down to your phone and then to your door, squinting as you turned it over, confused as to what was taking Shoko so long.
Instantly, your eyes widen at the plethora of messages you have from Shoko, a telltale sign that something was seriously wrong, given the fact that she never sent more than two messages at once.
shoko: pick up
shoko: girl ur literally always on ur phone wya
shoko: pls pls pls pick up
shoko: ur making me beg rn pls can u call me back
shoko: pls
You don’t have time to send her one of your stupid stickers, your fingers fumbling around as you look at the five missed calls you have from her, shaking your head in dismay at how it was possible to leave your phone alone for twenty minutes and come back to this.
It doesn’t take more than a ring before she answers on the other line.
“Are you okay?” Your voice cuts through immediately, rushed and worried, your legs bouncing as you hear some people talking in the background, and you can hear the way Shoko snaps at them to hush so that she can hear you better.
“Hi, yeah, no, no I’m fine - hey can you guys just,” she calls out again, hey annoyance dripping form her tone, some shuffling happening over the line as she moves somewhere where the noise is less, “Hey, hi, sorry for the noise,” she starts again and you just hum, eyebrows still pinches together in worry as you wait for her to continue, “I’m really sorry for spamming you, but I have some news.”
The worry on your face melts as you lean back in your seat.
“Yeah…?” you ask, but already predicting what it was that she was stressing out over telling you, but she lets out another exhale, and you could imagine her nodding wherever it was that she was at.
“I’m so sorry but I’m at work right now and,” some clattering happens in the background, the kitchen in great hustle for the Saturday evening rush it usually has at the restaurant she waitresses for, “God, Tommy just screwed everything up with our shifts and I thought he had written me as off for tonight but he wrote me as off for next Saturday and I wasn’t able to fine somebody to-”
You laugh softly, cutting off her rambling.
“‘Ko, babe, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you stress, leaning in slightly as you hear some silverware being unloaded, “It’s so okay, your job is so much more important than-”
“No, you’re more important than this - believe me,” she cuts you off this time, and you can see her standing hunched in the corner, gnawing on her fingernails in stress, “And I promised you I’d come with you and I can’t, and now I…I feel horrible.”
A smile creeps onto your lips, and you shake your head.
“It’s fine,” you stress, chuckling at her incoherent rambles, “I promise. The play’s going to be lengthy anyway, might as well take the time to make some money while you’re at it.”
You hear nothing except the kitchen roaring in the background for a few seconds before she sighs, clicking her tongue as she hums softly.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” you tell her, hearing her chuckle softly over the phone, the disappointment evident in her voice, and you didn’t want to push her over the edge despite the small flicker of disappointment of having to go alone, “I promise you’re not gonna be missing anything.”
“Look, I know it’s not the same, but I was with Suguru when I found out, and he’s said that he could-”
This time, she’s cut off, but not by you.
A knock sounds over your door.
You sigh, smiling at your friend as you slowly rise, “You guys are so sweet, but you should’ve told him I’d be fine. Really, I usually do these things by myself anyway.”
She groans at your antics, somebody calling her name from the back as she tells them that she’s almost done.
“Shit, I have to go, but promise me you’ll tell me about how tonight goes, yeah?” She sounds hurried, and you make a few steps towards your door as you snort, rolling your eyes as you unlock the brass knob, shaking your head at the thought.
“Tell you about what? Oh, like how Suguru has a horrific attention span and can’t…” You swing the door wide open, but you trail off as your mouth hangs slightly, not greeted by your black-haired and eyebrow-pierced friend,
But Satoru.
Shoko seems to have picked up on your silence as meaning that you finally understood what she was talking about, and you can barely register her sing-songy bye as she leaves, the phone in your hand lying limp as Satoru’s brow raises skeptically at your dumbfounded expression.
Damn you, Shoko Ieiri.
“Hi,” you say breathlessly, almost stupidly, as your hand falls from behind the door to your side, tilting your head a bit as Satoru just stares, hands in his pockets, and you shake back to reality, laughing apologetically as your neck prickles, “Sorry, I…I was just expecting someone else.”
His brow arches even more, and you huff out a laugh.
“Shoko just said that Suguru was coming,” you explain, stepping back from the entranceway as his mouth parts slightly.
“Right,” he nods, his hair falling gracefully in his face as you churn in your spit at the magnificent sight of him in his denim jeans and the navy sweater he was in, “I hope it’s okay that I came. Suguru couldn’t make it.”
You blink, wanting to say that you were so okay with him, but you swallow that done as you shake your head, waving his statement away.
“This is…this is fine,” You stammer to say, your smile wobbly. You hope that he can’t pick up on the way that your eyes are roaming over the way his button-up sits comfortably on his broad chest, or the way his glasses look on the bridge of his nose, “I, uh, I just have to do my mascara, so give me like,” you look at the clock behind you. Your eyes bulge at the fact that you have only five minutes left, “Two seconds and I’ll be done.”
He nods, his head tilting slightly to the side as he looks at your face and his eyes travel down your outfit. His hand raises, a finger pointed at your sweater.
“Nice sweater,” he says, something teetering on teasing, and you look down, suddenly realizing that it’s the sweater he had given you last year for your birthday, the one that you had seen months prior after walking past a vintage store and exclaimed how much you liked it, only to be stumped by the price.
Your confusion melts into a wide smile, your head still poking out from outside your door as you survey the material, not noticing the way his eyes soften just a smidge at your flighty reaction.
“Oh - right, thank you again for getting it!” You say cheerfully, an entire evening or perfection and romance already forming in your head as you try not to appear too excited, pointing back to your room as you duck away, “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back, then!”
Satoru nods, giving you a small smile as you shut the door behind you, your back hitting it as you give yourself a moment to reciprocate, curse Shoko and her blasted antics, and calm your heartbeat down long enough.
This was so fine, you tried to tell yourself,
Everything was going to be fine.
—-
The lobby of the Oxford theater was unusually packed, and you even voiced your surprise when Satoru led you in, your eyes wide as you took in all the students, some looking at the programs, others waiting in line for the bathroom.
“Damn,” you mutter, squeezing past someone as Satoru follows behind you, “I didn’t think it was going to be this busy.”
The walk here had been…fine. You had talked for most of it, which you had predicted, and with the few times Satoru would interject and give some comments on the stories you told him about your week, you feel like you told five times that amount of embarrassing and lame jokes, shutting yourself up once after wincing at how terrible it was. Satoru cracked a small smile, though, a pitiful one, most likely to keep you from shutting up the entire night.
It’s strange, just how different you act around him. In attempts to make yourself seem cooler and interesting, you wind up embarrassing yourself even more. You could have sworn that you never acted like this with Shoko or Suguru, or literally anybody else, even your old crushes, but when it came to Satoru, you seemed to lose the sense of normalcy you had come to know.
But you don’t have time to worry about that, now trying to put your attention on wondering how many of the students here are from that stupid class you’re taking right now, and even looking in the sea of bodies confirms that answer when you see some familiar faces. The concession stand in the corner, the one run by the theater department to raise some extra funds, seems to be swarmed, and your stomach grumbles instantly at the smell of buttered popcorn that wafts through the air.
“Where’re our seats?” He’s standing by you now, and you have to crane your neck slightly to look at him. You sift through your tote, pulling out your wallet and opening it to reveal the tickets tucked inside, and hand one to him while keeping the other for yourself.
“Row H,” you read out loud, “You’re seat 18, and I’m 19.”
He nods, pocketing it before he looks back out into the lobby, his eyes focusing on the wide double doors that led you into the theater, watching the ticket taker check the people’s tickets before looking back at the concessions, remembering how much you were raving on your walk here about how good the snacks were.
“Do you still want some…?” He juts his chin towards the hand-made sign that reads Beggars Snacks!
“Hm?” You look back at the table, and you let out a small laugh, “Oh, yeah, right,” you look through your wallet again, putting your ticket there for safekeeping as you glance back up at his gorgeous face, “Yeah, I’ll be back. You can go find your seat, if you want.”
Satoru opens his mouth and then shuts it, glancing at you and then the doors, and his shoulder straightens slightly.
“Right, well….right,” he murmurs, looking a little torn, his voice drowning out by the roar of sound around you two, but you’re able to make out the low grumble of his after being near him for so long, “I’ll…I’ll see you in a few.”
You smile again, giving him two thumbs up as you turn on your heel, your hands clenching in frustration at how utterly inhuman you seem to act around him, somehow making it seem like it was your first day on this planet.
Peeking over your shoulder, you watch as he leaves towards the entrance of the theater, and you duck your head down as you find your way to the large line leading up to the snacks. Coming here for the past four years has taught you to go for the popcorn, pass on the homemade cookies, and snatch up the little boxes of candy if they have them.
Checking your phone as you wait idly, you text Shoko a slew of messages cursing her and her entire bloodline for blindsiding you like this, hoping she sees them after her grueling shift and only feels worse about leaving you like this.
Keep a tab of the line as it slowly moves, you eye the clock, knowing that the show was going to start soon. It seems to dwindle a bit, as some people in front of you and behind you give and leave, deciding it wasn’t worth it, and after scrolling through your feed a little bit more, you find yourself next in line.
Glancing through the snacks, your stomach protests louder, ravenous after a day fueled on granola bars, a pathetic excuse of a yogurt bowl, and some crisps you had lying around, until you feel your hopes and dreams plummet when you see a small sign at the edge of the table that says only cash.
Fucking bullshit, you think angrily, whipping your wallet out again as you rifle through the confines, who still uses only cash? What medieval system was this? They accepted cards last time, this is entirely-
And you could complain petulantly in your head as much as you want, but your face falls as you search through for the third time, coming to the consensus that you didn’t have a lick of cash on you. The person in front of you is almost done, but your shoulders sag as you begrudgingly step away, shaking your head in dismay as you make your way to the theater entrance, flashing your ticket to the ticket taker as he lets you in with a wide smile.
The ushers point you towards aisle H, and you patiently dispute the hate still inside of you, burning. Waiting as those in front of you find their seats, and it doesn’t take long before you’re able to see a pop of hair standing high amongst the rest of the people in the audience.
You move past a couple of people talking as you move closer, almost skidding when you stop instantly, realizing that Satoru was, in fact, not alone.
From this angle, you could see the girl standing in front of him, a wide grin on her face as she laughs at something he says. Your eyes go to his face, your posture falling even more when you see the little quirk of his lips, a sign that he wasn’t necessarily hating the conversation, and the loss of the popcorn feels pointless now as your stomach churns for another reason.
It was selfish to think that you were the only person who liked Satoru, but it didn’t hurt any less when you were confronted with this fact at least once a week. You knew you couldn’t expect anything from this stupid crush, a theorem forming inside your head that you continued to fall for Gojo Satoru just because you liked the sting of knowing you had no shot with him, and seeing other girls and their gleeful smiles at the fact that you probably had a chance is what maybe hurt the most.
You weren’t ever angry at these girls, understanding them completely, even admiring the way they could flirt so effortlessly, and treated you kindly whenever you were near, but it singed a part inside of you that liked to act that you were in this small fictional bubble that you dreamt of whenever he looked your way.
Like he was right now.
Standing awkwardly to the side, at the end of the row, you sway idly in your spot, looking at the two of them and then around, wondering when the lights were going to start dimming and notify you of when the show was about to start.
You hear your name being called, a familiar cluster of syllables from his throat, and you look away from the painting on the wall to the side as you see Satoru throwing up a hand, trying to grab your attention.
When he sees you finally looking his way, he turns back to the girl, saying a few more words as she nods, her smile still soft as she glances at you, a strange look on her face as she sends you another smile, and you can’t help but return it despite the sinking feeling in your gut.
She leaves through the other end, and you mutter a few apologies as you finally make your way down to where he was standing, ducking your head down sheepishly as you fidget with the strap of your tote.
“Hey,” you say meekly, your cheeks heating as you finally get to him, “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
One of his hands waved, shaking his head as he looked back to where the girl had retreated with her friends.
“You weren’t interrupting,” he tells you, and your brows furrow slightly because that was a white lie if you’ve ver heard one, “I knew her from my lab,” he he says, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes trace of your face, falling to your empty arms as they squint, the conversation with the girl suddenly feeling his head as he points, “Where’s your popcorn?”
The past couple of moments seem to flee too as you wring your hands awkwardly together, shooting him a tight smile as you try to appear indifferent.
“Oh, they didn’t take card,” you mumble bitterly, “And I forgot my wads of cash back in my dorm, so,” you shrug, laughing it off as you point to the seats, “But it’s fine, I…erm, wasn’t really feeling it anyway,” a lie, since that was all you could talk about, but you push past him as you sit down, setting your tote on your lap as you look at him, waiting for him to do the same.
Satoru peeks at you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he swallows, not doing anything to sit down as one of your brows moves upwards, confused about the mental turmoil that he was going through, which made him reluctant to sit.
“Everything okay?” You ask slowly, shifting your legs, wondering if he was tight for room, but he just nods, tongue poking through his rosy lips as he glances back towards the double doors as he briefly nods.
“I need to use the bathroom,” he mutters, and you nod, lips pursing in understanding as you look over your shoulders, watching as more people start taking their seats.
“Okay,” you sit back a little bit, your finger pointing behind you to where the bathrooms were, “Well, you, you should probably go, like, now. I think the shows going to start,” you say with a light chuckle and check your phone, realizing that there were only five minutes left till the lights turned off, “In a little bit.”
Satoru just nods again, saying spoke few words before he turns to leave, murmuring apologies to the people sitting down as his long legs knock their knees, and you watch him leave the aisle and go before you turn your attention back to the stage, taking the time to admire the props and the set design, trying to think back to the original story and see if it lines up with how you remembering it starting.
When the overhead lights start flickering, and Satoru isn’t back yet, you churn in your seat, looking over your shoulder every couple of seconds, hoping that he doesn’t have to navigate back in the dark.
You send him a small text saying that it was almost going to be lights out when you see his figure in the corner of your eye, watch as he nears your row with his arms full, and you squint, trying to see through the dimness to see what it was that he was holding.
The closer he gets, the more you’re able to see, and it’s only until he’s lowering himself to sit down that you make out the popcorn bag in one hand, and some boxes of sweets in the other.
He says nothing as he shoves the popcorn into your hand, settling in as he looks around the seat, trying to move the armrests up only to see that they’re stuck in place, completely oblivious to your wide-eyed stare as he lets out a big sigh, resting back as his legs spread out a little bit. He opens a box of Maltesers, adjusting his glasses as he looks at the stage.
“Want some?” He finally says, his voice low as he pushes the red box towards you, and your cheeks are almost on fire as you glance at the paper bag of popcorn in his outstretched hand.
“I…” you blink, holding onto the popcorn so that it doesn’t spill, “Here.” You dumbly give him the bag back, assuming that he had only given it to you so that he could sit down more comfortably.
Only now does he tear his eyes away from the stage, tuning out the voice over the announcements, the regular message of turning off your phones and staying quiet, as his elbow pushes your arm back to your seat.
“Can’t have corn,” he says bluntly, looking over at your startled expression, “It’s yours.”
It’s yours.
Here’s another moment you're going to mull over before another minuscule thing he does happens again, and you spend the next months thinking about that.
“Are you sure?” You whisper, already pulling your phone out to Venmo him for it, but Satoru can already tell what you're about to do as he flicks it away, as if it was repulsive to him, and you don’t have any time to argue because the curtains pull outwards and reveal the actors.
You drag a hand over your face, trying not to look over at him anymore as you begrudgingly accept the kind token, trying to relax in your seat as the show begins, a tentative finger plucking out a popcorn as you bring it to your mouth, hoping that the only person who can what the blood roaring in your ears is you.
—
Nearly a quarter in, and you start to realize just how bad an idea this was.
The play itself was great. The actors were delivering their performance in a manner that felt reminiscent ot the campy nature of the original text, and some people in the audience were keeling over with laughter in certain parts.
You found yourself with a wide smile throughout most of it, recalling some of the bits and others jogging your memory, but you were thoroughly enjoying it nonetheless. The issue was, the person next to you seemed to be despising it.
The rare couple of times you peeked over to see his reaction to a couple of things, you noticed his jaw clenched, sitting straight and uptight as his eyes never left the stage. He barely mustered up a smile during the funny portions, looking utterly depleted during the serious bits, and his hands were clasped together, fingers interwoven as he sighed, unamused.
Every time somebody would do something weird, you’d glance his way and would still see the same stone-cold expression on his face. You were aware that the play itself was over exaggerated and strange at times, but that was the whole appeal of it in the first place. But at times, you tried to view it through the lens of someone who didn’t go in-depth into literature and read the nuances of somebody like Satoru, who would rather spend their free time studying and working on their mountain of assignments, not something like this, and you felt your chest getting heavier and heavier with each second.
When it neared intermission, you could’ve sworn you had nearly melted in your seat, your popcorn done as you glanced over at Satoru when the lights finally turned back on, people around you standing up to leave or stretch.
A beat of silence passes before you clear your throat, mustering up a wobbly grin as you jab a thumb to the curtains.
“Funny, huh?”
Satoru blinks, as if coming back to, and you debate if he had been half asleep. The thought makes you sink even deeper in embarrassment.
“It’s, uh,” he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as he swallowed thickly, “It’s…interesting. I haven’t really seen anything like it before.”
You pause, chew on the side of your lip, rubbing at your eyes as you try to think of anything else to say. You’ve spent time with him alone, sure, but never in a situation where it felt like you had to defend yourself, your background, the whole reason why you were here in the first place, like you are now.
People bustle around the two of you, and he sits up a little straighter, pushing his shoulders back as his neck cracks a bit.
“It’s raunchy and… theatrical,” you try to explain, attempting to seem unconcerned as you fold the paper bag up and set it neatly on the ground, making a mental note to pick it up before you leave. “But I think it’s really interesting given the period it was written and how vulgar, everything is, and the characters are all super unlikable, which you don’t really see in these kinds of productions, and, well, it’s supposed to be funny and…fun, I guess,” your voice dies down, your lips almost chewed raw as you wait for a reaction, a facade of interest, a pitiful acknowledgement to what felt like your livelihood, but he just nods.
You suck in a deep breath, gaze darting around the theater as you try to look at anything else.
Noticing your sudden silence, his eyes leave the stage for a moment as they rake over your expression, see the way your lips pull into a small, worried line, the crease between your brows, something that appeared whenever you were stressed or confused. His face seemed to melt to mirror yours.
“Is there a reason why they keep calling the daughter a slut?” He finally asks, and your eyes dart back to him, and your cheeks puff, blinking slowly as you nod, embarrassed for some reason as you stammer to find words.
“It’s, erm, well, it’s in the original material, but,” your words mesh together as you try to call back on the research paper you did for this piece, your mind blanking as your cheeks heat, “But I think they keep it in because it’s supposed to be a demonstration of the degradation of women and the differentiation between men who also exhibit premarital interest in the sex…and it’s not supposed to be funny but they repeat it a lot, so you kind of become numb to the meaning of the word...” Your rambling quiets near the end as you shoot him another tense smile, wringing your hands together as your lips tremble, looking away as a last resort to save your dignity.
After spending two years with him, you’ve become familiar with his routine and what he expects from his day-to-day life. What some describe as the prodigal son, Gojo Satoru, if not with friends, is usually found in the back of the library, in his dorm, or somewhere quiet with papers strewn in front of him, with his laptop out, typing away. He sometimes goes to benefits and galas, some to attend because of his parents, others because of his biochemistry path, but his time isn’t usually spent at the theater watching vulgar plays.
That’s what you did.
And of course, you didn’t come here weekly. You had to be here for that godforsaken Literature in English class. But this was a part of you, this play, this environment, these exaggerated dialogues are what you spent your time obsessing over. The history and the meaning, and the importance of English literature and writings are your life, and having someone next to you, watching a personification of it live, felt like inviting them into a piece of your mind, even if they wouldn’t view it as such.
But to you, you who liked to overcomplicate and read into things, saw it as such, and your heart was thumping erratically when you realized that Satoru probably saw this, you, as equally insane for enjoying something like this.
And you hated how much the thought made you spiral, made you think of yourself less than when there was a possibility that this wasn’t what Satoru was thinking at all, but the slight chance, the small probability, is what stirred the trepidation in you.
“Are you enjoying it?”
His question brings you out of your mental fever, and you bite your cheek, wondering what the right answer would be. He’s watching you, waiting, and you exhale shakily, smiling poorly as you swallow back some bile.
“I, I am,” you say finally, “It’s just…I did this huge essay on this last year, and I’ve been looking for a rendition of it, but there’s only this old movie that’s so far been made, so…seeing this live is pretty cool.”
He nods, looking at your stalled expression as you keep your eyes trained on the curtains, not wanting to show your internal thoughts on your ever-so expressive face, and he tries to keep his slight confusion at bay for your suddenly reserved self.
As you try to feign indifference by going on your phone, you can watch him from the corner of your eyes, look around, and uncharacteristically fidget in his seat as he debates doing the same as you or talking some more, which, at the moment, you don’t appear content to do. But the more you try to ignore him, the more it seems like your body has a physical reaction to it, protesting your desire to keep to yourself.
“Did you do anything fun today?” You ask, putting your phone down as you scratch at the inside of your wrist. He blinks, looking a little quizzically at you before he clears his throat.
“Well, Suguru had set me up for a double date,” he explains, and you feel your chest tighten a little bit, “But…eh,” he shrugs, “I wasn’t really feeling it,” he drags a hand over his face, “If only he knew where I’d end up instead, huh?” He nudges your elbow with his, a teasing grin on his face, but blood roars in your ears upon hearing his words.
Gods, the man who despised dates and unaccounted occasions and strange meetings would rather take that over this.
You let out a little puff of air, trying to give him a smile as you feel sweat dot on the back of your neck, your palms clammy as you wring your hands together, looking down at your shoes as you try to bite back the lump in your throat.
He’d rather be anywhere else than here, your mind blares, the unspoken words ringing in the small expanse of your heart.
There’s a strange gurgle in your stomach, one that shifts sharply, and you wince. This is definitely not a part of your internal trade, and you hope that when you shift to place a hand on it to try and calm it down. You turn your phone off, pocketing it in your tote, and the sudden movement makes you jerk in pain. You sit back up, hoping that he won't notice.
But, of course, he does.
He angles his body towards you, brows cinched as your eyes twitch barely.
“Are you okay?” His voice his deep, tinged with worry, his head leaning towards you just a bit so that you can feel his minty breath fan across your warm cheek.
You wave him off, shooting him a horrifically terrible smile as you shift, your head tilting to the side as your stomach makes another alien noise.
“Yeah,” you mutter, almost like a question because even you don’t know if you’re alright, “Yeah, I just think it’s the popcorn on an empty stomach.” But even that explanation made no sense. It seems like your stomach is churning even more with each passing second, and you really wish that he couldn’t tell that every moment is a testament to your battle for control of your own body.
“Do you want some water?” He asks, looking over his shoulder to the doors, remembering that the concession stand was also selling bottled drinks, “I’ll get some-”
But your hand shoots out, gripping the fabric of his sleeve as you tug on it, shaking your head as you attempt to situate yourself back in your seat, your act going well besides the slight crack in your face at a particularly painful jab.
“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine,” the lights flicker again above you, and you’re somewhat grateful for them, grateful hat you can’t see the obvious fear on his face at the prospect of you being sick near his very hygienic self, “The shows starting, anyway, so just,” your voice dips a little as you try to contain a groan, “Just stay.”
He goes to protest, but your hold on him is strangely tight for someone so riddled with pain, and his mouth parts to say something, but the glare you shoot him nearly shuts him up.
“Please,” you mutter, the embarrassment from several things thick in your voice as you wince, your eyes melting into something pleading as the applause begins, and his face falls for a second, but you look away, weakly clapping along with everybody else.
You feel tears prickly in your eyes.
And you hope he can’t see the shining gloss when you try to blink them back.
—
When the show ends, you’re nearly debilitated with the pain in your abdomen, and the mortification from having watched Macheath’s other wife battle it out with Polly alongside Satoru. They mix into a terrible combination, one that forces you to come back into consciousness in the middle of the theater, the bright overhead lights nearly sending you into a psychosis.
There must have been something horrifically wrong with either the popcorn or the butter they put on it, because, despite your blurry view, you can see a few people in the audience huddled up in their seats the same way as you, despite the play ending.
Satoru cleans up next to you, taking his boxes of candy and your strewn popcorn bag, and sits back up to look at you nervously.
“Are…are you sure you’re okay?” His gentle tone is one that you barely register as your hands grip onto the armrest. You can barely even muster up a hum, giving him a shaky thumbs up as your stomach gurgles again, this time, audibly.
You try to stand, but your knees wobble, and you grip onto the back of the seat as your head sways. You can feel his grip on your elbow, nearly knocking over some people's bottles beside him from how fast he stands up, and your clammy face looks upward at him, swearing that he looks like an angel with the light framing his hair.
“I,” you clamp your mouth shut, swallowing thickly as you wince, taking a few seconds before you start again, “I have to use the loo.” The declaration comes out as a whisper, an ashamed one, and you can’t look him in the face, even if his nods insistently, an arm of his wrapping around the expanse of your back as he tries to steady you
“There’s one near the concessions,” he tells you, his voice strangely considerate and temperate, head leaning down to get closer to your ear so that you could hear him better, “Do you think you can make it?”
You feel like a child, but you only nod, neck and face flaring up in embarrassment as you allow him to guide you through the aisle of people, not looking anybody in the eyes as you make it out, your legs shaking slightly. If it weren’t for him, you’re sure you would’ve toppled down in pain by now.
The walk out of the theater becomes a blur, letting him guide you towards the bathrooms with one of your hands wrapped tightly around your stomach, as if it would ease the pain, and you feel the two of you come to a stop as you stand next to the ladies' door.
His arm around you falls, and you miss its warmth. He looks crossed with different emotions as you use the wall to hold yourself up, wobbling towards the bathroom as you shoot a look over your shoulder.
“Thanks,” you whisper, your eyes widening and then shutting instantly at how much it hurts your head, “I’ll…I’ll be back.” The words slur in your mouth, and you don’t give him any time to react before you leave through the wooden door and book it to a stall.
The moments that follow afterwards are what you’d expect from a case of bad butter.
You kneel on the floor, heaving everything up, trying to be as quiet as possible so the girls in the stalls around you can’t hear, but it’s not a process that you’re particularly fond of and can feel your will to continue weakening as you leave back on the wall, your head in yours hands as you hear the toilet automatically flush.
At least getting it out of your system seems to have made the painful throbs dull down to an annoying little jab, but you feel like the bulk of the damage has already been done. Satoru was sweet enough that he’d try to never bring this up again, but you knew you’d have to live with the humiliation of this evening for a couple of months before you did something else that would top it.
You let your head tilt back and heave a gulp of air, palms jamming into your eyes as you attempt to swallow, your mouth too dry to produce any saliva. If Shoko were here, she’d at least try to make you laugh about the ridiculousness of it all. But it’s just you and Satoru, and you don’t know if you can even look at him for the next week after tonight.
Giving yourself a little more time to calm down, you heave yourself up from your position on the floor, careful not to touch the ground, and pluck your bag off the hook, miraculously throwing it on before you hunched, so as it wouldn’t touch anything too icky.
You wash and scrub your hands, feeling dirty and still a little sick as you splash some water on your face, hoping the cool water will help snap you back. The girls around you talk, some drying their hands, others touching up their makeup in the mirror. One of the girls next to you watches you through your reflection, her face pale and strands of hair wet as she splashes some water onto her face.
“Popcorn?” She asks, and your eyes find hers through the mirror, blinking slowly as your hands grip the counter.
“Yeah,” you take a deep inhale of air, sharing a small smile with her as you turn off the faucet, “Do you want some hand sanitizer?” You offer, going to reach into your tote, but she waves it off, giving you a kind smile as she continues to wash her hands, probably feeling just as bad as you were.
Giving her a small nod as you go to the paper towel dispenser, you reach around for your phone, opening it up as you quickly send a text to Shoko to update her on where you were, nothing too long, just to be safe, and tap the tip of your shoe on the ground, debating what to do next.
You could go see Satoru, probably waiting outside, and awkwardly explain that you should probably walk back, seeing how his germaphobic personality might not mesh with the fact that you had basically deposited your entire day in the theater washroom. You could also try to sneak away and hope that he was standing somewhere that granted you the option of stealth, but you quickly shook that off, quickly understanding how pathetic and childish it was.
After another moment of thought, you ball up the towel and throw it away, pushing the door open with your shoulder as you enter back into the lobby, the business having died down just a bit, and look around bravely for the man.
Spotting the pop of white near the end of the room, you take a few steps forward before you halt, stopping near a wall that offered you a little bit of insight as to what he was doing as you peeked around the corner.
2 - 0, you think sunkenly, watching the way Satoru talks to another girl, his broad shoulders shielding her from where you originally were, and that familiar ache enters your chest as you play with the hem of your sweater.
You could be sadistic when it came to your unrequited feelings; that much you had made peace with. But the universe was horrifically masochistic for the situations it thrust you into.
His face is a little more stiff than before, but still polite and kind as he cranes his neck to look at the girl. Her hair is pulled into a sleek bun, one that you always envied with how clean and precise some girls were able to make theirs, and watched how her hand lingered on his arm, something you could never get away with without his face falling into contained disgust.
It’s unfair to think this way of this stranger, you remind yourself, after all, if you had the guts, you’d try to make a move on him too.
So, in another moment of decision-making, you get your phone out again, trying to contain the little tremble in your lips as you start drafting a message to him. It’s for the best, you try to reason, telling him that you were too sick and didn’t want to give him what you had. You send another message, saying that you were going to make your way back to your dorm and that you hope he had fun, thanking him as much as you could without sounding pathetic for how much he did this evening and for coming.
You also sent him the venmo transfer for the popcorn you were going to make earlier for good measure.
Where you were presented you an easy way to slip out of the building, one of the exits a little bit behind you, as you rubbed at your tired eyes, wrapping your arms around your torso as you prepared for the cold gusts of wind that were going to hit you the moment you stepped out.
People around you were talking in muted voices, laughter ringing around your ears as you ducked your head down, hoping that this time by yourself could give you some moments of peace, even though you knew that being alone with your onslaught of thoughts was going to do the exact opposite.
This campus was always bustling on a Saturday night, so you never felt too alone as you made your way away from the theater, pulling out your headphones as you geared up your phone to listen to some music before you heard a muffled shout from behind you.
Brows furrowing and your eyes slightly shifted in confusion, you, along with some other students around you, looked to see what the sound was.
To your utter horror and stupefaction, you watch as Satoru whips his head around, as if he were looking for something, or rather someone.
You stand like a deer in headlights, hands raised mid-way to your ears to put your headphones in them as you see him check his phone and then look up again, not caring that other people were looking at him strangely as he runs a worried hand down his face, typing something furiously fast as he looks around again.
Finally, it seems like he found what he was looking for when your eyes lock, and he sends you an ice-cold, deathly glare, one that made you glance around as if it were someone behind you more deserving of such a look, but before you can do anything, he’s jogging over to where you were frozen in place.
The closer he gets, the more you can see the agitation and vexation in his microexpressions, things you’ve taken pride in before in reading, now not so much because you were on the receiving end of them.
When he comes to a halt, phone still in hand, his chest rises and falls a little fast, as if he were out of breath, and he runs another frustrated hand through his white locks as he pushes them back.
Your mouth gapes, and you suddenly remember that you were supposed to be “deathly ill” according to the text you had sent him, and try to make your breathing seem more labored, your posture more haggard, but that doesn't work as he eyes you like he knows.
“Where the hell are you going?” He snaps, and you wince slightly at his tone, and he reels, shooting you an apologetic look despite the fire burning inside of him from the way you’ve been acting this night.
“Back…back to my place,” you whisper, voice hoarse, and he hears it instantly, expression melting as he takes the time to really dissect the way your eyes are slightly bloodshot, your lips chapped, your lashes clumped with tears, and he takes a small step back, taking in a deep breath.
“No, I, shit,” he stammers, restarting, “Are you…” His voice comes out as thick and low, and you almost feel it in your bones as he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his nerves as he gives you a tilted look, “Are you okay?”
This time, he’s not asking because you were exhibiting signs of ailment, but because you had been acting like you were strangers since the moment you saw him tonight. Because your behavior was so off and unlike you, he was struggling to understand if there was something beneath the surface, something that had happened that he wasn’t aware of, that was fueling this shift.
Your eyes seem to waver as you try not to look at him, attempting a nonchalant shrug that is anything but, as you think of how to lower your voice to a deeper register to appear more sick than you really are.
“I feel sick,” you mutter, coughing feigningly as you pull on the straps of your tote upwards, as you clear your throat, trying not to feel the weight of the looks other people were giving the two of you.
A single brow of his raises, one that you know is detecting bullshit as you rub at your nose.
“I’m sure,” he finally murmurs, rolling his eyes at the obvious statement, “I think the entire lobby heard you throwing up your small intestine.” That statement alone almost makes you keel over in shame, humiliation, embarrassment, and disgrace, but he continues, “But…are you…okay? You’ve been…off…the entire night.”
And you know you can’t sidestep this landmine because you know how weird you’ve been acting this evening, knowing that your attempts to make things better have only backfired, and the past couple of hours come screaming back at you, and for some stupid, depressing reason, cause a sting of tears to prick behind your eyes.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as your head falls slightly, your stomach still aching, your pride and confidence bruised, and you can still smell the lingering perfume of the girl he had been talking to, another reminder that you probably didn’t smell like that perfume you had spritzed on so long ago.
“I’m okay,” you murmur, looking at the cracks on the ground, your voice shaking and wobbling and so clearly not true that you tilt your head back up to see his reaction, your face crumpling into a little wet laugh when he seems completely unmoved. Upon hearing your little giggle, his anger fades a bit, but is quickly replaced with another emotion when he hears you sniffle.
“Look, you-” he looks down at his phone to reread the text you had sent him, and his confusion seems to grow even more when he reads another notification, “Did you Venmo me?”
You nod again, weakly, and when you look up at him, you see him fighting back a startled laugh, the quiver on his face making your lips pull up into a wobbly smile, your own emotions turning into something strange as you watch him shake his head in dismay, running a stressed hand through his hair.
“Did something happen today?” He asks, not taunting, never taunting, but something you can’t place as you weakly not, a sheen over your eyes as you tug at your sleeves.
“…no,” you whisper, but the two of you know it’s far from the truth because even you can’t hide the way your lips tremble and your hands shake slightly.
He presses his lips together tightly, his jaw ticking as he takes in your sunken form, something he’s never seen before, and chews on his cheek, thinking.
Sighing deeply, he pockets his phone, not able to look at your texts anymore because they made him too nauseous, and moves to be closer to you.
“Come on,” he says after a moment's silence, “Let’s go.”
You peek over at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you huff out a breath of air, trying to contain your tears as you sniffle again. Your bottom lip trembles slightly, and your stomach still has a lingering ache, but there’s something else that’s causing you to be like this, and you don’t like whatever it is.
He’s waiting, his elbow budging yours, and so you heave a sigh, rubbing at your cheeks as you nudge him back slowly.
“Thank you, ‘Toru,” you murmur, and he pauses, his tongue caught between his teeth because you rarely call him by that nickname, rarely use it unless you really mean it, “For everything. And I’m sorry,” you peek over at him from above your lashes, looking back at the ground at your shoe so you couldn’t see his reaction, “I didn’t mean to spoil your evening like this-” But before you can say anything more he raises a hurried hand, cutting you off.
“You didn’t spoil my evening, love,” he says quickly, his tone soft and teetering on worried, the little title slipping out of his mouth like it was natural, and if you weren’t feeling like a pile of shit, you might have fixated on it more, his eyes roaming your anxious face.
But you insistently nod, your lips pressed together as if you were trying your hardest not to let out a pitiful cry in front of him.
“I-I did,” you voice cracks, and you rub at your eyes as some treacherous tears escape, and if only you could truly see the way he looks like he was breaking seeing you like this, “With you getting the popcorn and then me getting sick and then the s-stupid show,” and he winces because he knows you were enjoying the play, could hear your twinkling laugh and he hates it whenever you feel the need to shut down the things you like because you’re worried other people will judge you for doing so, “And…and I wish you had told Shoko o-or me about your date, I would have totally understood,” you try for a smile, your words choked and wobbly and if only you knew what you were doing as you ramble, “I’m just…I’m really sorry for everything." You finish with a quivering chuckle, your heart shaking like a leaf as you finally meet his eyes, hoping he can’t see the little shake in your breathing when you finally do.
He breathes in deeply, and you can hear the gears in his head turning. But you nudge his side again, wanting to leave it at that. You can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, but you don’t want to look.
And you’re grateful that to some extent, he understands that, even if not fully. He murmurs a gentle come on, his hand gingerly wrapping around your arm as he tugs to next to him, his warmth enveloping you as he leads the way.
—
As much as you insist, the one thing he doesn’t seem to budge on is taking you back to your dorm.
You pleaded with him, begged him not to get him sick, but he wouldn’t listen. It’s almost as if he steered you towards his building, a hand hovering over your back as he led you inside and up the elevator and to his room before you could even have the ability to ditch and run away.
“If you’re going to talk, fine, but don’t think I’m insane enough to leave you alone right now.”
That alone could have sent you into a psychosis if you weren’t so worried about puking all over his bed.
With the way his germophobic and clean tendencies forbade him from going to public restrooms, you’re stunned that he’s even standing near you with everything that has happened this night. He even lent you his old band shirt and trousers from when he was going through a phase.
It was a blur as you spun around his room, rifling through his drawers for towels and soap and things he thought you might want to use in the shower. You stood awkwardly at the foot of his bed, not sitting down on the mattress because you knew how he felt about outside clothes on his sheets, and you said nothing as he handed everything to you, shooting you a shaky smile, one that was tense because you figured he was most likely worried about you staining or ruining one of his clean things. You don’t say anything as he suddenly ducks, his knees hitting the floor as he starts undoing the laces to your shoes, mumbling something about how you bending over might not be the best for your stomach.
He was lucky enough to be in one of the newer buildings, meaning that he had a personal washroom, so he just led you to it and let you know to use the shower and to call out to him if you needed anything. He even had an extra pack of toothbrushes and boxers that he hadn’t touched that he set aside for you.
You watched as he shut the door, the water roaring behind you as it began to heat up, and you silently stripped, neatly folding your clothes as you set them to the side. You took a tentative step inside his very clean shower, letting the steaming water hit you as you stood there for a couple of minutes, reflecting.
Washing your face, scrubbing roughly at the makeup and the evening away, you feel some salty tears bite at your cheek, and you don’t even know why you’re crying right now. Well, in all honesty, you do, and that’s probably what hurts the most.
You’ve never cried over Gojo Satoru before. You’ve never felt like it was so depressingly lost where you’d need to use these muscles and these feelings that you reserve for truly important things, but it felt like tonight was a confirmation and closure all in one. It felt like you slowly came to your senses, realized that despite your wishes, it was fruitless. You just weren’t the kind of girl that he could cherish, at least, not in the way you wanted him to, and you knew it would be selfish of you to ruin any chance another girl could have of him being hers.
It took you a little longer than expected, but you feel like you were slowly gaining consciousness, the reality at hand as you turned the water off, patting yourself dry with the soft towel he had provided you.
You move carefully, brushing your teeth, pulling on the clothes he left you, as you assess yourself in the fogged-up mirror. Your eyes are a little puffy, but you can just tell him from earlier. Your voice is croaky, but you’ll just bite your words back tonight until you can go back to your place in the morning and start distancing yourself from him until your feelings are choked out. It’s time you began moving on, anyway.
Braving the other side, you take a deep breath before you carefully open the door, peeking around the corner until you see him sitting on the corner of his bed, furiously typing away until he hears the creak, looking up from across the room as you sheepishly smile.
He quickly puts his phone away, standing to his feet as he rubs his hands, not knowing what to do as he buffers.
“Was, erm, was everything good?” He motions to the bathroom, and you quickly nod, walking away as the steam from behind wraps around you, your body adjusting to the shift in temperature as your eyes stray to the couch in the corner, pillows and blankets set up in a makeshift bed.
“It was great, thank you,” you say gently, “I’m sorry, again-” But he holds a hand up, cutting you off as he insistently shakes his head.
“Really, it was nothing,” he stresses, his cheeks dusted pink, his glasses discarded on his desk.
You nod again, embarrassed, and smile stiffly, pointing to the couch as you make your way over.
“Thanks for this, too,” you say, but he seems to awkwardly shuffle, his hands behind his back, looking like he wants to say something, and your brow slightly quirks at his odd reaction.
“That’s…that’s for me,” he explains, moving away from his lofted bed as he shows you the changed sheets and the new pillow case covers, what he must have been doing in the time it took for you to shower, “You can sleep here.” He pats the mattress, and you let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking your head as you move closer to the couch, feeling like the worst person in the world.
“I couldn’t,” you stress, but he’s already moving closer to you, looking like he wants to move you away from the cushions, “I’ve already imposed enough. I’ll sleep here. It’s fine, really, I like couches.”
He opens his mouth and closes it, lips pressed into a thin line.
“You haven’t imposed,” he finally says, as if that’s all he took away from your rambles, and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you wave aside his polite nature and hold your hands up.
“If I sleep on your bed after everything, I’m never going to be able to look you in the eyes again, okay?” You put it bluntly, “So I’ll take the couch, and you’ll take your bed, and it’ll be fine. Okay?”
His tongue darts out, blinking rapidly as if he’s assessing his different options, and he looks at you, to the couch, and then to the bed. He seems like he’s torn, but he figures that the next best thing is to ignore this completely, shaking his head to himself as he moves around you to the cupboards behind your body, shuffling around until he finds what he needs.
“I’m going to wash up,” he mutters, glancing briefly at you as he pulls in his towel to his chest, his new pair of clothes, and you feel your chest tighten at the sudden dismissiveness in his tone, ad if he’s given up with you, and he makes his way to the separate room, “Make yourself comfortable.” He calls over his shoulder before he shuts the door behind him, and you give it a few seconds before you wince, falling back down onto the couch as you pull a pillow to your chest and allow yourself some time to relax before he comes back.
You allow yourself some time to look around, appreciating his tidy room and the mess-free atmosphere. You can smell the lingering scent of bergamot, and you see the warmer on his desk, a candle right under it. The wall that his desk is parallel to is littered with postcards and retro movie posters (mostly Star Wars and Star Trek). There are some polaroids he has pinned up, some with Suguru and Shoko from their years in secondary school, some photos he had taken himself with his camera. His bookshelf, which is nearly leaning over with how heavy it is, is at the end of the couch, and you shift to get a better look at the books he has on his shelf.
You’re so rarely in here, especially by yourself, so you peek around, hearing the water still running, and lift from the cushions, your eyes squinting as you move closer, trying to make out the names on the spines, your curiosity getting the better of you.
Most of the shelves are full of textbooks from previous courses he had taken; therefore, most of them are science-related. Your eyes shift across the spines, seeing some books about botany and a couple about astronomy and astrophysics, a specific interest of his despite specializing in biochemistry. Notes are jammed into the empty spaces, and you make out his cursive on some of them, smiling despite yourself when you pull some of them out, making out his quick scribble from when he was either in class or studying.
The bookshelf itself is insanely tall for no reason, tall enough that you’re sure Suguru or even Satoru, in his sprawling height, would struggle reaching to top, so you have to go onto your toes, stretching your calves as you tilt your head upwards to look at some of the higher shelves, pulling some books out by placing a finger on the top of the spine, careful not to disrupt anything as you let yourself get lost in the names.
Suddenly, in the midst of all the chemistry and biology and Latin names, something familiar catches your eye, a book that was resting on its side on the highest shelf, and you struggle but can wedge yourself up on the edge of the couch to reach it.
The Count of Monte Cristo.
Your eyes widen in spite of your heavy emotions riddling your mind, and you turn it around, reading which edition and publisher it was as you scour through the pages, seeing his little citations in blue ink in the margins. You flip through the pages, each one highlighted and marked for different reasons, similar to the way you read through a book, and you close it shut, feeling like you were somehow intruding on something private as you set it back down in its initial place on the shelf until something else caught your attention.
Familiar titles and authors all paint the top level of his bookshelf, books that have nothing to do with his major or classes or even remotely with something you think he might enjoy reading, and you almost fall as you try to get closer.
A small box at the edge of the shelf piques your interest, and your lips catch between your teeth as you put all of your focus on this task, your nimble fingers moving closer, plucking it from its spot as you hold it gingerly in the palm of your hand, looking back to the bathroom as you hear the pipes groan as he turns the water off, an alarming sound, one that meant that you didn't have a lot of time left.
The box itself is also familiar, this one for more reasons than most, because you remember this box; you gave it to him for his previous birthday. amongst other little trinkets, finding it at a flea market, and thinking he could make some use of it. The wooden grain and the carvings on it were delicate, and your hold is even more careful as you unlock the little latch, the top lifting open as you peer inside.
Your eyes adjust to the sight, something you weren’t necessarily expecting, as what you can only describe as junk littered the inside of it. A ticket stub from a movie he had seen, a dried leaf, candy wrappers, spare coins. You huff a little in disappointment, your nosey nature quelled by the contents within as you rifle around a little more, knowing you should stop and sit down and act like you saw nothing when you feel a glossy texture beneath your fingertips.
Gently, you pinch it between your pointer finger and thumb, pulling it out from beneath all rubble as you hold it closer to your face, your breath catching in your throat.
It’s a polaroid of the two of you.
You remember the night well, a couple of months ago, during the summer. The four of you and a couple of mutual friends had rented a car and had gone up to a cabin, one of the many properties Satoru’s family owned, and had spent the weekend there. Suguru had insisted on setting up a fire and eating around it, and you had huddled up next to Shoko as the night got colder. You remember the voices and the laughs and the squeals as some of the friends, people you didn’t know that well, began chasing each other, and you and Shoko watched, amused. You remember how one of the boys had been carrying a jug of water, one meant for inside, when somebody bumped into him, and he tripped, and the water came falling on you. You remember letting out a small laugh, shocked and forgiving as you assured the stranger that it was okay, shivering, nonetheless, as Shoko laughed uncontrollably.
But above all, you remember how Satoru hurried over from wherever he was, his stare worried that you were hurt, everything shifting when he saw the playful glint in your eyes, the fireplace illuminating your features in red, yellow and orange hues as you shrugged his worries off, his hands on your elbows, steadying you as Suguru took a photo of the moment, of your head thrown back in a laugh and his eyebrows pulled into an anxious line while his lips pulled into a gentle smile, the stars twinkling in the background as he steadied you to your feet.
You distantly recall hearing the click and asking Suguru about the photo, but hearing him say something along the lines of the lighting being too dark, but clearly that was a lie because you were holding the small photo in your hand, staring at it with no problem.
Before you can spend more time thinking about his junk box and what the hell this photo was doing in it, you heard some shuffling on the other side of the bathroom, the door clicking open as you scramble to put the box back, nearly tripping as you jump down, going back to where you were seated on the couch in a flash, appearing to look nonchalant as he stepped out.
You don’t let your eyes linger too long on the way his shirt stretched tightly across his chest, or the way that the water has caused the fabric to slightly stick to his arms. He shakes his hair into a towel, ringlets of water falling as he pushes his hair back. You also try not to fawn too much over his mismatched pajamas, or how his trousers have prints of lightsabers in different colors all over them.
“Hey,” he calls out gruffly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tosses his towel into the hamper, his feet padding over to his desk as he checks the clock and then his phone for any notifications. He sighs, and your throat is dry, heart hammering in your chest as you realize a grave mistake.
In your haste to put everything back, the careful clutch you had on the photo had appeared nonexistent, and you had, for some reason, made the blunder of still holding the photograph of the two of you resting in the palm of your hand.
His back is still to you, and you swallow thickly, shuffling across the couch as you try to deposit it onto one of the nearer shelfs, hoping that if he were to see it he would think it had mistakenly fallen out or something less drastic, but his ears turn towards your movement, looking over his broad shoulders at the way you scramble to dispose of the film.
“What are…?” His eyes pierce yours, and you sheepishly snap around to look at him, your hand going behind you as you shake your head, acting confused as his head tilts to the side, jumping from your seat at the edge of the cushion to your leg, angled towards his bookshelf.
“I was just looking at your books,” you quickly state, trying to cover your ass as lips purse together to give you a knowing look, a white brow rising so high that it disappears in his hairline, one calling you out on your obvious bullshit.
“Hm,” he hums, taking a step closer to you, his skin still glowing from the shower as he makes his way to where you were sitting, towering over you as his arms cross deliciously across his chest, “Then what do you have behind you?”
You feign innocence, blinking as you shake your head, acting dumb as you shrug.
“I,” you scoff, leaning back into one of the pillows as you shrug, “I don’t have anything behind me.”
“Right,” he drawls out, his voice slightly deeper, intimidatingly so as he crouches down a little until his face is to face with you, his fingers moving to poke at your arms, twisting at an odd angle to hide behind your back, “Then you wouldn’t mind if I gave you some medicine, yeah? Something that requires both hands?”
Damn him.
You shake your head, swallowing as you shoot him a shaking smile.
“Not at all,” you stress, shifting uncomfortable as he nods, his eyes raking over your face one last time as he moves to his desk, pulling a drawer out, his medicine drawer, you deduce, and watch as he pulls out a bottle that seems to promise helping with stomach aches, and he turns it over, reading the label until he seems satisfied.
He strolls back to where you’re seated, holding the medicine bottle out towards you as he patiently waits.
You shoot him a fake smile, biting back annoyance as you shift awkwardly, wringing out a hand from underneath your body, the one that’s not holding onto the photograph, as you take the bottle from his outstretched hands. You stare at it, realizing that he’s waiting for you to open it, and if it wasn’t for the unimpressed look on his face, you’d almost wager that he was amused.
“Something wrong?” He asks, fully knowing the answer, and you shoot him a glare.
“No,” you bite back, your other hand moving slowly, careful not to crumble or tear the film as you place it under your thigh, showing him both of your hands as you twist the cap of the medicine bottle off, “See?”
He nods, still unbelieving of your little tactic, as he takes the bottle away from you. You watch as he moves to set it down on the table, assessing the situation as he moves down in one swift motion, not giving you any time to understand what was going on as he loops one hands under your knees, another across your back as he lifts you up and over his shoulders like you genuinely weighed nothing more than a sack of flour and you screamed in horror at the rudeness of everything.
“Freak!” You shout, your face looking at his muscular back as he chuckles, not seeing anything yet as you try to kick his face, “This is so degrading, put me down!” You scream, horrified and mortified as he pinches your calf that was near his chest.
“Stop squirming,” he chides, but his voice is anything but chiding as he swivels around, your body jerking sideways as your head drops, motion sickness from already feeling a little off from earlier tonight, and you weakly punch his back, groaning.
“I’m going to puke all over you,” you threaten, but he just chuckles, shaking his head as he pretends to drop you, only to catch you last minute, his chest shaking with the sound, and you go to snap at him again,
But you feel it, hear it the moment he sees the polaroid you had taken.
He goes tense, his grip on you tightening a little bit out of shock, and he’s suddenly silent. You wince, turning around, hoping he could take the hint and set you down, and he finally does, carefully setting you on the ground as he bends, picking up the photograph from where it had fallen onto the floor, and staring blankly at it.
Your hands clench, chest tightening as his eyes flicker from it to you, his face unreadable as his jaw clenches slightly.
Nobody speaks for a moment, the room suddenly as tense as it was when you first entered, and you watch as he puts the photograph face down on a random shelf, turning back to you as he sighs deeply.
“Were you…Were you going through my things?”
The question shakes you, and your mouth parts as you clamp it shut.
“N-no,” you finally say, “Well, no, not really, but I guess…I don’t…I was,” your head drops to your hands in mortification as you motion weakly to the bookshelf, “I was only looking at your books.” You mutter weakly, not even able to look at him as you keep your stare trained on the books and their titles.
“I didn’t mean to see it, but…” You trail off, thousands of emotions racing through you as you try to deny it in your mind, sadness from before, anger with yourself, and suddenly feel vexation towards him for no particular reason as your eyes snap to his, “God, why do you care? It’s just a photo! I didn’t…I didn’t mean to look, but I saw that thing I gave you, and I had thought you would’ve tossed it away by now, and I just wanted to see what you’d keep in there and…yeah, fuck, okay, I looked! I’m sorry, okay? But…I mean, you keep it as a junk box anyway, it’s not like it’s…like it’s an heirloom!” You’re trying to ration and reason and trying to justify your clearly immoral actions as you ramble again, a terrible trait of yours, as he just takes it, takes your anger and your slew of words and your hurt as you feel your eyes water for no reason again as you hug your arms to yourself.
He says nothing for another moment, his eyes dark and piercing.
And then he moves.
His arm reaches upwards, up to the shelf, up behind your head to where the box was resting on the top shelf, and he slowly brings his hand down, your heart in your throat as he nearly throws the lid open, beginning to pull everything out one by one.
“This,” he’s holding the ticket stub, “This is from tonight.”
Your hands instantly drop to your sides as the anger fades and utter confusion floods your senses.
…huh?
You had just looked at the box; how did you not notice? But you look closer at it, the date and the row and seat number nearly the same as the ticket stub you had thrown away after leaving the theater in a hurry, and your eyes flee up towards him, his chest heaving as he continues.
“This is from when we went to the beach,” he pulls out a chipped seashell, and you recognize the pattern instantly, remembering the one time the four of you had gone to the shoreline, a seashell you had picked up and thought was interesting, showing it to him before Shoko called you away, but you don’t have any time to compute that as he pulls out the next time.
“This is from the candy you gave me during a study session we had,” he pulls out a wrinkled wrapper, “This is the hair tie you left at my place and forgot,” he has a simple black elastic band sitting in the palm of his hand, but he could very much so be holding your pittering pattering heart the more he continues, his voice quivering slightly, and you’ve never heard him ramble like this, ramble like you.
“This is the leaf that was stuck in my hair that you pulled out,” he admits quietly, holding up the dried leaf from the time you had been walking next to him in the fall, the trees shaking in the wind, giggling at his white hair littered with the colorful leaves, “These are the coins you gave me because I didn’t have any change,” he’s holding up the spare sterlings you had lent him when he wanted some ice cream but forgot his card at home, and your eyes move up and down, a strange thumping sound in your ears because you feel like you’re about to faint, and he slows to a stop, his cheeks flushed and his hands shaking as his hand fills with all of the things you have given him over the past two years, things that a normal person would have thrown away or used or given back.
“This…” his lips tremble as he shuts them for a second, looking unlike the person you’ve begun to know so deeply as his fingers wrap around something, pulling out a neatly folded white napkin, unused, as he takes in a steadying breath, “This is the, erm, the napkin you lent me. From the night we first met.”
The box is empty now, but the room fills with moments in time, moments that you would cherish in the deepest parts of your mind before you went to bed, and pretended like they were fleeting and didn't matter so that you could face him bravely the next time you saw him. Moments that you thought he treated like normal moments in time that would pass and would never be remembered again, moments that you didn’t think he would…hold onto.
Not the way you did.
“It’s not…junk,” he admits thickly, “For me it’s not.”
He stops, taking in a deep breath as he pushes his hair away from his face, carefully putting everything back in the box, including the photograph, as he sets it down, turning back to face your stunned expression.
“Look, have you ever seen me without my glasses?”
You blink. Realizing that he’s waiting on you to answer, you blank before shaking your head slowly, and he nods.
“Right, right, well, I used to wear contacts. All the time. Ask Suguru o-or Shoko but…ever since you said that you like the way glasses look, I…I don’t know, I kept wearing them, hoping you’d…” he trails off, his cheeks completely red, the tips of his ears a bright pink as he ducks his head down, scratching his nape sheepishly, whispering, “Hoping you’d maybe say it again.”
Your eyes go wide, and you blink owlishly, swearing you look fish-adjacent with the way you can only give him this look on repeat as he takes your silence as an okay for him to go on a rare nervous tangent of his own.
“When I was little, my grandfather taught me how to tie his tie. He said that I should learn how to do it by myself so that I wouldn't need any help when I grow up.”
You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t get angry at your silence, but simply offers you a small, worried smile.
“I’ve gotten pretty good at it,” he confesses with a farce laugh, something empty and shaky, "But you always ask to tie them, and…I always let you. You’re the only person I feel comfortable with; the only person who it doesn’t feel like,” he shivered, wincing slightly as if his skin was prickling at the thought of other people touching him the way you do, “The only person who can touch me and I feel…okay.”
“I have a shelf of all the books you’ve talked about,” he persists, motioning upwards, and you slowly look around to where The Count of Monte Cristo was sitting, along with all the other books you’ve raved about in the past, thinking he’d only listen and give you kind comments, not knowing that he had gone home and sat down and read them all afterwards, “I stopped drinking whenever we go out together because you said you don’t really like the smell of alcohol on people’s breaths. I…” he rakes his hand through his hair again, a nervous fidget of his as he looks pleadingly at you, “I have my spot on Suguru’s couch because your spot is right next to it.”
“And our friends tell me that I’m not crazy, that…that I might have a chance,” he motions a shaking hand between the two of you, and you allow yourself this time to blink again, “But, I don’t know,” his head ducks as he chokes back some tears, and your eyes widen even more, your eyebrows up in your hair at this point because you’ve been rendered speechless, “It’s like any time I try to get closer to you, you leave or immediately want to be anywhere else or seem uncomfortable and I don’t want you to feel that way, especially because of me.”
When he looks up, his eyes are glassy, looking like a stormy ocean, and you feel tears prickle at yours, your breath lodged in your throat as you try to pinch yourself, swearing that you were in some vision, but this is real, and he’s not stopping, saying the words you’ve only dreamt of.
“I know I’m not really…the kind of person that you’d usually go for,” he explains, his voice dim, “I’m not good with literary nuances or dissecting medieval texts. I can’t read the way you read, and I’m not good with understanding people the way you do, but…I want to be. I want to be that, I want to be good for you.”
Your mouth is wide open as you gape at him, trying to make sense of the words that you could only imagine as you stared silently at him saying to you, saying them to you here. The two of you don’t say much for a second, your eyes blinking rapidly as your mind travels faster than the speed of sound, and you realize that he’s not lying or trying to make you laugh. He’s not confessing his love for another girl, but instead clutching his chest because it felt like your silence was leading up to a personal rejection, and you can barely muster up any actual words as you surge towards him, stopping his rambling as your arms wrap around his neck, knees knocking against his as your lips slam against his.
Your heart plummets as you feel him still, his arms still at his sides as his eyes widen in shock, and you feel like you’ve completely screwed things up, going to step away before his hands shoot upwards, wrapping around your waist and legs as he hoists you up, his lips moving against yours hungrily.
“You’re so…so stupid,” you mutter in between breaths, his lips parting yours, soft and gentle and fast and desperate as they chase the way you taste, wanting to savor the plushness of yours as you mewl at the way his fingers dig into your soft skin, moving you effortlessly towards his bed as the two of you smile against each other, laughing in the air as your back hits the mattress. He fidgets with his glasses, pushing them up with his middle finger, coming a little loose after everything.
“Yeah?” He murmurs, happy, giddy, his eyes bright and alive and electric as he nips at your bottom lip, his own shining with spit as he ducks down again, pressing kisses to your face, and you feel lightheaded, “Tell me how I’m stupid, baby.”
You groan, lightly hitting his chest as he chuckles lightly, his kisses moving to your cheek, across your nose, as your smile turns bright enough to power the sun for the rest of eternity if it were to die in this very moment.
“I,” you huff, your chest burning and your hands tangled in his hair, fisting his shirt as you bring him in impossibly closer, “I’ve had this…debilitating crush on you ever since I saw you,” you admit quietly, and he pauses, his sunset dusted cheeks turning into a wide grin as he huffs out a laugh and push his face away from your as you turn away in discomfiture, “And I’ve done everything to get you to notice me. I’ve embarrassed myself like, twenty times a day, hoping you’d look my way.”
Satoru raises a slender brow, and you have the urge to pull him down by the collar, pressing your lips to his as he happily obliges, his tongue poking out to tease yours as he turns to an even bigger taunting menace as he pulls away.
“I can’t stop looking at you,” he mumbles shyly, ducking down as he kisses your throat, and you shift slightly to give him more access, your breath catching in your lungs as his kisses turn into him sucking in a patch of skin, licking it over when he’s satisfied it’s going to mark. “I could barely focus on the play tonight because I kept looking over.”
You let out a giggle, curling his soft strands of hair around your finger as he glances up to see your smile, pressing a chaste kiss as if he wanted to taste the way your unabashed happiness felt.
“And I try to sound smarter whenever you’re around,” you admit, and he snorts against the skin of your cheek again, enjoying how plush and soft it was, biting it as you squeal, but it was never hard enough to hurt, just experimental, and he laughs, “And you never even acknowledged the number of times I’d bring up a science-y article I had spent the entire night analyzing just for you to ask me about my stupid book report.” You pout, and he attempts to kiss it off of you, his hands roaming the exposed skin of your waist and stomach, hot against your cold self, and he rolls his eyes.
“That’s only because I was having tiny aneurysms whenever you’d do that,” he reasons, his face morphing into something sweet and gentle and something so entirely new and…yours that you wish you could take a picture of it, “And I wanted you to know that I remembered the things you told me.”
You throw a hand over your face, not wanting him to see the gleefulness on your face, but he just wrings your hands away, slotting his long legs in between yours as he lets out another joyous laugh.
“Come on,” he insists, nudging his nose against your jaw, “How else am I stupid?”
You let out an exaggerated groan, biting your lip as you try to think through your muddled thoughts.
“You…you…you kept only the ridiculous things I gave you!” You argue, and he moves upwards slightly, giving you a pointed look, as if you were offending his lifeline or treasures, “I’ve given so many things and…” But you trail off, feeling his large hand gently wrap around your face, turning it to the side so you could see his room from his point of view.
“Look closely,” he softly urges, and your eyes trail across the walls, the shelves, the tabletops, “This room is full of you.”
And he’s right.
The postcards he has up are the ones you gave the three of them from the time you had gone to Paris with your family over the summer, picking out individual ones you thought each of them would like. Vintage telescopes and microscopes you imagined him enjoying, but never enough to actually put them up. The music box that plays the theme of A New Hope, a simple melody from his favorite movie that you had also gotten for his birthday, sits on his bedside table. The books you had found on sale about plant biology, a little thing you thought he might like, rest on top of his bookshelf.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, and he chuckles at your quiet reaction, dipping down to kiss you again, wanting to nudge those sounds from you, even if he has to take them like this.
“Is this why you’d scare off any guy who came up to me?” You ask, but you already know the answer, just wanting to see the look on his face as he groaned, pinching your side as you giggle at his antics.
“I thought I was being so obvious,” he murmured against your lips, his tongue roaming through your mouth as you part it slightly for him, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, a string of spit connecting the two of you as he pulls away, “Everyone could see how badly I wanted you.”
You shrug, feeling sluggish from his movements.
“I didn’t,” you argue faintly, and he looks up, white lashes fluttering as he grins, kissing the tip of your nose as he smiles.
“Guess I didn’t either,” he whispers teasingly, “Guess we’re both stupid for that.”
You go to fight back, but you let out an embarrassing moan at the way his hands travel across your stomach, pushing your shirt upwards slightly as your back arches upwards to chase the feeling. His hands are large and travel expertly across your body, as if he’s mapped out the small things that make you squirm and the things you itch for, as if he’s spent the past two years studying you instead of his dusty textbooks, and the thought alone makes you shake with anticipation.
“Can’t believe I waited this long,” he murmurs against the skin of your stomach, kissing the plain of it as you shake with an uncontrollable giggle, “Why didn’t you say anything, hm? Did you like tormenting me like this?”
The question makes you stop.
Suddenly, everything from before comes rushing back.
It seems like it sets off alarm bells in your head, as if you had been functioning through a rose-tinted fog for the past couple of minutes, and suddenly reality hits you because…you haven’t told him for a reason. The months and months of pining after him weren’t just because you liked torturing yourself, but because of your frankly very real fears of rejection for more reasons than one.
After a second, you huff, hands clenching by your sides as you feel a surge of feelings, deep ones that you’ve choked on and tried to hide, and he notices the instant way you tense up, stopping his movements as he glances upwards at you.
“Do you want to stop?” He asks gently, tugging the hem of your (his) shirt back down to cover your stomach, and you let out a delicate laugh, a pensive look on your face as you chew worriedly on your face.
Sighing, you rub a hand down your face, sitting upright with your back resting on his headboard, and turn to look back at his desk, feeling the weight of his stare more than before as heat licks at your cheeks.
“What about…what about the others?”
The question rings through the room, bouncing off the walls, and his brows furrow in slight confusion as you still refuse to tear your eyes away from his desk, your hands resting in your lap, and he moves slowly, his large hands encompassing yours, unraveling your fingers, alleviating the tension you didn’t know was building.
“What others?” Satoru asks after a moment, unjudgmentally, tenderly, and caring, patient as you huff out another shaky laugh, shrugging your shoulders as they fall in a heavy drop, your chest rattling with the emotions you had been trying to kill off from the past two years.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, feel his fingers against yours, and your gaze flickers to his before going back to focusing on something to the side.
“This is gonna sound stupid,” you preface, but his thumb presses into the palm of your hand, a small sign that he wasn’t going to judge anything that came out of your mouth because he just showed you that he kept the first napkin you had ever given him.
“But…” you drop your head into your hands, your voice muffled as you continue, “I see the girls that come up to you. O-or your ex. Vi…right?” You peek up, and his eyes are slightly squinted, nodding slowly, as if he wants you to make your point before he says something, “And they’re just so…ugh, I don’t know…perfect? Like, they seem perfect for you. Either they’re stunning, or they’re in your major, or they’re both, or just…so different, and I feel like I’m…not…that.”
He blinks slowly, piecing this together with the fact that he asked you why you hadn’t spoken up sooner, and his lips tug upwards in a little grin, one that makes you want to roll your eyes if not for the storm brewing inside of you, and he tugs you closer, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as he drops his head onto your chest.
“I think you’ve got it backwards,” he says against you, his voice vibrating off of you, and you feel it shake you to your core, his hand moving up and down the expanse of your back as you hand unconsciously move upwards, back to his soft white locks, “Because none of those girls could measure up to my perfect girl.”
You stop, glad he can’t see the large smile on your face as you head falls backwards, thumping against the wood as your chest swells with joy, and when he looks up, his goofy grin could match yours, and you push him away by the cheek, but he just moves, kissing the palm of your hand as you laugh softly.
“You’re so stupid,” you repeat, but he knows you’re only masking the giddiness you feel as he nods against your hand, his eyes shimmering and bright as he sits up a little straighter, nearly encompassing you with his body as he leans closer, his nose nudging yours as the two of you smile against each other's lips.
“You’ve got that right,” he whispers in the small space of air between you, “I’m such a fool for you.”
You decide then that you don’t give him any more time to talk or say something else that could turn your insides to mush, so you tug him down by his neck, his lips curling upwards as they press against yours.
He seems like he’s experimenting with kissing you, as if he knows you’re learning in real time, and has no qualms taking it slow. He lets you take the lead when you want, lets you dart your tongue out slightly, and opens his mouth to welcome you in. When you get a little shyer, he takes the initiative, hands roaming around your hips, pulling you into his lap as you mewl him again. When he could tell you needed some air, he’d pull away, kissing the corners of your lips, your cheeks that he loved so much, the edge of your brows that would pull into the cutest furrows whenever you were confused, and cherished you the way he’d been aching for ever since he saw you at that stupid English department banquet.
You chase the feeling of his skin on yours, the way his fingers feel when they trace your features, the way his hands run up your arms, the way his palm cups your jaw. Your hands seem to have a mind of their own, his as well, as they drop down to the drawstring of his trousers, running up the smooth and hard skin of his abs, feeling greedy as you run a finger down his delicious v-line. You feel him shuddering beneath you, and you grin evilly, your mouth water as you untie his pants, your fingers running over the white tufts of hair of his happy trail, and your shuffle around a little bit to help him as he tugs up the hem of his old band shirt that you donned, and you almost let out a whine when they suddenly stop, lashes fluttering open to see what he was going to do next.
His forehead drops onto yours, one of his arms pulling you closer to his chest, the other still cradling your face, and you see the way his face has gone pink, a light hue that you rarely see him in.
“Just so you know, this, em, this isn’t how I wanted things to go.”
You let out a stark laugh, your hands pressing against his as your fingers curl around his hair, tilting your head slightly to the side.
“Yeah? How were things supposed to go?” You ask, trying not to sound too selfishly drunk on him as he shrugs, his lips pressing together as he divulges you in his own fantasies, things he’d only think about when it was the two of you together and he’d be wanting to confess his undying love for you while you’d be rambling on about John Milton or another one of your other favorite authors.
He looks shy, and you want to bite him, watching him gather up some of the courage you had kissed away as he takes one of your hands away from his arms, playing with your fingers as he pushes some of his tousled hair away from his face.
“Well, I was planning on telling you how crazy I am about you after this whole day I had planned out,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck as he turns a little red, “I had, erm, bought tickets to the museum you’ve been wanting to go to,” he says, his eyes flickering from your face to the side as his head drops, and you nudge it back up as he chuckles, “The one displaying the original copies of those old books you like so much.”
He swallows, taking a deep breath, and then continues.
“And I wanted it to just be us, nobody else. I would have obviously read up on all the authors on exhibit, so I wouldn’t look like a total idiot when, or if, you had come, and I’d spend the entire time sweating and hoping you couldn’t see.” You giggle, and he squeezes your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of it in a soothing gesture. Your eyes drop, urging him gently to continue because you feel like you’re in a dream, and if he stops, you’re going to wake up from it.
“Afterwards, I’d take you to this restaurant I’ve heard is good,” he grins boyishly, tongue poking in between his lips, “And when we were done, I’d walk you back to your place and…tell you that I liked you then.”
You can’t stop smiling, and he can’t stop either.
“Just…just that you liked me?” you tease, humming as he shifts a little, his arms wrapping around your waist, “Not to be…selfish, or anything, but I feel like this way was so much more romantic with your little box of trinkets and your rambling.” He groans, pinching you lightly as you snicker, but he ultimately shakes his head, smoothing over the place he pinched with his soothing touch.
“No, no,” he mutters, his face determined, as if he was recounting everything he had planned to say, “I’d tell you how much I liked the way you look when you start talking about your day,” his thumb brushes across your cheek, running across the soft hair of your brows, “And how much I like the way you care about everything you do and everybody around you. I’d tell you that I really like it when you tell me about the book you just finished, and how much I admire your kind heart. I’d tell you that I…I like how wonderfully weird you are, and how I wish I could be half as interesting as you are on a regular day. I would have told you how you’re always the first person I look for when I enter a room. And…” his shoulders rise and drop as he pulls you impossibly closer, “I would have really hoped that Suguru and Shoko were right about this because I’d be…a little embarrassed if not.”
You hum, pretending to think as you twirl his white strands around your pointer finger even though you feel like you’re on fire and you can’t breathe and everything feels like it’s burning in the best way possible, try not to freak out because the guy you’ve been in love with basically just admitted the most amazing things to you, so you take a steadying breath, your head tilting as you smile.
“And what if I didn’t want you to stop?” You feel heat blossom across your lungs when you hear his breathing hitch, “After…after you’d do all of that?”
He nods, surveying his different options as his blue eyes turn into a slightly different shade, as if they were dependent upon his emotions, and his hands turn a little heavier as they roam across your stomach, up across the skin of your ribcage, and they stop right under your bra.
“Hmm, well, I would’ve have asked you what you wanted to happen next,” his smile is wicked as his face drops down to your neck, leaving wet kisses until he ends up at your collarbone, right at the neck of your shirt as you nearly whine, feeling his teeth scrape just barely over the soft skin, “What is it you want, baby? What else would you want me to do?”
Your breathing stutters, and you arch your back a little, letting his nimble fingers fiddle with the clasp of your bra, giving you enough time to turn him down, but you don’t; you want, no, need, for him to continue.
“I,” your breath lodges in your throat when he opens the clasps, helping you tug the straps down until your old ratty bra, the comfortable one that you were sure wouldn’t matter being worn tonight because you never imagined something like this happening, but he doesn’t care, setting it to the side as he wait patiently, menacingly, for you to find your words, “I’d probably ask you to…to come up.”
He groans lightly, a mix between a guttural moan and a laugh.
“Yeah?” It’s not so much a question, but a confirmation as you nod, shivering when his hands move back upwards, your chest heaving as you feel his nimble and long fingers cup your tits, his fingers running over your nipples as your head falls to his shoulders, “Then what? What would I have done after I came up?”
You go down, you want to say tauntingly, but don’t have the willpower as his thumb flicks over a nipple, and you whine.
“Eh, you’d, uh, I’d, we, would probably end up on…on my bed and I’d probably be wearing something cuter than this,” you try to say indifferently, and he rolls his eyes because you could be wearing faux feathers glued to the entirety of your body and he’d still think you were the most beautiful woman to ever exist, “And I’d probably be a little more confident telling you what I,” you gulp audibly, your cheeks heating up, “What I want, seeing that you wouldn’t have just seen me at my virtual lowest hours earlier.” And he chuckles, and it feels right, feels like this was meant to happen as his hands fall from your breasts, trailing down your stomach as you shuffle a little, moving to lie back on his pillow as he shuffles to, situating his body in between your thighs, waiting for your next command.
Satoru’s grin turns soft, like he knows what it is you want, but needs to hear you say it for him to feel okay doing the thing that’s setting him alight. His hand moves, taking yours into his again and intertwining his fingers between yours.
“… what do you want, love?” His voice is thick, and it settles deep in your bones as your head falls, squeezing his fingers as you sheepishly mutter something, and he barely hears you, nudging you to say it a little louder as you groan in embarrassment, an arm flying over your face as your head falls back, not able to look him in the eyes as you timidly whisper;
“For you, like…to do stuff,” you murmur so quietly you think that your lips barely even moved, “To…to eat me out or….or whatever.”
When he says nothing for a moment, you peek between your fingers and see his cheeks flushed, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets his chin down on your stomach, his glasses crooked as his brow arched. He moves, gingerly tugs your arm away from your face, and sits down by your side as he presses a chaste kiss to your stomach.
“Yeah….yeah, I think I can ‘eat you out or whatever’,” he says, and you groan ever louder, flicking his forehead as he chuckles, taking your words as the sign to go, go, go, his fingers moving excruciatingly slow as they start to tug the waistband of your pants and boxers (his, again), down, looking up at you for a little assistance, and you lift your hips, allowing him to slide them down fully.
You blink, relaxing that you’re completely bare right now, but he doesn't give you any time to be self-conscious as his pupils seem to blow up with lust, hungrily eating up the way your pussy is glistening with want and need, his cheeks a fiery red as his chest moves in a large exhale, like the air had been knocked from him.
His hand raises upwards to take his glasses off, but you make a sudden movement, as if your body was functioning on autopilot, when your hands wrap around his wrist, stopping him from doing anything else.
“Don’t,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “K-keep them on.”
His white lashes flutter slightly, and he gives you one of his boyish smiles that you love so much, his teeth shining as he presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, nodding slowly as he pushes his glasses back on.
“If I knew that waiting so long for you to tell me that you liked my glasses would have been when I’m about to do this, I think I could have waited another couple of years more.” He says honestly, dropping himself down between your thighs, and your eyes flutter shut, head falling back on the pillow as you feel his warm hands slowly move up and up and up, parting you ever so slightly so he could situate himself better between them.
Your mouth parts when you feel his fingers move on the outside of your lips, collecting the slick, and you hold back a wanton moan, your hands flying up to his hair, tugging him closer. You watch as he pushes his glasses up by using his shoulder to move the frames up, and when his lips suddenly latch onto your clit you actually think you’ve gone insane.
His tongue darts out, moaning like a whore when he finally gets to taste your saccharine taste, his eyes rolling back as he parts your lips, the sound greedy as he moves a thumb to circle your clit, moving down to run his tongue selfishly up and down your pussy for his own pleasure, needing to feel you or else he was going to go mad.
“You taste,” his voice is muffled as he pants against your cunt, using a finger to move up and down the slit, “You taste sweet,” he said it like he was startled, like he had spent hours and hours studying female anatomy and how to pleasure a girl and what to do, but never could have expected this unexpected turn, to taste you and realize that you were sweeter and more delicious than any candy he’s ever eaten before, “Why do you taste so…so sweet?”
You would laugh if you weren’t so turned on, saying some jumbled-up words as he ducks down again, your fingers digging into his scalp as his thumb goes a little faster on your swollen nub, his long pointer finger rubbing at the outside of your pussy, getting ready to push it in.
When he finally does, your walls instantly clamp down on it, and you moan, not expecting the stretch, and he gives you some time to adjust. It’s not like you’re a prude, you’ve at least attempted this before, but your fingers aren’t like Gojo Satoru’s, and you feel like you could come just from this.
“Feeling good, baby?” He questions, and you hurriedly nod, hearing him chuckle.
“Yeah,” you stutter out, your teeth clenched as you feel his finger start to move out, and then your mouth falls open as he starts to slowly pump it in and out of you, a mind-bending pace that has you clenching around him, “Feels good.”
He nods, taking it as confirmation to keep going, and he switches between a finger and his tongue, darting them inside of you. He keeps his pressure on your clit, and you grow impossibly wetter when he leans down to lay a cute little kiss on it, his glasses slowly fogging up.
Gojo Satoru eats you out like you’re his last meal, like he’s been living like Tantalus for his twenty years alive, and finally, the fruit tree doesn’t move from his grasp, and he’s able to divulge like the greedy and sinful man he always has been.
Sometimes the hand that’s occupying your clit moves upwards, pulling his old shirt up and over the expanse of your torso to see your supple skin shake beneath his large palms, and he cups your tits, groaning like a slut when he feels your nipples pebble, and he pinches them between his pointer finger and thumb, twisting a little to feel you squeal, and he grins, softening his touch as he smooths it over, moving back down to your nub as if nothing happened.
You watch from hooded eyes, watch the way his eyes close, like he’s savoring your taste. You see the way he slowly ruts into the mattress, like he was getting off to this, and the thought itself makes you gush even more.
When he’s satisfied that you’ve adjusted to his one finger, he decides to slip another one in, and the size alone makes you whine, the stretch something that causes tears to dart in the corner of your eyes in delicious pain.
“Hmm,” you moan, one of your hands fisting the sheets, the other tangled in his white hair as you guide him up and down, and you can swear you feel him smiling against you, as if your reactions were a symphony to his ears, “It’s not like I really have a metric but…you’re good at this.”
Satoru chuckles, looking up at you, and the sight knocks the air out of your lungs. His cheeks are flushed, wet in the dim lighting of the room, his glasses crooked, and his hair a mess, but he looks positively radiant as his smile flashes bright.
“I hope I am,” his voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it, and it vibrates against your pussy, “I’ve been studying.”
Despite feeling lightheaded, his statement chased you to come to your senses a bit, sitting up on your elbows as you looked at him through furrowed brows.
“Studying?” You parrot, and he nods eagerly, his thumb putting pressure on your sensitive and swollen clit as your mouth falls open in a silent moan, barely able to keep your eyes open as he explains.
“Mhm,” he hums, his nose, the beautiful nose that you want to kiss all over, rubs expertly on the hood of your clit as he presses chaste, sloppy kisses to your cunt, “I read all these posts and books and papers about what the best way to eat a girl out,” his voice is hoarse, licking up and down your syrupy inner walls, his two fingers never stopping their relentless pace as something deep in your stomach begins to build up, “Brushed up on some….anatomy and the sorts.”
You let out a breathless laugh.
Because of course he had.
“You,” your mouth clamps shut when he hits the spongy part deep inside of you that makes your toes curl, your lashes fluttering against your hot cheeks, and you can’t talk correctly but make the attempt to, barely above a whisper as you mutter, “Y-you’re insane.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it as his thumb swirls in figure eight patterns on your clit, his pointer and middle fingers curling upwards, and you can’t really find it in yourself to chide him when he’s making you feel heavenly.
You feel like you’re unraveling at his skillful hands, and it definitely doesn’t help that whenever you have the guts to open your eyes you’re met with the view of Satoru loosing himself in your cunt, as with each second that passed, he was going just as crazy as you were, and it felt like that familiar feeling of an orgasm building, but unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
It’s almost like he knows, because he seems to go faster, switching between licking and his fingers, and your grip on him tightens, and he moans, welcoming the sting.
“Come on,” he presses, urging, needing you to finish around him, to taste your relief on his tongue, “Come on, baby, I know you wanna come.”
You nod, sweat dotting your forehead, your chest heaving up and down with labored breaths, that knot inside of you tightening as your thighs clamp down around his head, your walls pulsing around his fingers.
It gradually builds, but that feeling suddenly snaps, and you jolt, your back arching, moving into him, his fingers never stopping, his thumb and lips on your clit, suctioning in a perfect way that sends you over the edge. You clench tightly around him, creaming, spasming as you gush, your eyes rolling back in your head as you let out the quietest but sweetest moan, and when you feel your orgasms slow to a dull pulse, you fall back onto his mattress, limp as he doesn’t stop instantly.
Instead, he lets his fingers slow down carefully, as if you’d get immediate withdrawal from the feeling of having him inside of you. He kisses your clit once, then twice, and pulls away, connected by a string of spit, slick and your cum, and when you finally have the energy to wring your eyes open, the sight of him wrecked form eating you out makes you even more wet.
You take a few moments to catch your breath, your chest heaving up and down, your hand falling away from his soft locks as it sprawls across your stomach, and you stare helplessly at the ceiling.
Blinking owlishly, you awkwardly scootch upwards until you’re resting on the back of the headboard, and you watch as he brings his fingers up to his mouth, grinning coyly as he moans at the taste of you, and if you could, you’d pinch him, but you just weakly push him with your foot, looking away abashedly.
“Nasty,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice gone, and he coos, crawling towards you, bringing his face towards yours as he nudges his nose with yours, and you’re weak, giving in as he hungrily presses his wet lips to yours.
You can taste yourself on him, and you mewl, feeling his tongue in your mouth, licking inside of you, wanting you to enjoy what he just enjoyed, and your shaking hands grip around his neck. He pulls away a little bit, biting your bottom lip before kissing it, and he rubs a loving thumb across your cheek, his eyes turning gentle as he peers at you through those ocean eyes through those stunning glasses you adore so much.
You don’t trust your voice, so instead you let your hands unravel from his nape, moving upwards towards the expensive frames, straightening them on his nose, making sure they rest correctly on his pink ears, and he watches silently, reverently, as you push him back gently by the chin, making sure that they looked right on the bridge of his nose.
“Hmm, looks better,” you whisper affectionately, kissing the tip of his nose like you’ve always wanted, and that seems to push him over the edge, quickly wrapping his arms around your midsection as he pulls you closer to him, falling back on the bed as he tugs you into his chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck.
At that moment, you feel it, and your eyes blink rapidly from their hazy state as his hard-on pressed against your thigh.
“Hey,” you murmur, poking his side, but he doesn’t seem like budging, his overwhelming heat and size covering you, his thick arms not moving from caging you to him, and you can’t even wrangle free, “‘Toru, what about you?”
He doesn’t even lift his head, just hums against the skin of your neck, his lips busy leaving hickeys all over it, ones you’re going to deeply regret in the morning but can’t seem to care right now except for the boner you’re sure is deeply uncomfortable.
“What about me?” He dreamily replies, his voice barely audible, and you roll your eyes. From this angle, you can see the way his shirt is riding up, his abs on display, the veins leading downward prominent, and his trail of white hair is calling your name.
You wedge your hand in between your bodies as you press against his cock, the movement causing him to yelp and shudder, whimpering against you as you snicker, sure that now he’s going to give you some more undivided attention.
He sits up a little bit, resting his head on his fist, his elbow on his pillow as he peers down at you, his brow slightly cocked, not looking impressed with being tormented like this after treating you so kindly by giving you the best orgasm of your life.
“Not nice,” he reprimands warmly, poking your side as you yelp, his finger much more sturdy than yours, “You’re not really supposed to grab dicks like that, y’know?”
Your cheeks heat at his choice words, and you shrug, feigning innocence as you bring his hand to yours, admiring the large size a syou play with his fingers, feeling more touchy than usual, and you’re ever so glad that he lets you.
“I’m just saying,” you mumble, flashing him a look that sends a nonexistent punch to his gut, the blood rushing south because you look ethereal like this, “Don’t you want me to…return to favor? Tit for tat?”
He chuckles, his thumb moving across your eyebrow, soothing the furrow as it moves down to rub against your cheek.
“We can do tat later,” he uses your terminology and you giggle, your lips pulling into a bright smile because you’re sitting in a post-orgasm afterglow with your crush, and that stupid theorem you had stressed over doesn’t even matter anymore because the impossible outcome is happening right now and you don’t bother with looking normal because you’re feeling anything but, “I still have a date I need to take you out on.”
You try not to gush like an idiot, your head falling into his sturdy chest, and his hand moves up and down your back, tracing stars and circles and hearts and writing his name, as if he wanted everyone to see the invisible ink that’s bleeding from his fingertips into you.
His finger hooks around your jaw, tilting your head upwards so he can see you better.
“You wanna date me?” You ask breathlessly with dizzingly joy, the question holding no weight because the two of you already know the answer, but he indulges you, his head falling to yours, forehead against yours, glasses sitting perfectly on his perfect face that’s pressing against your perfect one.
“I want to be yours,” he murmurs, vulnerability thick in his voice as your lashes flutter, “So, yeah, I want to date you.”
You giggle again, and you lift your head a little to slot your lips against his plush ones.
“I want to be yours too, Satoru,” you say, and he groans, his eyes rolling back like those were the only words he’s been dying to hear, and he lets out a victorious laugh, something happy and sickeningly sweet because the girl he’s been in love with for the past two years just so happens to love him back.
summary: you run into him in the hallway of the hotel, it's late and you're exhausted from the concert, but he thinks you should grab a drink and you can't help but agree
prompt: Hi! Sooo it might gonna be a little similar to into the aurora, but I kinda let my mind wander about what would it be like (probably really really lucky) to bump into yunho after a concert (like you know as a fan) and eventually have a one night stand with him..
note: 18+ content, minors DNI. // i hope this is what you were looking for!! honestly it got away from me there in the middle, i'm just also very in love with this man. i hope you enjoy!! <3
warnings: idol!yunho, fem!reader, one night stand, slight injury and brief description of a bloody cut, oral (f receiving), protected sex, semi rough sex, free use kink, praise, *slight* brattiness / teasing, size kink, use of the pet name 'tiny', big dick yunho. please let me know if I missed any.
pairings: yunho x reader
genre: idol x non idol, self insert, smut-a-thon with some fluff
word count: 8.8K
my masterlist
Everything about your night feels absolutely electric, the feeling of the music still buzzing in your skin, your legs exhausted from standing, your hands numb from clapping. Now, laying in your hotel room after the show on top of the
comforter, you replay the little moments in your mind. It was lucky you were able to go, a ticket given to you from a friend who could not longer make it, a VIP seat almost at the barricade. It had been perfect, it didn’t even matter that you went alone.
Flipping over onto your stomach, you pull your phone back out and scroll through the videos you were able to take during the show – every second of footage shockingly good quality. They’re handsome, of course, but the power in their dancing and the magnetic charisma of each and every one of them is overwhelming, the videos paling in comparison to the feeling of being mere feet from the stage’s edge.
Glancing at the clock, you see that it’s already twelve-thirty in the morning. You have a bit of a long drive to make in the morning, especially if you’re going to make it back to your apartment to get some work done, and you really should get to sleep. If you didn’t start winding down now, you never would.
Despite your sore muscles, you drag yourself off the bed and into a warm shower, washing off the show and trying to relax. You keep your hair dry, already freshly washed and dried that morning, but take your time removing your makeup and refreshing your skin before you get dressed for bed. You’re tucked in already, cozy in your gray sweats and oversized black hoodie, when you realize how hoarse your voice feels after the show.
There’s nothing in the mini-fridge and no little bottles of courtesy water left on the dresser, so you’re stuck with tepid tap water. With a sigh, you pull on a pair of fluffy socks, pick up the small empty ice bucket, grab your room key, and head out into the hall. It’s late, and the hotel is quiet around you, everyone in their respective rooms fast asleep.
The ice machine is around the corner, down the hall, and set back in an enclave next to a vending machine. You fill your bucket up, stifling a wide yawn, before shaking off the sleepy feeling and closing the lid of the ice dispenser. Turning on your heel, you turn the corner and collide directly into a chest.
The man was walking at a good clip, turning the corner himself, so you rock back on unsteady footing, tripping backwards and colliding with the floor hard. The ice bucket in your hand slips, and the sharp metal edge of the lip of the bucket cuts across your palm, flaring a sharp line of pain in your hand.
“I’m so sorry!” the man exclaims, immediately reaching down for you.
“It’s okay,” you shake your head, brushing off some wayward cubes of ice that landed on you, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
When you look up your breath catches in your throat.
“Still,” the man says, crouching at your side and softly gripping under your forearms to help you to your feet, “I was too busy looking at my phone. Are you okay?”
“Uh,” you fish in your brain for anything to say, “yes, yeah, I’m fine.”
Now on your feet, you realize just how tall he is, especially standing so close. His eyes are kind, soft and brown, an embarrassed blush across his cheeks, and he keeps his hands resting on your arms as he looks down at you.
“I really am sorry,” he says again.
The shock of recognizing him is wearing off and you take a small step back, waving him off, “I promise, it’s fine. Thank you for your help though,”
His eyes widen suddenly and he reaches for you, taking your hand in his and turning it over in his wide palm, “Your hand!”
Across the heel of your hand, a deep cut runs across the fleshy base of your thumb where the sharp edge of the ice bucket dragged across it. Blood wells over, smeared across your skin where you skidded on the floor when you fell. Looking at it now, you can feel it, a slow throb of pain radiating out.
“Oh,” you manage, grimacing.
“Now, I’m really sorry,” he says, and when you glance up at him you can see how red his ears have gone.
“I think it looks worse than it is,” you pull your hand back and smile, “you don’t need to worry.”
His eyebrows are knit together in concern and as you lean down to pick up the discarded ice bucket, he glances down the empty hall, and then back to you. “Let me do that,” he drops down, gathering the ice that has scattered on the hotel floor and dropping it into his own empty bucket to discard.
You rock back on your heels and watch him as he fusses around you, clearly embarrassed, and you take the moment to look him over. He’s much more handsome up close, but without the makeup and styled hair, he looks so real.
“I’m y/n, by the way,” you say.
He looks up, meeting your eyes again and smiles, “I’m Yunho,”
“I know,” you say, and now you know you’re blushing yourself.
“Oh,” he helps you to your feet again, “you’re a fan?”
“Kind of,” again, you wish for nothing more than a filter over your mouth.
His eyes widen a bit as he takes in your words, “Kind of a fan,”
“Sorry,” you shake your head, “my friend gave me her ticket, I only knew some of your songs before, but the show was amazing. I’m a fan now,”
He grins, “Oh, well that’s nice, thank you.”
There’s a bit of a pause between you, and you know it’s time to let him off the hook. You should go back to your room and figure out the cut on your hand and go back to your original plan of going to sleep. You should let him get back to his room and whatever his plans were for the evening. You should.
“Well, I should let you go,” you take a step away, and his hand leaves your elbow, “but it was nice to meet you, and really, the show was incredible.”
You start to step away, but he stops you, “Wait, wait,” Yunho steps in front of you, blocking your path back up the hall, “at least let me take care of your hand, I feel terrible.”
“Oh, no I think it’s honestly fine,” you smile, “like I said, it looks worse than it is.”
“You have a first aid kit in your room?” He asks, and something in his expression tells you that he already knows you don’t.
“Not exactly,”
“Then let me patch you up,” his smile is warm and inviting, everything about his presence easy and comfortable, “it’s the least I can do.”
“You travel with a first aid kit?” You raise an eyebrow, but let him take your hand again so he can take a look at the cut.
“No,” he shakes his head, “but our managers do,”
“Fine,” you concede, “I guess it can’t hurt.”
“Good,” he nods and gestures with his arm for you to follow, “my room’s just down here.”
A flutter of anxiety washes through you, the idea of being in his room strange and sudden. You had been minutes from sleep not that long ago, and now here you are walking into Jeong Yunho’s hotel room. It feels a little like a dream, but think that at least in a dream you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself in front of him and cut open your hand, you would have said something cool and flirty, so definitely this is just reality.
He opens the door with a keycard and holds the door open for you, “Come on in,”
You thought he would have a roommate or at least a manager in the room, but when you step over the threshold and the heavy hotel door shuts behind you, you realize that his room is just like yours, empty with one queen sized bed and clothes and travel supplies littered around.
“Obviously I didn’t think I’d have company,” he jogs across the room and grabs the clothes up off the floor, tossing them into an open suitcase and flipping it shut. He sweeps away some wrappers off the counter top too and pushes them into a waiting wastebasket.
“Oh, it’s fine,” you laugh, “you haven’t seen my room.”
It’s cute how nervous he seems to be, and when he’s done clearing away the clutter he rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He looks up, and realizes that you’re still standing in the entryway. “Sorry, here, take a seat and I’ll get the first aid kit.”
He physically steers you into the room and back towards the edge of the bed. He ducks into the bathroom, and you hear him shuffle around, clearly digging through items, before he comes back with a handful of supplies. “This should be good,”
“I appreciate this, by the way,” you tell him, “I’m sure that you’re exhausted after the show.”
He sits next to you on the edge of the bed and drops the first aid items between you, before taking your injured hand back into his and sweeping a warm wet washcloth across your skin. “Honestly, after a show I can never sleep.”
“Really?”
“I’m always too keyed up,” he shrugs, carefully wiping away the blood away from your hand, staining the washcloth pink, “it’s such a rush of energy and then suddenly nothing,”
“They have a word for that,” you say, hissing slightly when he presses a little too hard across the cut itself.
He lifts the cloth and looks up from his work to your eyes, “Sorry, sorry,”
“I’m good,” you assure him.
He nods and more carefully sweeps the cloth over your skin, “You were saying?”
“Oh,” you run back through the thoughts, the conversation from a moment ago, “Oh! Yes, that feeling, they call it post concert depression.”
“That’s accurate.” He says, pointedly.
“Everything and then nothing,” you nod, “it must be overwhelming for you.”
He shrugs, but you can see he’s nodding too, and as he squeezes out a bit of ointment to apply to your hand he says, “It can be. You go from thousands of fans telling you they love you to your own thoughts alone in a hotel room within an hour. Nothing can really prepare you for how that feels.”
“I’m sure,” you murmur. With a glance around the room you realize how empty it must be, on tour with no one but your crew and group mates, far from home in strange places, sometimes with a heavy language barrier. The words leave you before you can catch them, “It seems kind of lonely,”
His fingers still and he looks up to you, “Sometimes,”
This close, he really is just a boy. Your stomach flip flops and you lean back a bit, blush heating your cheeks again. You can’t quite stop thinking about his beautiful mouth.
You can almost touch the pause between you, the silence stretching out and enveloping you both, but he clears his throat softly and looks back down to your hand, “I think you were right, it’s really not too bad.”
“I thought so,”
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” He asks, peeling open a bandaid.
“Not too much,” you shake your head.
He turns your hand over in his, the back of your knuckles resting in his palm, and you realize just how large his are and how small yours looks held in his. “Did you come to the show with someone?” he asks suddenly.
“No,” you shift, angling towards him a bit more to make the position more comfortable, “I came by myself, my friend only had the one ticket.”
He hums in acknowledgement and pauses briefly before he says, “Did you travel far? By yourself?”
You catch his eyes, your eyebrows raised, “Not too far, and yes. It’s only a three hour drive, I just didn’t want to drive back so late in case I was tired.”
Yunho nods, and refocuses on his task to apply two large bandaids over the cut, his long fingers smoothing out the edges of the adhesive tightly over your skin. He examines his work carefully to make sure it fits comfortably over your hand and murmurs, “There we go,”
You pull your hand back, flexing your fingers and testing out the feeling, “That’s perfect, thank you so much.”
“It was my fault you got hurt anyways,” he smiles, “I’m just glad it wasn’t too bad and I could help.”
You’re pretty sure you should get up and leave, but his smile is kind and warm and you can’t quite make your legs move. His eyes flick over you, his fingertips lingering on your injured hand, and when his ears flush red again he stands and clears his throat, “Well,”
“I should get back to my room,” you interrupt, jumping up and pulling down the sleeves of your hoodie, “but thank you so much.”
He steps back and towards the door, pulling it open and holding out an arm to let you pass through it into the hallway. When he follows you out into the hall and shuts the door he says, “Let me walk you back to your room, it’s late.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, but you smile up at him anyways.
“I want to,” he assures you.
There’s a pause, and you remember yourself, “Oh, right! It’s this way,” you wave him to follow you and start down the hallway back towards the ice machine, walking in step with each other slowly.
“So,” he glances down at you, “what do you do?”
“I’m a student,” you tell him, “in graduate school.”
“Oh,” he nods, “that’s impressive.”
You shrug, “I wouldn’t say that,”
“I would,” he shakes his head, “I was never very good at staying attentive during school let alone doing post grad. I had too much energy,”
“It makes sense you’re a dancer then,” you note, and with every sidelong glance up at him your stomach flutters. He isn’t flirting with you, he’s just being kind, but he’s still just as charming and it makes you wish for just a little more time with him.
“Mm,” he nods, “I have to be moving, I can’t help it.”
You’ve noticed that already, in the short time you’ve spent together. Even after the long show it seems like he is overflowing with energy. His leg bouncing, his fingers dancing, something unconscious vibrating under his skin.
Now that you’ve turned the corner on the hotel floor, you can see your door just ahead and you wish there was just a little more hallway. “Do you leave soon?” You ask him.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” he nods, “you?”
“Sometime in the morning, I think. I have some work to get done tomorrow and shouldn’t leave too late,”
As you approach your door, you slow your steps and he realizes you must be at your room. “This is me,” you gesture towards the door and turn to face him, “thank you for everything.”
He waves your thanks off and smiles, “It’s really the least I could do,” he says again.
“It really was nice to meet you,” you tell him honestly, “I’m just sorry I ran right into you to do it.”
“Oh, I’m not,” he says, and then you watch his expression shift as he backtracks, “well, I’m sorry I knocked you over, but I’m not sorry I met such a pretty girl.”
Heat flushes your face instantly at his words and you glance down, fighting a smile.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he clears his throat and shifts from foot to foot, “I’m sorry, it’s late and I’m clearly making a bit of a fool of myself.”
You laugh immediately, looking back up to him, “Hardly. You’re actually very charming, it’s kind of annoying.”
He laughs, covering his mouth with one hand and taking a step away, “I’m annoying you, am I?”
“No, I just meant,” you sigh, covering your face with your hands, “I really just don’t think before I speak, I swear.”
“y/n,” your name on his lips sends a chill through you and you look up at him, “Don’t be embarrassed, I like it.”
“You like me calling you annoying?”
Something passes over his face at your words, a shift, and he says, “I do, it’s cute.”
Your stomach clenches, the conversation drifting into a new space you feel wholly unprepared for. You cross your arms, tucking your hands away and looking up to him, “You’re not what I expected,”
“No?” He grins, leaning on the wall next to your door.
“You don’t seem like an idol,” you explain.
He shrugs, “We are just people,”
“I’m getting that,” you say honestly. At a beat between you, you sigh, “How late is it?”
He pulls his cellphone out of his sweat pants pocket and checks the time before quickly returning it, “Almost two,”
You sigh, nodding and reach into your pocket for your keycard, “It’s late… I should go,”
He nods and watches as you swipe your card over the door lock and prop open the heavy door. Something is stalling you, pulling you back into the hall, but he makes the leap for you. He reaches out and gently touches your forearm, “Maybe I’m feeling bold because it’s so late,” he says and you look back to him, “but I’ve enjoyed talking to you, if you’re not too tired maybe we could have a drink or something?”
“You want to have a drink with me?” You can’t help the look of shock that crosses your face. “Well, yes,” his hand rests more comfortably on your forearm now, his thumb stroking your skin softly, just once, “if you want to.”
You shift back towards him, the door closing behind you now that you’re no longer propping it open, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he nods.
“Do you want to have a drink with me because you want to have a drink with me, or because you don’t want to be alone after the show?”
His eyes flick away, and you can see him think before he looks up and says, “Can it be both?”
His honesty makes this easier, knowing that he wasn’t feeding you a line just to be a flirt or trick you into something. You smile, “Yeah,”
“What about you?” He asks, taking a step towards you and closing the space between you, “If you say yes is it because you want to have a drink with me, or because you’re alone in a strange hotel room?”
He has a warm, flirtatious smile on his lips, and you’re suddenly extremely aware of the proximity between you both and between you and the door behind you. “Both,” you answer. It’s entirely possible you’re reading into things, but it’s also entirely possible Yunho is making a move and this night might end with him inside you. Warmth curls in your belly at the thought.
“So, what do you say?” He shifts a little closer, and you press a hand to the center of his chest to keep him where he is.
“Let’s have a drink.” You agree, “But I don’t have anything inside.”
He steps away and thinks a moment, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll come back,”
“You’re not going to disappear on me, are you?” You tease with a sly smile.
“Definitely not,” he squeeze your arm softly before he drops it, “I’ll be right back.”
He steps back and you move to open your door again. His eyes flick up to the number on your hotel room door and you watch him silently repeat the number to himself and commit it to memory. He tells you he’ll see you soon, and you watch him jog down the hallway in the direction of his room.
Once he disappears and you slip back into your own room things feel suddenly incredibly surreal. Meeting him like this felt like meeting anyone, bumping into a stranger and making a connection just like you would at a bar. The ten minutes between your door closing and Yunho knocking is fast, and you spend it picking up your space and cleaning up the bedding, quickly brushing your teeth, fluffing your hair and discarding the oversized sweatshirt.
His soft knock on your door has you jumping out of your skin, but you pull the door open and can’t help but laugh. He’s holding up a six pack of obviously cold light beers, and two bottles of soju, an incredibly cheeky grin on his face. He’s a flirt, then.
“Come in,” you wave him in, and he crosses by you to set the drinks on the desk and turn back to you. It doesn’t escape your notice that his eyes flick over you, your body more on display in a fitted tank top now that your sweatshirt was off.
“I’m not sure what you like,” he pulls a beer from the sleeve and holds it out to you, “but this is pretty light,”
“It’s fine,” you tell him, popping the top off the beer and discarding the twist off in the trash, “where did you get this anyways? It’s two in the morning.”
“The downstairs bar is open until three,” he explains.
“Ah,” you take a swig of the beer and watch him follow suit. It’s easier to watch him now that you both have acknowledged the heat between you, and you find yourself appreciating a lot of little things. His hands are large, making the bottle in his grip seem smaller. You find yourself staring at the soft edge of his jaw when he tips his head back for a drink, and noticing the broad set of his shoulders when he stands at his full height.
Yunho takes a few more sips of his drink, and once he’s had about a third of his beer, he reaches for a bottle of soju to mix in a shot. You hop up from your perch on the dresser and reach out to him, “Oh, wait, let me.”
His brow is a little furrowed, but he hands the unopened bottle of soju to you. “Okay?”
“I’m not a very seasoned drinker,” you explain, “but I do have a party trick or two. I think everyone should,”
With practiced hands you flip the bottle quickly, the alcohol inside spinning quickly into a whirlwind. Taking the neck of the bottle in one hand, you tap your opposite elbow firmly on the base of the bottle before twisting it cleanly around in your hands, all the while untwisting the cap. You present the open bottle with a flourish, the soju still whirling inside, and take a small playful bow. He’s grinning, and he claps at the trick, “That’s expertise,” he says.
“In opening bottles, maybe,” you pass it over to him so he can add his shot, and then add one to your bottle too, “in drinking, not so much.”
“Me either,” he confesses, “a drink here or there, but I’m not really one to overdo it.”
“You’re probably too busy,” you take a drink, and sidle closer to where he sits on the edge of the hotel room’s desk.
He shrugs, “it’s that, but also it makes your body feel terrible. If I don’t have a clear head it shows up on stage.”
“That makes sense,”
“Yeah,” he takes another drink, but you can see he’s already slowing down, “we have to be very conscious about our health, so drinking occasionally is fine but I don’t normally do it.”
“But you wanted to drink with me?” You ask, turning towards him more fully.
He smiles, “I thought it might be weird if I asked you to just keep talking in your room at two in the morning. Drinks are a good excuse,”
His honesty strikes you again, “I think I still would have said yes.”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow.
You nod, taking another drink, and say, “Maybe I’m reading this wrong, but I don’t think you’re here just to talk, right?”
Yunho is quiet, his eyes flicking over you, “You’re very direct.”
“I’ve been told,” you smile, shrugging.
“I like direct,” he clarifies.
“Yunho,” you murmur, and you watch his eyes flicker at the sound of his name, “what do you want?”
He swallows, takes another drink, and swallows again, his throat tight, “If you’re saying yes, then I’d like to fuck you.”
The bottle in your hand slips a little and you grip down on it to keep it from falling, Yunho watches and smiles at your reaction. It cannot be overstated that this is not how you thought the night was going to go.
“Yes,” you decide not to think.
His hands are on you in a moment, one braced on your hip and the other cupping the back of your neck so he can drag you forwards along the desk and crash his mouth into yours. You like direct too.
“Fuck,” he curses softly when he breaks the kiss, “I’m sorry, I was going to be cooler about this, but you’re very cute.”
You hum a laugh against his mouth, feeling his smile, and shake your head a little when you break away, “I really don’t think we have to pretend if it’s just tonight,”
“Yeah?”
“Be yourself,” you kiss him again, “I’ll be myself. It’s only one night, so why be nervous the whole time?”
“I like you,” he grins, “I’m really glad I met you,”
“Ran into me,” you tease him.
“Ran into you,” he nods, “now come here,” The way he kisses is fast, firm, and insistent, his tongue dipping into your mouth and running along yours, a huff of warm shared breath between you. His hands hold you perfectly, fingers applying perfect pleasure as he squeezes you and it sends a dizzy rush through your brain when you realize just how small you are in his grip.
When you shudder a moan against his mouth, heat pooling in your core, he pulls back and stands up. Moving in front of you, he hooks his fingers in the top of your sweats and yanks down, taking your underwear with them. You brace your hands on the desk to lift your hips up so he can pull them all the way off and toss them to the side.
“Arms up,” he says, soft and firm, when he starts to pull your shirt over your head, and you comply immediately.
You can see the outline of his hard cock through his own sweatpants, and your mouth goes dry at the sight. He takes a step back to regard you and smiles, reaching down and catching one of your feet in his hands, still wearing your fluffy, colorful socks. “These are too fucking cute,” he teases you, and you blush.
“Stop it,” you laugh.
“I don’t know,” he drags a hand up your calf, under the hook of your knee, the top of your thigh, “Maybe you should leave them on, they’re kind of hilarious.”
“I clearly wasn’t expecting to get laid,” you start to say, but when his fingers dip down and brush your inner thigh, mere inches from your core, you gasp a breathy inhale.
“Still cute,” he smirks, and before you can retort he’s on his knees.
Looking down at him sends a rush of instant heat through you, and you barely register the fact that he’s slipped your socks off now and tossed them aside, leaving you fully naked and exposed to his gaze. His hands grip your backside and drag you forward on the desk, lining your hips up perfectly with the edge, and he pushes your thighs open to move forwards between them.
He’s moving fast, rocketing past teasing kisses and harmless groping, but you don’t seem to care. There’s a time clock on the night, and you’re sure once he’s had his fill he’ll leave and move on with his tour and his life, but you’re oddly okay with it. He dips low, hooking your legs over his shoulders, “Lay back,” he instructs.
You ease back on the desk, still staying propped up on your forearms so you can look down between your legs and see the dark mop of his hair, but providing him the access that he needs. He presses close to the apex of your thighs but doesn’t quite touch you, softly he blows a stream of cool air over your exposed clit and you jolt. “You have the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen,”
His words make you arch your back just slightly, involuntarily, and you let out a breathy moan, “Oh my god,”
“Do you want my mouth on you, pretty girl?” he asks, pressing wet kisses to your inner thighs.
An image of his mouth flashes in your brain, his plush bottom lip, his perfectly curved cupid’s bow. The way his tongue juts into his cheek when he’s teasing. You’re surprised at how easily you beg for him, “Please, please,”
He chuckles, bringing his arms under your thighs now and reaching around to brace your hips. His hands settle over your stomach and lower ribs, and he presses firmly down with his hands when he realizes you’re still propped up and not laying flat like he wants you. You drop back, letting your head rest against the hard desktop, the cool chill of the wood adding to the prickling sensation of goosebumps across your body.
“Say please again,” he tells you, and your words catch in your throat when he licks a firm stripe up your slit.
“P-please,” you shudder, and he listens.
He devours you, hungry for every drop of your slick arousal, and desperate to hear every little pant and moan you make when he focuses on sucking softly at your swollen clit. He dips his tongue inside you, hot and pulsing, and you groan, trying to rock your hips but finding that his hands are holding you exactly where he wants you.
When he delivers a sharp suck, your brain whites out, “Fuck, fuck,” you’re reaching for something to grab, to hold, and you desperately grip one of his hands. He twists it, catching your hand in his much larger one, intertwining your fingers and keeping it pressed to your stomach as he works you.
“There you go,” he pants when you arch against his tongue, flicking your clit perfectly from side to side.
“Yunho,” his hands grip down on you when you say his name, and pleasure curls tight inside you, ready to burst. “Yunho, I can’t,”
He doesn’t respond, simply works his mouth against you faster, firmer, his nose bumping your clit. Your free hand laces into his hair, gripping tightly and he groans against your heat. Your hips are bucking softly, chasing the sensation, and he shifts the tempo of his tongue to match your needy thrusts and perfect the pace you need. It’s seconds before you’re about to fall over the edge, your thighs shaking and your legs tightening around him. You pant his name again, and he presses closer, the added pressure tipping you over into a tidal wave.
The sound that leaves your lips is desperate, a crying choke of pleasure as you arch back, legs locked tightly around him, and your hand slipping out of his hair to come down hard on the table and brace yourself there. When your moans turn to soft whimpers, he slows, lapping at you softly through your aftershocks and pressing kisses to your inner thighs.
“Oh my god, you’re good at that,” you manage, recovering your breath.
He leans back, untangling his hand from yours and gently unhooking your legs from his shoulders. He holds you up, since you had wriggled off the edge of the desk a bit and helps ease you up to a sitting position again. He looks overwhelmingly pleased with himself, a wet glisten of your arousal across his mouth and chin. His hair is mussed from where you grabbed it, his cheeks flushed pink, and you want nothing more than to tackle him and kiss him soundly.
Yunho stands to his full height and offers you a hand, “Let’s move somewhere more comfortable,”
“Yeah,” you nod, a little breathless still.
He steers you to the bed, tipping you backwards so you can collapse onto the mattress and you watch him as he undresses. He pulls the loose tour t-shirt over his head and you can’t help but admire him, watching him carefully as he moves to shuck off his sweats. He’s incredibly lean, taut sinewy muscles that jump with every flex of his hands or shift of his body. Bruises litter his shins and knees, and you catch more along his elbows and forearms, a collection you suspect is from how hard they dance.
When he drops his boxers, you can feel your eyebrows jump up and he laughs at your expression. “What?” he teases.
“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “you know exactly what.”
He blushes, his ears running red, and he clears his throat a little awkwardly before moving forwards to kneel on the mattress between your open legs. He sweeps a broad hand up your thigh, kneading your skin softly and says, “You still good?”
He’s nervous, you realize. You suspect that in his past he’s had a few negative experiences given his expression, girls who maybe shied away or feigned some excuse to end things early. Despite his intimidating size though, you’ve never wanted anything more, and you can feel the low throb of your core return as you look at him.
“I’m still very good,” you assure him, reaching up a hand.
His expression clears slightly, “Yeah?”
You change tactics, shifting up fully to a sitting position and reaching up to catch the back of his neck and pull him down, “Don’t be so full of yourself,” you tease him, hoping to lighten the tension, “I can take you just fine.”
He smirks, falling over you easily and holding himself suspended above you, “you think so?”
You really hope you can, but you double down, “Easy.”
The head of his cock connects with your entrance suddenly with a shift of his hips and you jerk, surprised at the sudden sensation, and he pushes forwards just enough to slip the head of him inside you, a hungry sly smile across his face now that he knows you’re back to playing. He pulls back when you gasp, a laugh on his lips and shakes his head, “You’re not ready yet.”
You want him so badly it makes you feel needy, a squirming urge to rock yourself against his cock until you come or until he fucks you into the floor, and you push him back with a hand on his shoulder just slightly so you can better meet his gaze, “Yes, I am,”
He smiles down at you, pleased with your bratty insistence, and shifts back up to kneel between your open legs again. He pulls you up by your hips, dragging your body into a better position, and for a moment you think he’s about to throw hesitation out the window and do it, but he doesn’t. He strokes himself with one hand as he looks down at you, and then lines your hips together, positioning you so he can let the hard straight length of his cock rest on top of your mound.
From here you can feel the hot length of him, from the base against your pubic bone to the tip that just covers your navel. Yunho squeezes your hips in his hands as he looks down at you, “You really think you’re ready for this, tiny?”
The nickname has your muscles clenching around nothing, your fingers tightening in the sheets, and a breathy groan slips out of your lips.
“Oh,” he smiles, “you like that, don’t you?”
Before this minute you didn’t, but here with him above you, proving with every inch of his body just how much larger he is than you? You want nothing more than to be caged in by him and used just the way he wants you. “Yes,” you manage, “please,”
“Please?” He chuckles, sliding back.
You nod, your hips jerking up and trying to catch some friction against your clit as he drags his cock back off you.
He shakes his head, “I’ve got to work you up to it, tiny.”
You want to respond, you want to say something teasing and clever, but the words die on your lips when he dives two of his long fingers inside you. He reaches the tender soft spot inside you easily, something that you could only hit just right with your favorite vibrator, but he catches it with ease and flicks his finger against it perfectly, his thumb landing on your clit to deliver punishing circles.
Your hips work against his hand, grinding down desperately for more pressure and he delivers it, picking up your needs immediately.
“Please,” you blink up, catching his eyes, “please fuck me,”
He shakes his head, “Only if you come again,”
“But,” you start to say, but a firm push of his hand and the addition of a third finger has you choking back a moan and arching into his hands.
“Are you close, pretty?” his low voice sparks pleasure up your body.
All you can do is whine a yes, nodding as you press your eyes shut and let the sensations roll over you. Heat flushes your chest, spreading a blush up your neck and face, and all you can hear is the wet sounds of his fingers working your sopping core. He hums softly in approval and it sends you over again, wrenching your body tight and up, your hips raised and bucking as you crest into your second orgasm.
Yunho’s wide palm comes down quickly over your lower stomach and he presses you down hard to force your hips back to the mattress and he continues pumping his fingers, holding you steady through your release. You barely register it when his fingers leave you, your head spotty and dazed, but you come back to yourself at the feeling of his cock nudging your clit.
“Wait, wait,” you’re panting, clearing your vision with furious blinks, “condom?”
“Shit,” he backs up immediately, “of course, I’m sorry,”
“It’s okay,” you shake your head, “I’m on birth control, we should just… we don’t really know each other,”
He hops off the bed, reaching down for his discarded sweatpants and searching through the pockets. “No, no,” he tears open the foil packet in his hands, “I have one, I just got a little carried away.”
“Perfect,” you sigh.
He rolls the condom over his length, checking the tip and smoothing down the base to fit snugly around him before tossing the empty packet back over the side of the bed and returning to his original position.
“Ready?” He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance again.
“Yeah,” you grip his shoulder, “yeah, I’m good.”
He nods, and seems focused. He takes one of your knees and presses it up, folding you back and opening you up wider, and then lines up his hips perfectly. “Fuck,” he breathes, shifting forwards and pressing into you just a bit, “you’re so tight,”
The press of him already is overwhelming, and it’s no longer his length that you’re focused on but how thick he feels, stretching you wide and sending a hot flush of pleasure up your chest. “You feel,” you stutter out, unable to finish your thought.
His hips jut forwards again and you whine, his forehead dropping against yours for just a moment as he holds himself controlled and steady, “Tell me,” he prompts you, moving in deeper.
“It’s so much,” you manage, and he smooths the damp hair back from your face to get a good look at you.
“Too much?”
“God, no,” you didn’t know it could feel quite like this.
“Yeah, tiny?” He sinks in further and groans.
“Please,” your hands shift down and you pull him closer, your nails digging in to his firm backside, “more,”
He’s losing his composure now, and his eyes roll shut when he finally thrusts forwards more sharply, sinking his entire length inside you and bottoming out. He’s stretching you fully, filling every little warm place inside you that you didn’t even know you had, and fleetingly you wish you could feel him more fully, no thin latex separating your warm wet walls from him.
“Fuck,” he starts to roll his hips, fucking you softly as he works your body up to taking more, “tell me how you feel, baby,”
“Full,” you answer immediately, “I can feel you everywhere,”
“God,” he chokes, his hips stuttering, “can you take more?”
“Yunho,” you catch his cheek in your hand and bring his eyes to yours, “I need it,”
“Yeah, tiny?” He teases, thrusting just a little more firmly.
The need inside you for more is deep though, and you can’t wait any longer. “No, Yunho,” you level him with your look, clenching your muscles tight around his hot length, “Fuck me, do whatever you want to me, I just,” you search for the right words, “just please,”
He answers with a firm thrust, and when he watches your eyes roll back and hears the moan that leaves your lips he understands. “Is that what you need?” He holds you firmly and ruts into you, “you like it harder?”
You’re sure you answer him because you hear him laugh softly in response, but your mind is hazy and disconnected, nothing but the feeling of his thick heat hitting every place you need it to, bringing you up faster than ever.
“Yeah, pretty?” He’s everywhere, collapsed over you and desperate, one hand on your thigh to hold you open, the other locked now in your hair, his breath hot over your damp skin, his pace never faltering, “you just want me to use you?”
Your body arches deeply, shifting the position of him inside you and you choke a whine out, gripping onto him tightly, “Please, please,” you can’t stop.
“Shh, shh,” he kisses you hard, his hands holding you roughly, “you’ll take what I give you,”
You nod against him, unable to find anything but pleasure and the tight feeling inside you. He dips his thumb into your mouth, running the pad of it along your tongue, and you suck his digit gently, before he pulls his hand back and firmly flicks his wet thumb over your pert nipple.
“God, Yunho,” you thrust up to meet him, your hips connecting fast and firm, “I’m- I’m,”
“Come for me,” he directs, “come and I’ll fill you up,”
Your brain shorts out, and the hot sensation that you’ve been chasing turns stifling, crashing into you and turning you into a quivering mess, your muscles locked and jerking against his hold as you come hard and fast.
He tumbles over behind you, the feeling of your walls pulsing down on his length sending him into a spiral, and you hear him curse, panting, losing his grip on you and fucking into you desperate and fast until he comes, collapsing over you and pressing your cheek into his sweaty chest.
His heart is beating hard and fast against your cheek, and it takes a moment before you both recover and he can ease himself off of you, out of you. He discards of the condom in the waste basket, and turns back to you, realizing you haven’t so much as moved an inch since he left you.
“Hey,” he sighs, sweeping a hand through his damp hair, “you okay?”
“So perfect,” you sigh.
He smiles, “Can I get you anything?”
Your limbs start to come alive again, and you ease yourself up into a sitting position against the headboard, pulling the sheets over you, “Water?”
“On it,” he slips his boxers back on and returns with a glass of cool water.
You’re not sure what his next move will be, staying or going, but you know what you wish he would do. He surprises you when he collapses back onto the bed next to you with a sigh, resting a wide hand on your thigh and squeezing you, “You’re amazing,” he says.
“You did all the work,” you chuckle, “I feel like I should be telling you that.”
He shakes his head, “No, it was great,” you look down at him and his eyes are gently shut, his mouth open softly as his breathing evens out.
You watch him for a few minutes, and it’s clear he’s not going to be moving any time soon, he looks spent, a second away from sleep, and judging by the late hour you figure it’s better to let him stay if he wants to. You grab your phone off the nightstand and start to set an alarm.
“Yunho,” you murmur, prodding his shoulder gently, “what time do you need to be up?”
He hums, shrugging.
“Hey,” you nudge him again, “you can sleep here if you want, just tell me what time to get you up.”
“Nine?” he blinks his eyes open, “I can go if you’d be more comfortable,”
“No, no, stay,” you ease down into the covers, and he shifts to slide in beside you, “I’d like it if you did.”
“Good,” he sighs again, reaching across the empty space between you and pulling you back into his chest. He snuggles into you, spooning you close and relaxing against you, “because I really hate sleeping alone.”
Warmth heats your chest, and you finish setting the alarm before you relax back into his embrace, “Me too.”
You sleep, but you wake twice before the alarm, the first time to Yunho’s hips rolling against your backside, his cock hard again and straining against his boxers and looking for friction. He fucks you soft the second time, spooning you still and holding you open, gentle thrusts and his fingers massaging your swollen bud until you come gentle and easy against the warm plane of his chest.
The second time he’s gone, and you think for a moment that he’s left entirely. You’re not necessarily surprised, but he had seemed nice enough to at least say goodbye after fucking you twice and holding you all night.
The sound of your hotel room door makes you jump, and you pull yourself up, holding the fluffy white comforter to your front and running a hand hastily through your hair.
Yunho’s back, freshly showered and already dressed for the day in stylishly baggy light wash jeans and an oversized blazer. “Oh,” he smiles, “you’re up!”
In the light of day, seeing him cleaned up like this has the reality of the evening crashing into you sideways. You had made fun of him, flirted with him, begged him, fucked him, and now you’re still sitting naked in front of him like a mess while he’s looking like what he is, an idol.
“Hey,” you manage.
He holds up a hand and you see now that he has a coffee cup and a small white pastry bag, “I brought you some breakfast,”
You’re really not even sure what to say he’s being so sweet, but you smile, watching as he drops the bag and coffee cup off on your side table. “Thanks,” you take the coffee happily, and he pulls a few packets of sugar out of his pocket.
“I didn’t know how you like it,” he says, a little sheepish, “but I didn’t want to wake you,”
“No, no, this is perfect, thank you so much.”
“I have to get going,” he sits on the edge of the bed, turned towards you, his hand resting on your knee with such easy familiarity, “but I wanted to make sure you got up too, I know you have a long drive back.”
Something inside you melts, “Thank you, Yunho, that’s so nice of you,”
“I also,” he shifts, a smile on his lips, “I had a lot of fun last night.”
“Me too,” you nod, resting your hand on his.
“It was really nice getting to know you,” he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his other hand coasting down your bare back.
You sigh against his lips. It had been a long time since you had had a soft morning like this, and the feeling of his hands on your skin again and his warm kiss on your lips has you feeling weightless and dizzy.
Yunho leans back and squeezes your knee gently, “I really do have to go,”
“It’s okay,” you smile, “I get it, but yeah, I had a good time too.”
Yunho takes your hand in his and turns it over, “How’s this feel?” he nods his head towards your injured palm.
You had honestly forgotten about it, “Completely fine, don’t worry,”
“Good,” he drops a kiss to your palm with a teasing eyebrow raise and stands, smoothing down his jacket.
“Well,” you would get up and see him to the door, but you blush and hold the comforter a little higher over your chest, “have a safe rest of your tour,”
“I will,” he nods, “you have a safe drive,”
You nod, and you expect him to go, but he shifts, glancing at the floor for a moment and then back up to your eyes. “I put my number in the bag,”
The sentence doesn’t quite make sense to you, “You what?”
“My number,” he explains, looking at you a little more clearly as if that will explain, but he says, “if you want,”
“Want to what?”
He laughs at your expression, “Text me, if you want to message me sometime.”
“Oh!”
“Only if you want,” he says, and when you start to open your mouth to respond he gestures for you to stop, “otherwise we can leave it here. Either way, I’m glad I met you.”
“Me too,” you nod earnestly.
His phone dings in his pocket and he sighs, his eyes closing in annoyance for a moment, “Okay, that’s my cue. Drive safe,” he says again and starts to slowly head for the door, “and maybe I’ll talk to you,”
“Maybe,” you respond, noncommittal but you already know your decision.
He smiles, “Okay,”
“Okay,”
He pushes himself towards the door with a groan, “Alright, I’m going. You look pretty in the morning by the way,”
A laugh breaks out of your chest, “Thank you?”
“I just thought you should know,” he shrugs, flirtatious and teasing, but with the sound of the door opening and swinging shut you know he’s gone.
It takes you about three seconds to tear the bag open and see if he was being serious. Tucked into the pastry bag, nestled on top of the wax paper, is a little card with his number written out and his name, Jeong Yunho, as if you wouldn’t remember his name.
You key it into your phone immediately, a message open and waiting. You bite your lip, nervous and unsure of what to say, but then you hear his parting words ringing in your ears again. You type the message out and send it immediately, not pausing long enough to think too hard or overanalyze the decision.
You look handsome in the morning too, just so you know.
You toss the phone aside and leap out of the bed, needing suddenly to walk far away and clear your head. You pull the hotel robe around yourself and sigh into your hands, recounting the night and the way his soft sweetness made your stomach flip flop. You start to walk towards the bathroom, ready to start a warm shower and clear your head, when you hear the soft ding of an incoming message, and you can’t help but smile.
If there’s anything in life that Mark wants, it’s to fuck. All day, every day, it’s on his mind. He fantasizes constantly, watches porn every free chance he gets, and ultimately has grown bored of his own hand to satiate his need.
or the one where mark is very inexperienced, incredibly perverted, and borderline addicted to sex but cannot, for the life of him, land a girl.
ao3 | m.list | leave feedback and reblog to give mark another boner.
minors do not interact.
WORDCOUNT― 13.8K
PAIRING― mark lee x afab reader
CONTENT― smut, inexperienced but pervy and dominant mark, he kind of has an addiction to jerking off, im not joking like he has a boner every twenty minutes it’s probably a medical issue but, reader is really sex positive and lets mark go absolutely insane on her
NOTE― not proof read// will come back and maybe try to do that…anyway. im back in the game bitches, someone tell mark [DO NOT]!! disclaimer: this is straight up just porn. it had a plot at one point but i deleted all of it and wrote this instead. additionally: this is also posted on my other blog for jake so.........hahaha
smut tags under cut::
smut tags― mark isn’t submissive– just a loser, loads of masturbation, also loads of loads lmfao, mark’s dick is 8 inches in this one, public humiliation, dirty talk, teasing, pussy eating / face sitting, mentions of free use, unprotected sex, wayyyy way too much cum, raw grinding, attempts at deep throat, accidental face fucking, finger fucking, suffocation, riding, squirting, implications to the fact that orgasms are not the end of the fic bc they just keep going, some say they’re still fucking to this day.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“Feels so good! Harder! Fuck m-”
Mark slams his laptop shut in an exasperated sigh. Frustrated, annoyed, fucking horny.
Always horny. To the point that nothing excites him anymore. Not his hard-on being palmed at by his own hand, not the make-shift pocket pussy he’s made out of household objects, not the porn on page one or on page seventy-three.
Honestly, even as hard as he is now, it’s arguable that he could just start punching his cock and he’d still remain in this state until something changes. And you know what sucks more than not being able to get off? Being hard so constantly that it’s just a state of living at this point.
It’s sad. He could be washing caked ketchup off of a plate and his cock would still lend a little jump. A reminder that his hand is no longer enough. A fucking threat that if he doesn’t sink into a pretty hole soon, he might as well just kill himself.
The idea doesn’t seem too bad anymore, as he lays flat on his back with his cock in hand on his messy sheets. He stares up at the ceiling with another long-winded groan, wondering why he has to have such an insatiable libido and probably twice as much stamina. If he could just get off he’d have at least a little bit of time in his day to feel normal before it takes hold of his brain again.
It’s the fact that he’s grown entirely numb to his own hand and feels like he’s going crazy because he hasn’t been able to hook-up with anyone in nearly a year. Porn is boring, he swears he’s seen just about all of the good, bad, and bizarre. Post nut clarity barely exists because there is no clarity by the time he finally gets that hard-to-reach nut. Bad luck, maybe. Awful fucking miserable luck? That’s more fitting.
For the sake of the girls in this city, perhaps it’s good that he can’t manage to land a hook-up. Surely they’d be unable to walk by the time he gets his fill, that is if he manages to get a fill at all. And it’s gotten to the point that Mark has almost entirely given up on finding a girl at all. One that’s willing to put up with his near-constant need to get his dick wet, anyway.
Almost given up.
A thought crosses his mind as he lazily palms himself with a bored sigh, knowing he’ll end up locked up in an asylum somewhere if this doesn’t stop. The voice of Johnny in his head doing little to make his cock soften, which is…not something Mark is proud to admit.
“Dude, you gotta put a stop to this shit. This is your third laptop this year!” Johnny had said to him. “It’s only June!”
Maybe Johnny was right, and maybe Mark should have downloaded the new app that was mentioned shortly after the scolding rather than immediately going to another, even more, shady porn site. “Heard this one was really good.” Johnny had advertised. “Even got Jisung laid.”
Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to try another app despite the immense amount of failure Mark has already faced regarding previous attempts with other platforms. After all, if it got Jisung laid, surely it could get him laid too.
Maybe this one really is better.
And at the end of the day, Mark does download the app. After all, creating a profile is easy, finding a girl though?
We’ll see.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Ah. Okay. Nice.
Mark stays glued to his phone all night. He really had no hope that this app would offer him anything more than what the others did. But, oh.
The app allows specific features, most of which are not aimed towards users looking for a relationship. Dick and body sizes are out in the open, there’s sections you can fill out regarding what you’re looking for in a sexual partner, how often you’re willing to see said partner, and if you’re looking for a regular fuck or a one time fuck.
Safe to say, Mark’s profile went a little something like this:
you can call me mark, im 24. just looking for a girl either for regular visits or a one night stand that’s willing to deal with a guy who literally suffers from chronic-boner syndrome.
LOOKING FOR: Female
PREFERENCE: One Time Only, Occasional Meetups, On-call, Regular meetups, Permanent Friends-With-Benefits, Secret Meet, Virtual Meet, Audio Meet, Rebound C…[Click to see more]
PARTNER REQUIREMENTS: N/A
SIZE REFERENCE: 8 ½” hard, 4” soft, 5.6” circumference
SEXUAL INTERESTS: Vanilla, Free Use, BDSM, Begging, Breeding, Dom/Sub, Dominatrix, CBT, Role Play, Public Humiliation, Edging, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, Virtual Sex, Group Sex, Humiliation, Cock Play, Cum Dump, Religion, Raw, Multiple Orgasms, Androgyny, Genital Piercings, Older Women, Body Art, Wax, Anal, Financial Domina...[Click to see more]
NOT INTERESTED IN: Cuckolding, Voyeurism
OTHER: im not very experienced in most of these, i just watch a lot of porn
Embarrassing? Yeah, probably.
Looks like a lot of women are into that though if his inbox is anything to go by, anyway. With him checking the app every few minutes to find ten new messages? Yeah, they’re feeling him.
He can only imagine what the fuck Jisung had on his profile to actually land a hook-up. Couldn’t have been any worse than his own, after all, Mark is desperate and so was Jisung at one point.
Apparently girls like desperate guys.
Message after message, degrading comments and praise, all from either women clad in leather or sweet looking church girls who must have the app hidden deep within their phones. There’s barely anyone in between those two categories, actually.
“Hi baby boy, you looking for a sugar mama?”
“ur dick really that big? lol, what do you even mean by ‘chronic boner syndrome’?”
“you’re so desperate to get laid, might as well just doxx yourself at this point…please.”
Arguably, these women are very forward and he has a great time sifting through the ones he’s interested in. Scrolling through all of these messages….does not help his case regarding his insatiable need to fuck something either so, naturally, he’s also 100% jerking off the entire time he’s doing this.
Still, never quite able to reach the orgasm he needs by this point.
Up until there’s a message that catches his attention. No degrading, no insults, no borderline-too-kinky insinuations. Which, given, Mark probably shouldn’t have selected the majority of the kinks just to pull more girls, but he did.
And upon reading the message, he almost doesn’t know if this girl is real.
“High libido, no girls around to help you out, I take it? Rough.”
One look at her profile spikes even more interest. Her sexual interests include a list of things he wishes he didn’t fit. But he does, though he’d never admit it. Inexperienced men, losers, virgins, micro-penis, big penis, praise (receiving), body worship–
Oh.
Fuck yeah.
He responds quickly, already feeling the orgasm within him bubble up as he tries to pretend he doesn’t go on a war path of responding to everyone after you, but still. Your message box with him remains in his mind as he awaits the response to his message of “you looking to help me out?”
Every ping on his phone afterwards makes his cock twitch more, makes it dribble out little beads of pre-cum with each pass of his palm, only for him to sigh out of frustration that it’s just another person that wants to devour him whole. Which, he’ll take what he can get if his first choice never responds but still. He wants to get off to you.
He finds himself on your profile more often than anyone else’s too, looking at the same three photos you’ve posted, noting how you don’t seem super active on the app, but active enough to find him by some beautiful grace of God.
You’re kind of perfect, honestly. Fairly mundane compared to most of the women in his inbox, but cool nonetheless. He can tell you have an eye for fashion but it seems to be more geared towards your real life self rather than the secret fetish/kink app you’ve got downloaded.
And that’s the thing. Most of these women, beautiful or not, are dressed in their best sexual attire just to message a possible fuck, while during their daily lives they probably wear conservative dresses and pant suits. Which….arguably that’s kind of hot. Then again, what isn’t hot to him these days?
You though. You have normal pictures posted just like he does. Your tits aren’t out, your legs aren’t open, you don’t have a pile of sex toys behind or beside you and yet still your pictures turn him on more than those who do. Insane how his cock twitches at just these three photos, fucking insane how he grows a near instant obsessed thinking about how you…uh, deal with the losers you seem to be looking for.
Then again, maybe it’s the mystery of what’s under your clothes, or what’s in your stash of sex toys. Oh, whatever you’re hiding has got be so fucking hot. Naturally, he groans at the amount of sexuality you barely give. Thinking far, far too hard about it all, given the circumstances.
Don’t get him wrong, he can get down with the hoes. In fact, he very much wants to get down with a hoe. But man, the way you stand out because you’re somehow….boring compared to everyone else?
Please.
Fucking pretty please, let him in between those thighs.
And just as he scrolls again through your photos, that long-awaited orgasm hits him like a brick.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
A mere two days later you find yourself in the inbox with the self-proclaimed boner-god. He’s since proven his size with photos involving different objects beside said penis, and even a video or two of his frantic hands jerking off to you.
Ah, he’s kind of perfect if you think about it. At first you thought that it was just roleplay for him or something. Where he plays a guy who can’t get enough, though he clearly probably does. It wasn’t until you were woken up at four in the morning with him spamming your inbox that you suddenly realized this dude is actually as desperate as he seems.
Normally, being spammed awake by your phone pinging consistently would bother you. But goddamn was he needing it. Just three hours before now it was mostly casual conversation with him, albeit about hooking-up, but still. The two of you agreed to determine on the following day if you were compatible enough for a meet up. He said goodnight to you, and you said it back.
Then you woke up to three dick pics, one voice note with a borderline pathetic apology (only because you could still hear him going at it), and then like fourteen messages of him trying to wake you up intentionally.
MARK_99 sent you a message: You awake?
Dick pic #1.
MARK_99 sent you a message: You’re so pretty, sorry lol
Dick pic #2
MARK_99 sent you a message: Wake uppppppppppp!
MARK_99 sent you a message: Please? :(
Dick pic #3, precum smeared across his fingers as he grips it.
MARK_99 sent you a message: Do you already have me silenced?
MARK_99 sent you a message: I’d let you silence me hahaha….
MARK_99 sent you a voice memo: “Sorry about all this, I really meant it when I said I have a problem. You should probably just block me because I’m going to end up begging to see you otherwise”
Oh, he sounds like a fucking loser, love that..
MARK_99 sent you a message: your profile says you like inexperience…..well i’ve only slept with like 3 girls, is that inexperienced enough?
MARK_99 sent you a message: do you like to tease guys like that? like edge them and stuff?
MARK_99 sent you a message: oh damn, that’d be so hot
MARK_99 sent you a message: do you like it when guys beg btw?
Etcetera.
And, well, apparently he just has a lot to say. It’s cute how embarrassed he must feel basically getting himself off with a one-sided sext session with you as you were sleeping. At least, you hope he’s embarrassed.
You let his messages simmer for a while, waiting to see if he sends anything else. And when he doesn’t, you respond.
YOURUSERNAME: that was cute.
It’s the way he’s instantly trying to respond that really gets you going. You chuckle first, knowing already that you’d probably help him out based on this situation alone.
YOURUSERNAME: trying to wake me up because you can’t stop touching yourself? :( poor baby.
MARK_99: oh god please don’t say that
MARK_99: im gonna end up awake all night trying to get it to go down again
YOURUSERNAME: that’s good to hear. so you can go for a long time then?
Yes, you’re teasing him.
MARK_99: if you’d let me
YOURUSERNAME: you already got off tonight tho, didn’t you?
MARK_99: i don’t think you understand just how bad it is. i’m already getting my dick out again
You lend yourself a sly chuckle after a deep yawn, knowing for a fact that you’re about to make him prove to you that he’s either still hard or really did get off only to get hard again by a mere few messages from you.
YOURUSERNAME: show me?
And he does. Similar to the other three photos, only this time he sends a short video with his shorts pushed down his thighs and his cock raging hard and pathetic against his stomach. Again, he’s big, that much is true, but the fact that such a dick is always ready to fuck? To the point he’s desperate? To the point he’s embarrassing about it?
YOURUSERNAME: how bad do you wanna bury that in me?
Oh, shit. Mark could fucking die right now. You seem so willing, which is truly what he needs at this point in his sexual sickness.
MARK_99: i’ll come over right now.
MARK_99: let me come over and show you
YOURUSERNAME: let’s wait a bit for that, gotta meet officially before I let you fuck me
And you do intend to make him wait, knowing for a fact that you’re not meeting this guy tonight. There’s too much danger in that. Given how desperate he actually is, you can argue that if you changed your mind upon meeting, he very well may not care. Which, that’s something you need to worry about with any person you meet on such an app, but still.
Public meeting first.
Always.
MARK_99: right, right, that makes sense.
MARK_99: so can i see your pussy then
You stifle a laugh as if the man can hear you, he’d probably like that though. But yeah, no. As much as you know he’d enjoy that, it’s best to let him experience it for the first time in real life if all of this goes well. So, you settle with tits.
Meaning, he has to settle with them too.
And the photo is all but enough for Mark. The ping of his phone was far too exciting with the flash of the image sinking into his eyes. Sure, he wanted to see your hole open for him, he wanted to see your pretty hands spreading your lips for the picture, he wanted to see what he might get to fuck into someday– but…
This is good enough for him, honestly. Seeing your tits alone is hot enough, but it’s the fact that you only barely let him see. The plush skin of your lower breasts are peeking from under the shirt you're wearing, one nipple barely out, the other completely hidden.
He moans out at it, holding his cock tight and painfully as he glares into the screen of his phone. God, he can almost taste it.
MARK_99: thats so hot…but….
MARK_99: pussy….
MARK_99: please show me your pussy
Another chuckle at how desperate he really is. You lower your phone just a bit, not at all intending to show him all of it but you do lend a panty shot with your legs spread. He’ll live with it, he doesn’t have a choice.
And he does live with it because he cums almost instantly upon seeing just your thighs open. He wouldn’t have been able to hit climax so quickly had you already had this photo posted for all to see. It’s the fact that you sent it to him in the dms. It’s the fact that you presumably just took it for him. It’s the fact that he can almost see the outline of your folds, and the lines of your pussy that deserves to fucked open.
When he doesn’t respond immediately, you know it was enough for him. Already you’re preparing to roll back over and get some more sleep, but your phone dings again.
MARK_99: tht was hot lol….um
MARK_99: can u come to the mall tomorrow? i work at [redacted store name], u can come see that im actually very normal if u want
You stop for a second through another yawn, thinking long and hard about it. You shrug to yourself because tomorrow is a saturday and there’s plenty of public spaces to meet him in. And despite how fun it could be to tease him for weeks on end before officially meeting him, you, yourself, have been in a dry-spell lately.
And he fits your interests perfectly. In other words, yeah, you could fuck.
YOURUSERNAME: you sure you’re not gonna take me in the back and fuck me on the spot?
MARK_99: ….would u want me to?
YOURUSERNAME: no, i wanna bring you home if i think you could make me feel good
MARK_99: hahah damn
MARK_99: so you’ll come see me?
YOURUSERNAME: yeah, i’ll come see you
MARK_99: ok cool :)
And then it’s silent for a long while. In fact, you’re nearly asleep again when your phone pings one last time. All you need to see is the notification to know that meeting Mark is gonna be fun.
MARK_99 sent you a message: for the record…i definitely will fuck you good
Sounds promising.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
You knew he was cute but holy shit, he’s like, cute cute.
Fucking handsome and charmingly cute.
Perhaps even, hot.
You stand from around a shelf to check him out. That same voice you’ve heard previously rings loud and clear in your head, and his hair is definitely a stylistic mess, the type of hair you can imagine grabbing and tugging to guide a tongue between your legs. His eyes are pretty and piercing yet equally as filled with some sort of wonder. His hands, his body.
Oh wow.
On any other day, you’d think he’s just some poser emo-guy working a shitty retail job so he can buy his first guitar and play it totally out of tune. But on this day, you’re aware that this is a man with a need that you very much wouldn’t mind satisfying.
Seeing him go about his work tasks behind the counter is another thing. Checking customers out both through the register and with his eyes when they walk away. You know he isn’t aware that you’ve actually shown up, and it feels nice to watch him in his element before he attempts to play himself up as a totally normal, cool dude. Especially now that you can see him secretly be a pervert on the clock.
Customer after customer, he smiles at them when he hands them their items, he offers small talk and little chuckles that ring in your ears, and every single time one of the pretty ones walks away, his head turns to watch them leave for a few seconds too long.
Anyone can tell he needs it if they watch him for long enough.
You’re not sure why this guy is getting to you the way he is, but there’s just something about the way that he carries himself in public that turns you on. You already know for a fact that he’s a horny motherfucker. You know that behind those charming smiles and laughs, he’s got a neglected cock needing to be used.
No one else in this store is aware of it. You’re the only person here who knows he was spamming a stranger last night with dick pics and begging to see her pussy.
It’s hot.
And when you approach, Mark nearly doesn’t even know it’s you at first.
“Hi, did you find everything you–” Mark stops mid sentence. “Oh, fuck. You’re here.” He adds, trying to primp his hair into a spot that may look a little better than it did already.
You watch as he studies you for the first time, nervously darting his tongue out and against his bottom lip just for a split second before shifting his eyes behind you, and then turning to look around to see if anyone is within ear shot.
No one is paying attention to either of you, and no one is going to hear what you’re about to say to him. Good.
“Do you wanna see my pussy?”
It’s a joke, mostly. Kinda.
You chuckle at his stunned reaction. His hands move to the counter as he clutches it and continuously looks around to make sure no one just heard those lewd ass words from a girl so goddamn hot. Like, oh god, it’s you. You really showed up to see him and already he’s not acting normal.
No, no. You’re the one acting out of pocket, not him.
“I’m–” He tries to start, but his voice cracks in a very, very, embarrassing way. You hear him clear his throat before continuing. “I’m supposed to be showing you that I’m normal.”
You tilt your head at him playfully, leaning against the counter and pushing your tits together with your arms. You wore this shirt here for a reason, and boy are you glad you did. You watch his eyes go straight to your chest and stay there.
“Public Humiliation.” You echo one of his sexual interests to him from his app profile. “Dirty talk.”
Mark swallows around his words in stunned silence, feeling his cock wake up immediately. Fuck, this is the only place he finds peace of mind from…that. Yet here you are, with that soft and pretty voice reminding him of everything he wants but hasn’t been able to have. Standing there like you know he can’t bend you over right now and make you stop talking.
“Eight and a half inches hard.” You continue, leaning in even closer and moving your hand to the collar of your shirt. Tugging down just a little bit. “Five point six inch circumference.”
Mark squeezes his eyes shut as he leans back with a sigh, pressing his hips against the counter for some sort of relief. To think the “boring” girl on the app wouldn’t be like this? God, he knew there had to be a catch considering you were on that app to find him in the first place.
“Please–” He groans as his ears redden, lazily opening his eyes to look at your tits again. “Please don’t do this to me.”
“I can imagine you’d fit it in me just right, wouldn’t you Mark?” You continue briefly, noting the bulge he blatantly presses against the counter. “Can you say ‘please’ again? It’s kinda hot.”
“Please–” Mark blatantly groans now, his voice sounding hoarse and low. As much as he wants you to keep going, he’s at fucking work. He can’t be doing this.
“Okay!” You gleefully agree as you switch up like you didn’t just fuck him up, lending him a bright and innocent smile as you lean back and away from him. “So you don’t want to see my pussy then?”
His relieved face falls right back into that of pained frustration as he narrows his eyes at you.
“Right now?” He asks curiously, nodding his head without realizing it. Sure, he’s at work but like….your pussy is also at his work place right now.
“Yeah! Can you show me to the fitting room, actually?” You ask, louder this time in case anyone has moved around within ear-shot by now. Can’t make him lose his job, or whatever.
Mark swallows thickly with a nod, his eyes still narrowed at you but his mind racing a mile a minute at the fact that you’re really here right now, and this is what you’re doing to him? Enjoying his pain? Enjoying his suffering? Making it worse?
Five minutes ago he was perfectly fine. You’re using his need against him and god, he loves it. Yeah, maybe he will take you to the back and try to fuck you at this point. Even if you said that you wouldn’t let him…what the fuck is this then?
Really, he expected you to show up with an awkward hello and irritating small talk. He wanted to show you that he’s not always thinking about sex. Except he is, and it seems you want him to. You want him to think about fucking you.
You really just walked into this establishment and asked him if he wants to see your pussy.
Of course he wants to see it. You already fucking know that. He wants to fuck it too, like, right now.
And as he walks you to the fitting room, he has to try his damndest to adjust his growing cock. He nods to each customer as he walks by them, hands repeatedly going back to his lap to hide what he’s packing.
“Here it is.” Mark says in an unfocused voice, nearly staring a hole through you. “Now show me.”
You dip your head in a smile, heading for the room and opening the curtain. Cheap ass store, really, most places have actual doors, but whatever.
It’s easy to step inside and leave the curtain skewed a bit, knowing that Mark is hovering around the room, knowing that it’s probably protocol that an employee assist this space when it’s in use to prevent stealing and to prevent others from walking in on naked customers.
You like the way you see him take peeks, trying to be discreet. You like the way he keeps his hands in front of his lap, hiding that you’ve definitely made him a mess of him already. You love the way he whispers a curse to himself when you sit against the bench in this small room and spread your legs wide open.
You bet he loves the skirt you’re wearing for him today too. Though this wasn’t exactly planned or anything, you didn’t expect to be this turned on upon seeing him act as desperate as he sounds. You wore this shirt so he can look, and the skirt too…but looking this much wasn’t in your mind originally.
He’s hot though. The way he needs it is hot.
“Hurry up.” He groans, trying to make it seem like he’s frustrated but you know it’s just because he’s anxiously horny.
And, well, you’re not actually gonna show him your pussy, but at this point you feel bad because he seems really stiff right now, almost robotic in the way he likely feels uncomfortably aroused in his least favorite place.
“Mark,” You whisper-chuckle. “If you wanna see it, you’re gonna have to come in here and take my panties off of me.”
You hear him sigh, and see his eyes flick back to you through the small open space in the curtain.
“You’re insane. I can’t come in there, I’ll lose my job.” He argues with a hushed tone, eyes fixated on the very panties he wishes he could remove.
Even against his protests though, he reaches an arm in as he looks away. As if on extreme watch of other customers and employees roaming around. Probably pretending to grab a garment that doesn’t work for you, probably just doing normal, good-employee things.
And, well, it’s pathetic really, the way he hopes for more. The way you offer more knowing he can’t get exactly what he wants. You actually feel a bit bad for doing this, especially because it wasn’t entirely in the plan.
You really were just coming to meet him. It’s not your fault that watching him work turned you on solely because you know what he needs. So, you stand and walk towards the curtain, grabbing his arm and holding it in place.
“Well–” You start, pressing yourself against the backside of his fingers, feeling him move his hand slightly against your clit. “Touch it then.”
He goes entirely silent but you feel the way he fumbles his hand, immediately grabbing your panties and moving them to the side just to really feel. And you let him, finding it somehow cuter in the way he doesn’t even ask. He does it like he needs to, like it’s instinctual to touch it. He feels for a second or two, probably closer to about five seconds before you step back. Really, it’s enough for him to know you’re wet, enough for him to suffer, enough for him to want more.
Mark’s brain is on fire at it. Touching it before getting to see it? Goddamn, you’re so fucking mean.
And it’s silent for a few more moments after that as Mark keeps his hand in place, seemingly searching for a pussy just out of reach when you slide the fabric down your legs and place them directly into his hand.
“When do you get off work?” You ask slyly now, ripping the curtain open and moving his hand for him, forcing him to shove your panties in his pocket.
“Uh–” He stutters, swallowing again around his words before clearing his throat of the moan he really needs to let out right now. “Seven– I get off at seven.”
You nod with a smile, leaning in real close before patting his pocket.
“I’ll text you my address.”
And you leave without sparing him another glance, knowing that by the time his shift is over, he’ll probably pounce the second you open your door for him.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Mark suffers through the rest of his shift aggressively trying not to suck on his fingers. Fuck, he wants to taste you so bad, but to go as low as sucking the remnants for several hours just to hold him over? Truly, he’s at his wits end.
Mostly because he absolutely does suck his fingers any chance he gets. Tapping his lips with them as he sees a customer off, licking against them discreetly, trying to make it look normal for him to have his fingers in his mouth so consistently.
It’s not doing anything to hold him over though.
He keeps glancing at the clock, and then at the message that reads your address. Just one more hour and he can leave. Just one more hour and he can bury his cock so deep into you that you’d never think twice about letting him do it again, and again, and again.
Oh god, really, he feels like he’s going insane as he checks out customer after customer. Every word they say somehow reminds him that he’s about to finally get laid again.
“Can you wrap this up for me?” One customer said to him, nodding to a set of candles.
Mark wishes you’d wrap him up in that pussy.
“Do you have this in a bigger size?” Another customer had said to him as they held up a plush sweater.
Mark doesn’t think you’d ever need a dick bigger than his. He’ll fill you up just right.
“69.99?!” One customer argues. “The sign said it was 30% off!”
Mark would sixty nine you all night long if you asked. He bets you taste sweet, you probably get really wet too.
And by the end of the night, rain pounding on the roof, his last customer unfortunately has to hear a low groan leave his throat at their comments. He’s very quick to cover it with a cough.
“Sorry for coming in right before you close, the rain is bad tonight and I forgot my umbrella, thank god you guys sell them! I didn’t mean to drip all over the floor like this, I hope you don’t have to stay late cleaning up my mess!”
“I didn’t mean to drip all over your floor like this” Replays in his head, over and over again. God, he’d make you drip. He hopes you drip all over the floor for him. He’d get on his knees and lick it right up, god.
He needs to leave. Right now.
“S’all good,” Mark shakes his head after the initial moan and cough cover, trying to remain casual. “It’s my job to clean it up, after all.” He smiles, his brain stuck on the feeling of how wet you were when he touched you. Shiiiit. “Have a good night, stay dry!”
And finally, Mark can close out his register and lock the doors. That, he does. Performing his end-of-night tasks at lightning speed with a cock throbbing so bad that he worries he might have to get off in his car before making it to your apartment. He genuinely needs to get off, especially knowing these pretty panties are in his pocket ready to be soaked in his cum.
He doesn’t though, no. He holds off, thrusting his hips up and against the inseam of his pants with every passing second as he drives. He’s practically writhing by the time he gets to your place. Honestly, he moans with each movement because he’s sensitive. It’s so, so fucking sensitive. Everything feels good, he could genuinely cum the second you open your door if he’s not careful.
Careful isn’t something Mark can be at this moment though, not when he lands a single knock at your door and you’re immediately opening it, looking at him with that same fucking evil smile you gave to him while he was at work.
He looks at you and instantly lets out a frustrated moan before stepping in without another word. You feel his hands grab you much harsher than you originally thought he would, but you let him as you laugh out in a nervous chuckle.
“Hello to you too.” You pat him on the back as his arms wrap around your middle. You hear him kick back against your door, slamming it shut before his lips hit your neck.
He isn’t talking but goddamn you can hear what he needs to say through the way he presses his lips against you. He’s rough with it, kissing all across your exposed skin before slipping his hand right between your legs from the back as if he doesn’t have to chase anymore.
You were going to jerk your hips back to make him chase, but his grip is too tight and he’s nearly lifting you off the floor entirely to get a feel. You were going to force him to look at you and the outfit you changed into for him, but again, he’s not having it, it seems. He moans when he moves his lips up and against yours, hot breath desperate and needy as he finally speaks.
“Did it turn you on to torture me like that?” He nearly growls against your lips. “Got me so fucking hard.”
You’re genuinely surprised with how he’s acting and talking. Then again, he’s desperate, that much is obvious if that monster bulge rubbing against your leg is anything to go by. Perhaps he may be desperate, but you guess that doesn’t always mean someone will end up submissive as a side effect.
“It did.” You smile against his lips, pushing yourself forward to try and plant your feet back on the ground, chasing the ability to gain control over him. “Did you like that?”
Mark nods before shaking his head, allowing you to push forward, loving the way your hands reach for him and run through his hair before tugging. He did like what you did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it was fucking torture to stand there at work like he wasn’t losing his mind.
“I’d like it more if we skip all the bullshit,” He starts, hand still attempting to reach the spot between your legs and lips landing at the corner of your mouth. “Could go all night.”
You nod to him, gripping his shirt and pulling him back to your living room couch and spinning him around, only to shove him back.
“Is that a promise?” You ask, looking at the lazy way he spreads his own legs and rests his head against your couch cushions, eyes staring straight at you and cock twitching in his pants. “You gonna fuck me all night?”
“Yeah–” He breathes as if he’s in disbelief, hand reaching between his legs just to grab himself and squeeze as his eyes trail your body. “You have no idea how bad I need this.”
“Show me then,” You nod your head to his length that’s hidden under his pants. “Let me watch you first.”
Mark groans, rolling his eyes back both out of frustration and arousal, but he does as you say. His palm feels better with you watching, at least. He doesn’t feel so numb to the pleasure with you promising your body to him, at least. He doesn’t mind proving his size to you by shoving his pants down to his thighs and presenting said neglected cock to you either.
It’s heavy, dark in color due to the blood that’s likely rushing throughout every inch of it. He feels sensitive to even the air in your living room as he twitches and aches to hear you talk again, to see you in front of him watching how he pleasures himself, wishing his hand is yours.
“You wanna watch?” He says in a low-rumbled voice, tracing his fingers along the head of his cock and seething out a breath through his now, bitten bottom lip. “Wanna know how tight I want you to feel?” He asks now, bold and in the heat of the moment. You watch him when he squeezes the base of his cock tightly, you can almost feel yourself choke at that alone.
“How wet you need to be to take it?” He continues, dragging his hand back and licking his palm before spitting into it.
The wetness against his hand is horrifyingly pornographic. So wet when he reaches back down to his length, allowing you to hear it squelch and slip with ease. His breath is hitched while he does it too, which nearly has you seeing him in tunnel vision.
“Yeah…” You tune into him entirely, swallowing around the lump in your throat and feeling yourself drip already. “I can’t imagine how good–” You cut yourself short to moan at the way his other hand holds his pants down while he jerks his hand up faster and faster. “Oh god, you’re–”
“Wanna see how fast I can cum just looking at you?” He continues, hand only moving faster and faster as his grip tightens more, shamelessly grunting proudly over how he could probably cum now if he wanted to. “I told you, I can go all night.”
You pause, because goddamn. You thought he would be embarrassing, pathetic, needy. You thought he would beg, plead, and cry. But…you feel like you’re the one who needs to do that. God, you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck yet be so powerful about it. As if he’s in your face whispering, “You’re gonna let me fuck you, right? You’re gonna love it too, right? You’re gonna let me use you to take care of this little problem of mine, right? It’s what you want, right?”
If he were to say those things to you right now, you’d nod without a doubt. But…he doesn’t. He simply looks at you now, heaving out broken moans that sound too sexy to be considered pathetic. His hips chase each movement of his hand and goddamn does he fuck his fist hard.
Your mind is spinning watching him, knowing that he’s probably going to fuck you twice as hard as he fucks himself. And it’s not surprising to you at least that you can feel your own clit swell and throb for touch too. You easily move your hand between your legs, standing right there in front of him, toying with yourself as if you don’t have the power to ask him to do it for you.
“Ah, fuck–” Mark groans, thrusting his hips up into his hand one last time before strings of his cum make a mess on his shirt. And it seems to go on forever too, spurt after spurt of it pumping out of him alongside his pretty moans and open-mouthed expression. You can feel your body react to him more than it ever has for anyone else, especially in the way….
“God–” You moan yourself now, watching him spread his legs and slouch more against your couch with a relieved sigh from his messy orgasm. But…his cock doesn’t soften. No, it stays stiff and heavy against his stomach, twitching and dribbling more and more of his cum out in little beads.
The proof of his issue is right here, he really can and probably will go all night. And you say nothing else to him after that. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to answer you if you did say something simply because you find yourself stepping up onto your own couch, resting your knees against the back of it, and gripping his hair.
Mark lets out a half-moan-half-hum, as expected, when he feels your hand drag his face under your skirt. You didn’t have to do that, but goddamn does he fucking love it. He loves how he can feel your knees buckle and force you to balance on the couch, loves how your cunt is just as needy as he feels, fucking adores the way you drip all over his tongue when he pushes your panties to the side and starts licking you up.
It’s the fact that he didn’t even have to ask you to put it in his face. The slight taste against his fingers all night at work is nothing compared to the way you drown him now. He needs to do this for you. Hell, he needs to do this for himself.
“Jesus,” You breathe, rolling your hips on his mouth. He’s truly eating you like his life depends on it. You can hear his muffled hums at the taste, you can feel his shoulder shake as he starts jerking off again, you can feel the way his tongue goes deeper and deeper, licking each clench of your walls, only to pull back and suck the wet from your panties in a deep breath.
He coos at it too, as if he’s in love with the moment, as if he truly can’t believe he’s finally got a pussy to lick. And he swallows each mouth full of your slick before muttering curses and promises against your swollen little bud.
“Please,” He moans, nipping and licking against you. “Been so long since I’ve eaten pussy, rub it on me- fuck-” he continues to babble, heat-of-the-moment-talk coming out as far more arousing than cringe if you listen hard through your ringing ears. “Come on,” He continues, now neglecting his own cock and gripping your ass with both hands, shoving you back and forth on his face in painfully slow and harsh grinds. “Come on, harder.”
As if you can function at all right now with how rough he is about trying to pleasure you? Fucking hell, the words ignite something in you as you pull back and away from him. For a split second, you see his blown out pupils and fucked up hair as he licks his lips and presents that shining lower-half of his face to you.
You don’t look for long though, no. Because you’re too busy pushing him to the side and forcing him to lay back on the couch instead. You resume your position afterwards, straddling the couch on either side of his head with your knees and planting your pulsing cunt right on his eager tongue.
“You’re too hot,” You moan, feeling his hands go straight back to your ass to force more of those harsh grinds against him. “If you could see yourself right now–” Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you feel his moaned out chuckle hit you right in the clit. It’s like he knows he makes you feel good, but does he really?
Does he truly understand how fucking good at this he is?
“God, if you could feel how good your tongue is–” You continue, now losing yourself in the heat of the moment, feeling his fingers nearly bruise your ass with the death-grip he has on you.
He nods his head in what little space he has as he spirals into heaven behind his eyes. The smell of you suffocates him, the taste of you drowns him, the weight of you is nothing short of sexy as hell. This is all he could ever want. A pretty girl using and abusing his face, much like he wants to do to you. But oh, there’s so, so much he wants to do after so long of having no one but himself.
Eat you out, finger fuck you, slide his cock down that pretty little moaning throat of yours, grip that hair and kiss those tits. God, he wants to do everything right now but he can’t bear to push this perfect clit off of his lips. He cannot fathom losing the taste of you and the way you clench around the tip of his tongue.
Oh fuck.
“Ahh- '' Mark moans open-mouthed against your clit as his brain hits a wall, his cock standing stiff from behind you as he spills out against himself again. Untouched completely, he cums without any effort where as previously it took him hours just to get off because he’d grown so fucking bored of everything.
You’ve ignited him. His drive is higher than it’s ever been after being neglected for so long. God, he wants to fuck you so full that you can’t bear to leave him.
“Fuck–” He continues, trying to lend licks between his jerking body to keep your arousal peaked. “See how bad I need it?”
He finally manages to pull back, feeling you lift from his face just for a moment after noting the way his entire body is shaking. He’s not having it though, as he cranes his neck in chase of your dripping hole once more.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He adds now, enveloping his lips around your clit again and using both hands to force you right back down on his face.
There, you feel the way he almost passionately makes out with your pussy. As if he’s thanking you for a second orgasm within the past ten minutes. As if he truly can’t stop wanting to fuck something, someone, anything at all.
Goddamn, what a fucking deal. All hail the hook-up app that brought this insatiable sex beast to your apartment.
“Mark–” You start, grinding down for him and feeling his hands now move to rub up and down your back. “Keep your tongue in me.” You choke out, gripping his hair to hold his face in place as you sit his tongue inside of you, short and jerky thrusts forward to bump your clit against his nose.
He’s gotten off twice now, it’s your turn.
And you watch as he drops his arms from you and grips your outer legs through it, letting you use his face until he can’t breathe. Both of you are seeing stars through it, your orgasm bubbling up so quickly that you can barely warn him when your hips halt in a stiffened clench and he’s finishing the job for you.
Your legs squeeze around his head, your fingers pull his hair, and still he manages to find the space to tilt his chin up just to tongue-fuck you deeper, just to rub his nose harshly against your clit, up until he feels your quivering pussy spill all over his chin, down his throat, stealing any breath or moan he could possibly give right now.
You’re out of breath by the time you finally slide off of his face, your hands immediately shooting to both of his cheeks as your sensitive clit drags down his stomach for the easy position change. You wince when you lick against his lips at the sensitivity, being sure to seat yourself right against his cock.
“Hah–” Mark lends a breathy laugh against the way you lick his lips, his hands going right back to your ass and landing a sharp slap to it. “Couldn’t even get our clothes off first.”
You take a second to pull back and look at him, noting the redness against his cheeks and nose, likely from your panties consistently getting in his way and then you chuckle back at him. You’re thankful for the short break the two of you seem to be taking at the moment. Still, you lift up from him just to remove your shirt, exposing your tits in an instant solely because you didn’t wear a bra for this exact purpose.
He’s still hard, despite two orgasms. You feel him rubbing it against you every few seconds, right up against your saliva and cum-soaked panties which, mind you, are insanely uncomfortable right now. It feels as if they’re slicing through your thigh with the force of how Mark managed to keep them shoved out of his way.
“Just lay back,” You smile at him, allowing him a longer rest for now as you take it upon yourself to remove the barriers. “Let me take care of you now.”
Mark has hearts in his eyes as he watches you. Normally, a girl would already be falling asleep after all that, leaving him with not enough orgasms and no actual fucking. It’s not his fault he could do foreplay for upwards of three to four hours before going for the finale. Which, arguably, can and will last several hours longer.
Still, you appear to not be finished either, with your breathless smile and gentle hands. He bites his bottom lip through a smirk as he watches you, tits on full display to keep him satiated for now as you move around on the couch to get his pants off of him. He helps a bit with a little kick, his cock still so sensitive and pathetically weeping for more. He feels lucky to have found you, almost baffled that he may have met his match.
You lend several glances at his cock, not quite realizing the way he’s blinking at you right now. To be fair, it’s only natural to have your attention on that thing right now. You swallow around your nervousness regarding the size but equally want him to fuck you senseless with it. You already feel entirely fucked out, but…that. Oh, that could change your life, probably. You can imagine he won’t be as gentle as you expected before all of this too. Would probably shove it in all in one go and lose his mind at the feeling.
He’s probably going to split you open and make it feel good for you too. Somehow.
Anyway, enough of that. You’ve still got to get his shirt off, your uncomfortable skirt and panties too.
You make quick work of it, as you stand to your feet and expose yourself entirely to him. Mark just watches, humming and moaning at each new expanse of skin you show to him. He keeps his hands to himself though, likely so used to feeling of them that they’d bring no pleasure at this moment if he were to jerk off to you doing this. And you just…look right back at him.
“Come on,” You smile at him again, lending your hand out for him to grab. “Bedroom will be more comfortable.”
Right. Bedrooms exist.
Mark follows, cock heavy and sensitive against his thigh with each step as he tries to get up close behind you. His eyes stay on your ass as you walk in front of him, and it’s not hard for him to keep his hands on it. In fact, he’s touching you as often as he can, trying to remind himself that he’s with someone right now who actually wants him.
You seem to be willing to let him do what he needs tonight, and hopefully it won’t be the only time.
You feel him on you, clinging so closely, hands constantly groping, lips always trying to reach the back of your neck and shoulders, to the point it’s actually difficult to get to your bedroom because you want nothing more than to turn around and shove him against the wall, all to try and take him into your mouth just to see if you can.
He doesn’t really let you think about that for too long though, because the second you get to your bedroom, he’s grabbing you from behind and lifting you in his strong arms. You writhe in his grasp with playful giggles, feeling the strong hold he has on you, keeping you in place against him as he stumbles forward with a deep inhale into your neck.
He’s quick to make his way to your bed, dropping you onto it, flipping you over onto your back, and immediately slotting himself between your legs. He hovers over you for a minute, looking directly into your eyes as his hair falls forward.
Somehow, you’re more focused on his face than you are of his cock that he’s sliding up and down your core right now. You reach up to his hair, brushing it out of his face and feeling the sticky sweat at his scalp.
“Could eat you out again.” Mark mentions, hips thrusting against you but eyes calm and level with yours. “Could lock me up in here and just use me all day if you want.” He continues, partially being serious about it, but treating it as if it’s some kinky joke instead.
Because let’s be honest. If there’s any job Mark could do better than anyone else, it’s be a woman’s fuck toy. Always ready to go, always stiff and horny, always willing to please.
“Could slide in right now and let you feel how hard I am.” His voice gets breathier as he talks, and you can tell he’s just imagining everything he wants to do. He probably worries he’ll have to go home at some point tonight only to resume his search for potential fucks to keep his need satiated.
He probably thinks he’s going to exhaust you.
“Could let you do all of that and more.” You respond, lifting your hips just slightly to press his cock between your bodies, throwing your legs around his waist simultaneously with the way you wrap your arms around his neck. “You want me to lock you up in here?”
Mark nods with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if he can imagine it.
“Do you work tomorrow?”
He shakes his head with another sigh, focusing on the way you keep humping up against his length, sliding yourself in whatever way you can against him.
“Maybe I’ll just have to do that then.”
Oh, damn.
The heart eyes are back. The very thought of being in this room all night and all day tomorrow drives his cock to pulse and twitch. Foreplay can come whenever, fucking can come whenever, he can cum whenever. There’s no need for a to-do list. No need for a specific structure of rules on how this needs to happen. Foreplay, sex, sleep. Not with Mark.
Sex. foreplay. sex. foreplay. for hours. He’ll keep you up all night if he can, fucking and sucking every part of you, into the morning hours straight into tomorrow night.
Free use with you from now until you’re tired of him. You can do anything you want to him but for now…
“Yeah?” Mark breathes out in excitement, arching his back slightly to let his cock land against your hole, and then he pushes forward slowly. The bulbous head spreads your lips and stretches out your slick pussy with ease as he continues to speak. “Feel that?”
Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, fingernails already digging into his shoulders at the anticipation as your legs loosen around him. He continues to push forward, inch by inch, painfully slow as if he wants you to feel the burn and stretch even while being as wet as you are.
“Ah–” He confirms for himself as he watches your face, wincing, mouth falling open. “Yeah, you feel it.”
God, yeah. You do. You feel the weight of his size inside of you, stretching you open so good he probably wouldn’t even have to move for it to hurt. But he does move, he does continue to slide in, savoring every second of your walls quivering and suffocating his cock.
“Goddamn,” He groans, lifting up on both arms and bracing himself as he looks down, only to find he’s only slid half of his dick into you, and already you’re about as breathless as he is. “Didn’t realize how tight you’d actually be–”
He chokes when he says it, sliding out little by little before fucking back in, pushing just a bit more into you.
“S’okay.” You try to reassure him, but it’s more for you than it is for him. You really didn’t think a cock could feel so big that it actually hurts, yet, here you are. “I’m adjusting.”
Mark moans at your broken voice, no longer holding himself back to look at your pussy grip him when he pulls out slightly. He looks at your face instead, witnessing how you take all of it in one solid movement from him. All of it, until he can feel his pelvis rest against your clit and your entire body stiffens in a tight hug around his body.
“Mhm,” He leans back down now, humming against your cheek as he tries to control the urge to fuck. “Taking all of it, aren’t you?”
With those words, he slides out slightly before pushing back in again, trying to force your pussy to relax so that he can stop holding his breath. One hand finds its way to your leg to hold onto, the other holding himself up beside your head, and he just…watches.
Little by little, he thrusts. Plunging into you in short-tight snaps of his hips just to watch your tits jiggle with the movements, up until he really, really can’t hold back anymore.
You feel his cock leave you almost entirely, only to slam right back in and cause your vision to go white with a pang of pleasure. Your loud yelp pairs well with his relieved sigh of a grunt, and it appears that this is what breaks him entirely.
That single, full thrust, lets him fall forward and nuzzle his nose against your neck and his body just goes. Instinctually chasing the deepest parts inside of you, hitting your cervix with each thrust only to drag back and make your toes go numb at the way your g-spot feels entirely too sensitive with this alone.
And god, Mark loves the way you cling through it. The way you moan each time he bottoms out, the way your nails cut into his back and the way your legs continuously fail to stay wrapped around him. He…
Oh no.
“I can go all night–” He breathes out through his relentless thrusts, almost as if he’s pleading with you. “I swear, I’m not done–” He continues to cut off his own words with choked moans as he pulls back and leans up, frantically forgetting to apologize over the fact that he’s already about to cum again.
And you feel him try to slide out, that face he made twice before already alerting you that he really must have so much to pump out of himself at this point. You don’t mind if he’s about to hit a third orgasm, in fact, you’re glad.
Your legs hold him in place as he fights to pull out, his eyes snapping to you in realization after the second time he tries.
“No fucking way, you– you want it?” His eyebrows fall into that of a relieved release as he, too, falls right back down against your chest and lets his hips fuck freely.
He’s not controlling it at this point. You feel him stretch you open more through his orgasm, rolling his hips but not pulling out even in the slightest now. Moving back and forth, as if trying to stuff you impossibly full while he releases those thick ropes of cum. It…feels so good even with the way the base of his cock continues to swirl and loosen you up in a painful stretch that almost feels like he’s ripping you open. Still, the pain is gone as he shakes on top of you, in fact, you feel your clit throb at the feeling of how big he is, of how hard he manages to stay.
He didn’t even fuck you that roughly before this, but it feels like you’re already ruined. Ruined enough to want more. Enough to need more.
“Bet that feels good,” You chuckle against his hair, feeling each pulse of him and loving the way he pants against your ear. “Not having to pull out, knowing you can fuck me for as long as you want.”
That only pushes his orgasm to hit harder. He thought he was nearing the end of it, but instead, his body goes into overdrive as more pulses of cum shoot out of him at your words. There’s so…so much of it he can give you. And if this is what you want, he’s the perfect man to do it for you.
“Don’t say that, oh god–” Mark mumbles through the end of his orgasm, keeping himself tucked nice and deep into you as he releases his body weight and makes you feel slightly suffocated under him. “Please.”
Well, he minds his manners well enough, you shrug under him, clenching around his length unintentionally and reminding him that you genuinely can go all night, just like him.
Reminding him that maybe you really will just lock him up in this room all tonight, all tomorrow. He seems into the idea anyway, right? Both of you just free-use sex dolls for the time being…Hell yeah.
And as Mark catches his breath, he finally lifts up, pulling you with him, and sits you directly on his lap now.
“Keep going then, don’t let it get soft.” He nearly whimpers, solely due to the sensitivity his cock is now offering and the fact that after that third orgasm, he truly is gaining the ability to go flaccid between orgasms.
And you follow his direction, though not entirely how he wanted you to. Instead of rolling your hips, you slip him right out of you and sink your face down between his legs, loving the way his cum spills out of you all the while. You don’t even say anything, not that you’d need to. He watches you, a smirk forming on his lips as he raises an arm and throws it over his eyes.
“Shit, You’re so my type.” He groans out of the sexual frustration that still bubbles within him. You look so good down there with his cock just inches from your mouth. God, no woman has been able to go down on him for too long despite really fucking wishing they would.
His hips always lose control, they don’t like face fucking, he’s too big to fit, they’re gagging too much, their jaw is hurting. What the fuck ever. Look at you, blinking up at him like you want nothing more in the world than to take it all down your throat. Ah, fuck, if you did that…
His hips buck up on instinct, forcing you to hold him down with your arms as you lick your lips.
“You really live up to your promise, you know that?” You smile with warmed cheeks as you speak, blowing air gently against the head of his cock. It’s softened up a little, but it’s no longer going flaccid. You’re sure that the second you work it into your mouth, he’s going to be blocking your airways.
Good.
“You say that like I’m not overwhelming you with all of this,” He chuckles as he moves his arm from his face and down to yours. “Most girls would have already sent me home.”
You circle your lips around the bulbous head, tasting the remnants of both you and him as you gently suckle before popping off and licking your lips.
“Well, Mark–” You look back down and lend his cock a little kiss. “I’m not most girls. Besides, most guys get their nut and leave me hanging. You’ve gotten, what? Three orgasms by now? And you’re still in my bed? Wanting me to lock you up tomorrow too? What a fucking win.”
Mark rolls his eyes because you don’t even know the fucking half of it. If he were a normal guy, he probably would have done the same thing. Maybe not to you, but to others? Yeah. The thing is, he’s not like most guys. And you’re right in saying you’re not like most girls either, considering…your sex drive appears to be just as insatiable as his.
“Fuck, let me eat you out again–” Mark groans now, needing to pleasure you again, aroused by the fact that he’s basically met a female version of himself. Even if he’s just exaggerating and making himself believe such a woman could exist close enough to him. “Let me– Ahh…”
You cut off his words, dragging a loud and sensual moan from him as you sink down. Mostly to shut him up, mostly so you can return the favor for him from earlier before letting him have another lick of you. After all, you truly do appreciate him for all of this.
“Mmf–” You mumble unintentionally, feeling each inch of his length that you swallow up pressing your tongue further and further down in your mouth. Up until you’re entirely open mouthed on him, gagging yourself when he hits your throat only to angle yourself up on your knees to point it straight down your throat instead.
It hurts, but you close your eyes in concentration, breathing through each gag, ignoring the dribble of saliva that runs from the corners of your mouth and– you swallow.
Mostly because you can’t suck. Again and again, you swallow around him just to stimulate his length, the girth stretching your lips out to the point you feel your jaw could break, but it doesn’t and it won’t.
Within an instant of taking his whole length down your throat, you feel his hands in your hair. Your ears are ringing, otherwise you would also be listening to him choke on his words at how you’re doing this to him. All of it. You’re taking him in full, not leaving an inch out, seemingly proving that your mouth can be fucked just as good as your cunt.
He’s in heaven, head spinning as you stimulate him through each gag and sputtered out chokes of a moan. He can’t help it when he grabs your hair, he really doesn’t mean it when he pushes your head down while pressing his hips up. Essentially choking you and suffocating you in full with a paused hold.
You brace yourself on his hips when he does this, squeezing your eyes shut and continuously gagging from the way he abuses your mouth with just that small movement, and then– he pulls back.
“Ahh,” He groans, snapping his hips back and holding you by the hair to keep you from chasing. “You like that?” He continues, letting you breathe but not answer at all before he’s pushing your head right back down, holding you there again and fucking his hips up repeatedly into your throat this time.
The sounds are pornographic at best, concerning at worst. You, searching for air somewhere between his thrusts, the sounds of wet sputters, drooling, whimpered groans from him, and desperate gasps and gags from you. Truly, Mark is in heaven right now. With you, specifically, you’ve brought him to heaven.
For you, it feels like he does this forever. You’re losing the ability to comprehend what breathing ever was in the first place, thankfully though, Mark can see the tears pouring from your eyes and feel the way you fall slightly limp, letting him do as he pleases before he realizes– he may actually be overwhelming you now.
He snaps his hips back quickly, pulling you up and off of the last remaining inches of his weeping cock before taking a good, long look at your gasped breath and abused lips. Tongue licking out and eyes stained.
“I’m sorry, fuck, I–”
Instantly you press yourself down on him once again, resuming your original position of sliding him in until you can’t stand the feeling in your throat, gagging and swallowing around him time and time again. You feel proud of it, proud of the pain, proud of the suffocation.
Fucking proud to not be finished with him compared to every other person, apparently.
“Jesus–” He groans now, his entire body slouching against your bed as he slams his head back and starts petting your cheeks. “It’s like you were born for this. For me.”
You hum around the gags, growing accustomed to swallowing him up and feeling your jaw strain. And just a few moments later, you pull up with a deep breath, a smile, and you start rubbing your jaw.
“Maybe I was,” You try to talk dirty, wanting to drive him insane. “You taste so good.” You add, dipping down again to lick a long stripe up the underside of his balls up to his tip. “Any girl should be proud to say you’d fuck her mouth like that.”
A twitch, he rolls his eyes back and clenches his jaw.
“How are you so…” He breathes out, reaching his hands blindly for you, only to feel you shift on the bed and essentially sit your tits into both of his hands. “perfect?”
You shrug when he opens his eyes, you’re now hovering over him, both hands covering his on your tits as you force him to squeeze and grope.
“Maybe it’s best to not ask questions.” You tilt your head playfully. “Besides, if I’m lucky maybe you’ll stop trying to find other girls to fuck. They can’t take care of you like I will, anyway.”
Oh, you damn fucking right they won’t.
“You can have it any time you want.” Mark smiles, relishing in your tits warming under his palms, watching the way you hover over him tall and proud on your knees. “Could play with you every day and never get bored.”
You feel him move his hand from under yours, going straight between your legs and sliding not two, but three fingers into you with ease.
“Still so wet too,” He hums, eyes narrowing at you with that same pretty grin. “You always this horny?”
You shake your head.
“Not usually, you just turn me on.”
Mark feels proud of that. He doesn’t feel like the odd ball with a dick that can’t be satiated no matter how many pussies he plows through in a night. Which, again, for the past year has been a total of zero pussy. You getting turned on by that makes him feel…capable. Makes him feel like maybe he can be put to use by a pretty girl.
Makes him feel like his need is wanted and well taken care of.
“So, I can keep calling you?” He asks now, fucking his fingers up, loving the warmth and slide, anticipating for when he gets to bury his cock in you again.
“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes to enjoy the pleasure of how deep even his fingers reach. Kind of ready for him to stop talking and just focus on what he’s doing to you.
“Even if it’s every single day?” He continues to ask, now using his thumb against your clit. “Even if I need you in the middle of the night?”
Anything he wants if he can keep hitting your g-spot like this.
“Yes, Mark,” You sigh out of aroused frustration, now wiggling your hips to chase that stimulation inside of you. “I’ll give you the fucking key to my apartment if you want. Just let you walk right in and start fucking me.”
His fingers move faster at the image, the implication of not just free-use, but true free use. Real free-use.
“Yeah? Wake you up with my cock sliding into you?” He urges you to keep talking, now removing his other hand from your chest and circling it around his cock. “Just walk right in and get my mouth on you while all your friends are here?”
You lend a surprised chuckle, but pay no mind to his words past the arousal it brings to you. You’d tell him about how you have a total of like two friends, and half of the time they’re too busy to show up anyway. Still, the image is hot at the moment. All of it is hot.
“You’d let me?” He continues pressing every button both physically and mentally, unaware of how easy it is for him to talk as if it’s a normal conversation solely because it’s kind of his general state of living at this point. You, on the other hand, are not used to having a full conversation while your g-spot gets abused. “Even if you’re not home? Let you come home and find me fucking myself for you?”
Oh.
“Fuck–” You groan out at the image, feeling his fingers reach so perfectly, thinking of how it would feel to walk into your apartment just to see this pretty man chasing that tight ring of fingers his fist creates. Probably so turned on and frustrated that you’re not home…so frustrated that all he could do is drop to the floor and start fucking. “God, yeah.”
So that’s what you’re into. You love that he’s that pathetic to fuck. And lucky for you, he’s more than willing to continue to be that fucking pathetic.
“Does that feel good?” He hums now, watching how you fuck yourself against his fingers, lifting slightly to lick against your nipple. “Can I use my cock again?” He babbles almost, brain on constant loop of you actually giving him free reign of your apartment someday so he can come and–”Please, do this on my cock.”
This is the second time he’s asked you to ride it, and you think that may be one time too many. You almost feel guilty for taking him down your throat first, but then again, you don’t. Your body vibrates knowing you’re about to split yourself open on him again, only this time having full control.
“You want me to sit on it, Mark?” You smile, thrusting your hips down and sinking his fingers into you so deep that you physically can see his brain malfunction.
The frantic nod he gives is somehow less powerful than how he lifts his hips, forcing you higher on your knees as his fingers slip out of you and immediately land in his mouth.
Man, this guy must love the taste of pussy. The image of him doing that alone is insanely arousing to you as you lend him a short nod and slide back, your pussy sucking in the head of his cock instantly as if the two of you move together so well, that it was only natural to not need a guiding hand for it.
He sinks his head deep into the mattress with the way you try to sink down on him. He holds his breath with those same fingers in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut at how tight you still are, how wet you still are.
And he’s shocked, almost, at the way you just keep sliding down. Not letting yourself re-adjust to his size, holding your own breath and bracing yourself on his abdomen just to keep balance and you wince through the stretch.
“That’s it.” Mark soothes your hips as you sit, clenching around each one of his twitches inside of you. “Doing so good.” He breathes out this time, trying to hold back his moan just for a moment as he awaits your moan first.
And it comes quickly when you lean back rather than against him, arms by his knees as you practically present his cock to him buried entirely into you with this position. He lifts his head and stares at it before reaching his thumb to your clit, immediately pressing hard circles against it.
“Ride it,” He pleads now. “God, please ride it.” He loses his mind at the image, really, as you do start moving.
Pained whimpers falling from your lips as you circle your hips, fucking just an inch of him in and out of yourself, forcing the deepest part of your pussy to take the abuse more than anything else. And you know he loves it with the way his thumb stops rubbing your clit, with the way he can’t decide on if he should look or throw his head back and fall into the sensation.
It’s really cute to witness, and you’d lean forward to kiss him if you had the strength to do it, but you don’t. In fact, all the strength you have is currently bubbling up inside of you with a sharp, almost burning sensation.
You know exactly what this is. You’ve practiced it time and time again alone in this bed.
“Oh, oh shit, Mark–” You groan as you frantically start moving your hips through the full and splitting feeling of him inside of you. Your voice sounds so panicked, it almost scares him. And honestly? Had he not have finger fucked you against your g-spot previously perhaps you could last longer on him, but no.
“What– What’s wrong?!” Mark’s voice is broken when he quickly leans up, hugging around you as you continue to ride against him, faster now, chasing, chasing, chasing.
Pushing, pushing, pushing.
“No, no!” You moan out, shoving him back against the bed and now lifting entirely from his length before slapping your own clit, fast, rough circled motions before each slap. “Oh, shit!” You nearly yell, witnessing it squirt from your body straight against his abdomen and chest.
Mark just watches, mouth agape and eyes wide.
“Oh–” He stares. “Oh yeah?”
And you’re not even done when he seemingly takes full control. Allowing all that squirt to fall out of you, ignoring your shaking legs, tipping you straight back and plunging his cock right back into that release of pressure inside of you.
“You just weren’t gonna tell me you could do that?” He grunts against your ear, fucking into you so hard and so fast that your orgasm just keeps coming. It feels too good to speak, too good to breathe.
Even as it subsides and you’re trying to catch your breath, he doesn’t let you. He just keeps going, grunting incoherently against your ear, snapping his hips harder than you think he’s probably ever done before.
Honestly, with each yelp you let out, your sensitivity goes from being unbearably painful to–
“Do it again–” He urges you. “Give me another one.” Babbling, cooing, fucking moaning all over your neck until his lips hit yours.
Somehow, that gives him exactly what he wants as he feels your legs tense up and fall open around him. Your pelvis slamming into his so hard that it’s, quite literally, splashing out of you in loud and painful sounds.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He nods and whispers against your tongue, sucking it into his mouth before licking into yours, nearly rabid with the way he’s both kissing and fucking you, he can’t help it. He forgot words the second he felt the gush rush past his length, trying to force it out of you only for him to go harder. Like hell he’s not going to feel you literally squirt on his cock. “So fucking messy.”
At one point, you think you might have actually died. You’re not sure but you swear you saw him fucking you in third person for two solid seconds before being slammed right back into your body. The pleasure genuinely is so overwhelming that…well, suddenly you understand why girls probably think he’s too much.
But goddamn he’s…so good. Like, you remember him mentioning his body count through his one-sided sext session with you and you can argue his inexperience probably made this that much better. He’s a fucking natural.
And as he continues fucking into you, all you can do is lend him a distant smile. You’re definitely not experiencing real life at this moment, and you know he sees it with the way he lifts and keeps his eyes on your zoned out expression.
“Look at you.” He echoes against your walls. “So, so pretty.”
And he just keeps doing that, whispering praises, working you through his presumed last orgasm of the night because he genuinely can’t not fill you up with his cum one last time before letting you rest.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The “rest” didn’t last long, but to be fair you didn’t need it to. All night, and all day. That promise was kept and Mark remained insatiable throughout all the time he spent with you.
To the point you very nearly felt strange about him leaving. Like you’d grown so accustomed to having someone literally attached to you at the dick that you knew the loneliness and silence would hit you a little too hard once he leaves you.
And, well, he does leave in a sense, but not completely.
Though you never truly meant that offer in the midst of sex-talk, Mark seemed to have clinged to the idea of it. Lock him up, but still give him the key.
Never in your life would have imagined giving a person the key to your apartment, and yet…there he goes. Backing out of a guest parking spot in front of your building with your spare apartment key in his pocket right next to those fucking panties.
🔮 preview. “What if… what if I helped you out a little?” His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs. “Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.”
tw/cw. recent breakup, fingering, Hyuck walks in while y/n is masturbating, masturbation, assisted masturbation, toy/dildo use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, reader has multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, big dick Hyuck, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, talking about y/n's ex while they fuck, marking/claim kink, full/breeding kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe, good girl.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 7.1k
🍭 aus. friends to lovers, roommates au, recent breakup, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. When I tell you I need to be demolished by this Hyuck-
Hyuck absolutely hates seeing you like this.
He’d thought it had been hard seeing you in love with his best friend Mark Lee, but seeing you in the throws of depression after your recent breakup takes the cake for Hyuck when it comes to him having a straight up horrible time.
Obviously, you have it worse, and he’s not trying to contest that fact- he just hadn’t realized that when the thing he’d been hoping for actually came to pass- it would feel this bad.
In the dark reaches of his mind, he wonders if he’d had something to do with the separation, although, in truth, he knows that’s ridiculous. He’d been as supportive as a friend and roommate could be about you and Mark. He’d forced smiles and words of encouragement when you’d gushed through the talking phase. He’d found ways to ditch the apartment when you and Mark started to get physical, doing his best to give you privacy while getting high as a kite at Lee Jeno’s place to distract himself from the fact that you were getting railed by someone other than him. And now, he supposes, he’s doing his due diligence in making you feel better when you’re at your worst.
Hyuck’s doing the best he can to make things easy for you. He’s set up movie days, and he’s made you ramen. He’s allowed you to shuffle closer to him on the couch, even resting your head on his shoulder any time you start to tear up. He’s paused films to listen to you explain things like “When Mark and I watched this, he would always get so excited when Totoro would show up” or “Mark hated No Face.”
He wonders if doing a Ghibli marathon is the best idea, given how much you associate it with Mark, but when he’d asked you about it and you insisted you would feel better watching the films, he’d left it at that.
You’re your own person, and Hyuck’s always trusted you to make the best decisions for yourself… even when he doesn’t agree with them.
Cuddled next to you on your living room couch, Hyuck does his best just to be there for you. He ignores the boys’ group chat messages, where other friends are taking care of Mark. As far as Hyuck’s concerned, he’s team you, all the way, and he always has been.
He notices the way you start to shift next to him, pulling away from his shoulder to stretch your arms over your head.
“You good?” Hyuck asks, looking away from the movie to give you his complete and undivided attention.
“Yeah,” you sigh, frowning slightly. “Just tired.”
“Do you want to go to bed?” He studies your face, noticing all the signs of exhaustion- although, to be fair, you’ve been a sleepy wreck of a thing since your breakup two weeks ago.
“I probably should,” you concede, taking another deep breath. “Thanks for making me dinner and watching movies with me.”
“Don’t mention it,” Hyuck says, flashing you a small smile as he straightens in his seat, reaching for the remote to stop the movie.
“You’ve been so nice since… since the whole Mark thing.” He can see you swallowing back tears, and you reach up to wipe your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie.
“That’s what friends are for,” Hyuck assures you, although, his attention toward you has always far surpassed that of a friend. It’s a shame you’ve never realized that fact.
“Just… thanks,” you say again, holding open your arms for a hug that Hyuck is more than happy to give you.
He adjusts on the couch, leaning forward to scoop you into his arms. Your cheek presses to his shoulder and he breathes in the smell of your fruity body wash. He tries his best not to hug you too hard- because if he did, you might actually realize that every time you hug him, he has no true intention of ever letting you go.
“Sleep well, okay, gorgeous?” he prompts, stroking your hair and using the petname he’d given you far before you’d ever met Mark. “You really need your rest.”
“I’ll do my best,” you assure him, giving one last gentle squeeze before you pull away.
Hyuck watches you stand up, your hoodie skimming your mid thigh. He knows you’re wearing sleeping shorts under the oversized fabric, but he can’t help but swallow thickly, imagining what it would be like if you were just in panties.
He really has to get his mind out of the gutter, and Hyuck knows that- he’s been trying to, in all honesty he has- but it’s been four years of knowing you, one of living together, and he still can’t manage to keep his thoughts PG.
With one last small smile, you turn and begin to shuffle to your room.
He misses your lively movements. The first night you’d moved in together, you’d had a small dance party together, and Hyuck’s always been adamant that no one’s hips move like yours do.
He misses your joy. The way you sparkle when you’re happy. You used to smile like a kid in a candy shop anytime you watched your favourite movies or ate the ramen he’d made for you, but these days, the most you can muster is a small upquirk of the sides of your lips.
Hyuck wants to make you smile again. He’s just not sure how to do it.
He knows you need time. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. He just wishes he could fast track your recovery.
Your bedroom door shuts and the spell of watching you is broken. Hyuck takes a deep breath, looking around the messy living room. There are blankets and pillows strewn all over, take out boxes from your day inside, tissues from when you’d cried.
He’s not generally known to be the cleanest man around town, but Hyuck feels that in times like these, the least he can do is keep things tidy. He’s sure you’ll feel better to come out of your room every morning to a nice apartment, so he begins his work of collecting water cups and take away boxes.
You’ve definitely lost your spark, and Hyuck thinks maybe he has too. He’s used to playing music loudly, using it as energy at all hours of the day, but tonight, while he cleans, he keeps things quiet. His head is full, and his ears are on edge, paying attention to the sounds coming from your room.
In those first days after the breakup, he’d heard you crying a lot, and he’s sure that barging into your room to give you a hug had cheered you up. He’s hoping it won’t be necessary today.
As much as he loves hugging you, seeing you cry always makes him feel like someone is trying to tear open his chest and clench his heart. It’s an ache he doesn’t enjoy.
When you’d moved in together, he’d decided that as a girl - with monthly girl issues - you should have the bigger room with the connected bathroom, and he listens to the sound of you brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed.
You begin to hum something, and Hyuck realizes it’s the first time he’s heard you sing since your breakup.
Maybe tonight will be a good night.
Hyuck has moved all the clutter to the kitchen, and he begins to put stuff in the garbage and dishwasher while he listens to you hum. He thinks about the day you met, at uni orientation. He’d never become friends with someone so fast in his life, and when you’d discovered you had three of five classes together- well, he’s never looked back, not for one second.
He wonders how things would be different if he’d ever manned up and told you how he felt- how he feels- how his affection for you has only been growing and growing-
Hyuck finds himself heading to the fridge and taking out a beer. He hasn’t been drinking much since you and Mark broke up, hasn’t needed the mind-numbing effects of alcohol, so when he takes a large swig, he finds that it immediately takes the edge off.
He can’t be thinking about wifing you up right now- no matter how much he might wish to.
Although… as he leans against the sink and downs the can, grabbing another, he begins to wonder if offering himself up to you as a distraction really would be the worst thing in the world.
Sure, it wouldn’t be the way he’d want to start things with you- but maybe he could make you fall in love with him and forget all about Mark Lee. However, in all honesty, he’d probably be risking your friendship.
He’s played this mind game with himself too many times before, and Hyuck always finds himself at a stalemate. Frustration bubbles up inside and he looks out at the living room, determined to set himself back on the task of cleaning.
Hyuck throws the pillows onto the couch, and he even begins to fold up a blanket, and that’s when he hears a familiar sound.
You’ve never been the type to seek much affection, especially when you’re in your room, so whenever he’s caught you crying, it’s always started with a whimper.
What Hyuck’s just heard was definitely a whimper, and his whole body surges with white-hot, electric energy, his eyes darting to your door. His breath catches, and he tosses the blanket down to the ground, frozen as he waits for another sound of distress.
A small gasp can be heard under the crack of your door, and Hyuck’s body bolts into action. He’s moving so fast he stumbles a little over his own feet just as he reaches your room, and he wonders if drinking two beers was a good idea. His hand lands on your door, and he knocks aggressively.
“You okay in there, gorgeous?” he calls.
“I’m fine!” you respond, but there’s definitely an edge to your voice.
He can tell something is wrong- can tell you’re lying to him, and in a split second, Hyuck is making a decision.
“I’m coming in.”
You let out a small squeak of surprise, tearing your hand away from the toy still lodged inside of you so you can pull the blankets up around your shoulders, jaw dropping as your roommate barges into your room.
“Hyuck!”
He stands in the doorway, studying you, and you can see a look of confusion cross his face. “I thought I heard you crying.”
“I’m not crying!” you insist, core clenching around the dildo. “Get out!”
Hyuck doesn’t move. “I definitely heard a whimper,” he insists.
Your heart is practically racing in your chest, and you’re very much aware of the pleasurable feeling still thrumming from your core. Cock warming was something you enjoyed doing with Mark, and the fact that you’re cock warming a toy while Hyuck stares at you is having a wholly unexpected effect on your entire body.
“People whimper for all sorts of reasons!” you say dumbly. “Leave!”
Hyuck tilts his head to the side, assessing you again. “You never speak to me like this.”
“You usually don’t just barge in here unannounced!”
“Yes, I do,” Hyuck points out. “Why’s tonight different?”
“What do you mean-”
“Something is different,” he says, more firmly this time. His gaze dips, taking in the blanket still wrapped tightly around your form. “Wait…” you see the exact moment he realizes what you’re up to, and even from a few feet away, you see the way his pupils dilate. “Are you…”
“Hyuck-” you groan, lifting the blankets to hide your face, hoping he can’t see the shame that’s beginning to consume you.
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Are what?” you ask, deciding to play dumb.
You can hear him scoff, and you peak from under the blanket just in time to see his signature eye roll. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s getting annoyed, and you can feel yourself dripping down your dildo.
He meets your gaze again. “I didn’t hear a vibrator, so let me guess…” You watch him swallow thickly. “The toy’s still inside of you, isn’t it?”
Curse him for knowing you so well.
Curse him for having a dirty mind.
And maybe most of all, curse yourself for being so stupidly turned on that you can’t even deny what he’s just said. All you can do is groan loudly, hiding again.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks after a beat of silence.
“Yes!”
You hear him click his tongue. “Come on, gorgeous. We both know I can tell when you lie to me. We’ve been friends for years, you don’t have to be… ashamed about this.”
But shame is exactly what you’re feeling, and his words don’t help at all.
“Please, just leave,” you sigh, so embarrassed you think you might actually die.
“What if… what if I helped you out a little?”
His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs.
“Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.”
“You’re being crazy.” You peak out at him. “We’re roommates- Mark is one of your best friends-”
“I’ve known you longer and I’m loyal to you,” Hyuck insists firmly. “And besides, stranger things have happened.”
“Yeah? Like what?” you can’t help but laugh a little, and the contraction of your stomach muscles pushes the toy slightly out of your core, making you groan at the loss.
From the look that crosses Hyuck’s face, he obviously notices your sound, and you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “For one, the fact that you even dated Mark was a little crazy.”
“He’s a nice guy.”
“But nice doesn’t fill you up at night. Nice doesn’t make you cum so hard you feel it through your whole body.” Hyuck holds up a hand. “And before you try to tell me Mark was good in bed, remember that I have a room next to yours. Mark is a nice guy, but that doesn’t mean he can fuck. Not the way you deserve.”
You shift in your bed, sitting up a little to address your roommate. “Yeah? And how do I deserve to be fucked?”
“You deserve someone who’s going to worship every inch of you. Someone who’s going to make you cum over and over- make you gush so good you’re begging for it, begging to finally get dicked down so hard you can’t even walk after. Someone who makes you cry for all the right reasons.”
You stare at Hyuck.
You’re not even sure what to say.
He’s never talked like this to you, ever- at least, not in your waking hours.
You’ve had dreams about his sharp tongue, his long fingers, and his big cock- but never gave credence to your lustful fantasies. Hyuck’s always just been a friend-
“Why now?” you find yourself asking. “After all this time-”
“I’m tired of watching you hurt over something I might be able to help you fix.”
“So cock is the fix to a broken heart?”
“Gorgeous, I think we both know that what I’m offering you is more than cock.”
“Right, I’m guessing tongue and fingers-”
Hyuck gives you an unimpressed look. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
“Say what?”
“That I’m super into you? That I’ve been into you since we met? That it killed me to watch you be with Mark when I knew you should have been with me?”
“Hyuck-” you breathe, feeling even more whiplash from these words than his dirty talk.
“Look, you don’t have to say anything about that stupid feels shit, just… just let me take care of you tonight.”
“What if we regret it?” You press your thighs together, keeping the toy just inside of you while you begin to fidget with your blanket. “What if it ruins our friendship?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question for years,” Hyuck admits. “But… after looking at you now- I really don’t think that’s something we have to worry about.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m about to make you cum so hard you forget about every other man in your life.”
“Promise?”
He nods. “Promise.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Hyuck lets out a small laugh. “So… you going to lift those covers and let me see what I’m dealing with or…?”
“God,” you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
“I call you gorgeous for a reason, don’t I?” Hyuck grins. “Come on, I wanna see.”
You grab at the blankets, taking a deep breath. Then you start to move them off your body.
Your roommate watches your every movement, dipping his head to focus as you lift the fabric covering your feet, then your calves-
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you tell him.
“Yeah, me neither,” Hyuck admits. “I’ve been waiting so long to see you like this.”
His words make your stomach erupt in butterflies, and you feel the toy still half wedged in your core. “Should I… should I remove the dildo first?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanna see that too.” His eyes meet yours. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re so fucking hot, I’m already hard.”
He reaches a hand down to cup the front of his sweatpants, and you realize he’s not lying. You can see the impressive print of his cock pressing against the fabric, and it makes your mouth water. It also gives you the confidence to fully reveal yourself to his hungry eyes, and the moment he sees you, Hyuck lets out a deep groan.
“Shit, gorgeous,” Hyuck says, letting out a deep breath. “You’re even more perfect than I’ve imagined.”
His words make you feel shy, and you close your legs, only for Hyuck to press a knee to the bed, both hands reaching out to prompt your thighs back open.
“Don’t hide from me,” he warns, and there’s an edge to his tone. He’s still being soft with you, his touch gentle, but there’s an obvious hunger rising inside of him. “Tell me about this toy.”
“Well, I uh…” you search for your words. “It’s one of the first ones I ever bought-”
“It’s small,” Hyuck notes, which is kind of funny considering it’s Mark sized. “Can I use it on you?”
“You want to fuck me with the toy?” You blink at your long term friend and roommate.
“Gotta stretch you out to take something bigger.” Hyuck smirks devilishly, and your pussy throbs- he’s definitely bigger than Mark and the toy still half lodged inside of you. You can’t wait to find out how much bigger.
“You can-” you bite at your lip, “you can fuck me with it.”
“Good girl,” Hyuck praises you, and you can feel yourself practically dripping around the dildo now.
You hold your breath in anticipation while Hyuck gets settled on the foot of the bed. His warm palms smooth over your thighs, forcing you wider, and then his fingers grab the base of the toy. “Do you like it slow?”
“I think… to start off with?” You feel too hazy to be able to answer questions, and he hasn’t even started with you. “But… when you fuck me, can you go fast, please?”
“Of course, gorgeous. I can do anything you want,” he assures you, applying pressure to the toy so it begins to lodge deeper inside of you. You let out a small sigh and Hyuck looks up at you, grinning. “You’re so wet, babe, making this too fucking easy.”
“It’s not my fault-” you defend yourself, voice shaky.
“It’s mine, isn’t it?” His smile widens. “Talking dirty gets you going, huh, gorgeous?”
You nod, resting your head back against the pillows and closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of him beginning to work the toy in and out of your pussy.
“Bet Mark’s dirty talk game was weak,” Hyuck says under his breath.
You don’t have it in you to agree with him, although… he’s correct. Something tells you he knows it too, because he lets out a small chuckle.
Hyuck’s using his right hand to fuck you with the toy, and his left moves from your thigh. A moment later, his thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your clit and your toes curl from the stimulation. A gentle gasp escapes you and you can practically hear Hyuck smile.
“Feels good?” he prompts.
“So good,” you nod. You need something to hold onto, so you grab at the one piece of clothing on your body, a night shirt, which you lift up your to your abdomen, giving Hyuck more room to work.
He rubs your clit harder and you let out a whine, feeling the familiar build of tension in the pit of your stomach.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Hyuck tells you, and you can feel his breath on your pussy which makes you twitch. “God, I could watch you squirm like this all night.”
“Please-”
“Please what?”
You don’t even know. All you know is listening to the squelching sound of the toy going in and out of you while his thumb rubs your clit is driving you insane.
“I want to kiss you,” you decide, realizing Hyuck’s about to make you cum and you haven’t even really gotten a taste of him.
Hyuck stops what he’s doing immediately, manuevering up the bed so he’s on top of you, one hand pressed to the pillow while he looks down at you.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he grins.
Your hands explore his shoulders and one snakes into his hair, then you’re tugging his mouth down to your own. Hyuck’s gentle with you at first, but when you go to bite on his lower lip, he groans loudly. His tongue darts out to brush against your own, and the kiss deepens.
You’re done with your toy. You want to feel him, and you reach between your bodies to remove the dildo, pulling it out and tossing it onto the floor next to the bed.
Hyuck breaks your kiss to look at the wet toy on the ground, and he lets out a small laugh, gaze returning to your own. “Why’d you do that?”
“I want you.”
“Yeah?” His hand slips between your forms, and two digits stroke the length of your pussy, making you moan. “Want me to make you cum all over my fingers?”
You nod, grabbing at the front of his shirt, tugging his mouth back to yours while he buries himself into you knuckle deep.
He strokes your walls, and the feeling is absolutely delightful, especially when he angles his hand, palm pressing to your clit while he seeks out your gspot.
His lips are hot against your own, and they don’t muffle the sound of pleasure escaping you.
Hyuck’s a bit of a gamer, but you never really realized his fingers could feel this good-
“Shit, gorgeous,” he groans, breaking the kiss to move his mouth to your throat, where he lets out deep breaths. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”
“I’m so close-” you confess, gripping his shoulders tighter while he finger fucks you even harder, chasing your release.
“You’ll be a good girl and cum for me, right?” Hyuck prompts, which makes you mewl. “Yeah, you’ve always been such a good girl, gonna be good and cum all over my fingers-”
His words make you throb, and he applies more pressure to your clit with his palm. His lips press kisses to your neck and he finds your sweetspot, making everything feel all the more intense.
You’re on the edge, and you let out a loud gasp, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation.
“Cum for me, gorgeous. Come on, I wanna feel you.”
His words make the cord in your stomach snap, and your body is flooded with the pleasure of your release. You feel it everywhere, and it makes you cry out while holding onto him tighter. His hand continues between your thighs, fingers unrelenting, palm heavy on your clit.
Hyuck works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping and pushing at his shoulders, and then he straightens a little, motions stopping while he looks down at you. “Did you enjoy that?”
You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes a little. “You know I did.”
“Yeah, but you could still stroke my ego a little.”
“Stroke your ego?” You reach for his cock, gripping him through his sweats. “Like this?”
Hyuck lets out a low groan, thrusting forward to meet your hand. “As much as I’d love to watch you jack me off- tonight I’m here to make you feel better, and I’m not anywhere near being done with you yet.”
You’d never realized Hyuck had any self control, and you watch in shock as he gently moves your hand away.
“I’m going to eat you out now,” he tells you, slipping down the bed so he’s on his stomach between your legs. Hyuck spreads you open, gently kissing your inner thigh before looking up at you. “You good with this?”
“Uh huh,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as you prepare yourself for his tongue. “I’m still sensitive though.”
“I’ll go easy on you,” Hyuck promises, pressing a very soft kiss to your clit. “I can be gentle, contrary to popular belief.”
You can’t help but let out a giggle, but the sound is cut short when Hyuck unexpectedly buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses into your hole and the feeling has your legs quaking as he adjusts them over his shoulders, trying to dive even deeper.
“Shit, Hyuck-” you whimper, grabbing at his hair.
He’s always been a bit of a liar- maybe you shouldn’t have believed him when he said he’d go easy on you. But… at the same time, the way his nose repeatedly bumps your clit has a fire building in your abdomen again, and you really aren’t even that mad about it.
You can feel Hyuck smile against you, and it’s such a turn on to know he’s enjoying himself while providing you with pleasure. Mark had always been somewhat rigid in your sexual interactions, much more serious than the grinning cheshire cat between your legs now.
Where Mark had been slow and tentative, Hyuck’s eager and passionate. He switches between lapping at your hole, sucking your clit, and pushing his tongue into you as deep as it can go, licking at your walls and working you up way faster than anyone else ever has in your entire life.
Then he begins to groan, and you realize he’s grinding against the bed-
Is eating you out really that sexy for him?
You feel another gush of wetness from the thought and your pussy throbs, warning you both that you’re close again. Hyuck responds by adjusting ever so slightly, lips wrapping around your clit while he pushes a hand to your entrance, slipping two fingers inside.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” you gasp, back arching off the bed while the cord in your stomach is pulled unbelievably tight.
Hyuck’s fingers twist in and out of your hole, and he licks at your clit in the most sloppy manner- it’s enough to have you exploding, a cry of pleasure escaping you while your core clamps down on your roommate.
He groans loudly, sinfully, and the vibration against your clit has your legs shaking around his head, orgasm pulsing deep through your entire being.
You’re practically crying at this point, and you can feel tears even while you clench your eyes shut, taking everything Hyuck’s giving you while moaning like a whore- you’ve never sounded this way, and there’s something almost addicting about the noises being torn out of you.
You know he feels it too, because Hyuck is completely unrelenting. If anything, he’s even more sloppy with the way he worships your pussy, fingers crooking up expertly-
You’re literally gushing around him, and you can feel it, can feel that your bed is going to be ruined after this. But you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can do is grab at your sheets, crying to the ceiling while your best friend makes you feel pleasure so intense that you can’t even think.
He’s fulfilled his promise about making you cry for good reasons… and he hasn’t even taken his cock out yet.
You’ve never been this needy in your entire life, and when he pulls away from your core, allowing you to catch your breath, you peak out at him from under wet lashes.
“You’re literally perfect,” he tells you, voice deep. His pupils are completely blown now and he’s breathing as heavily as you are.
You watch him bring glistening fingers up to his lips, slowly sucking them clean and moaning loudly at the taste of you before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Fuck, and you’re already crying-” Hyuck sits up, leaning over you and reaching out to brush some of your tears away. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.”
“Hyuck-” you whimper, shocked that you’re choking up.
Your body is still being flooded with emotion and sensations. Your nipples are hard under your shirt and the fabric is becoming uncomfortable, making you more sensitive-
“Going to let me take care of you now, right, gorgeous?” he asks, pinching at your chin and leaning in to kiss you softly.
“Please-” You grab at your shirt and Hyuck follows through by helping you take it off.
You’re now fully revealed to him, and your best friend sits back to appreciate you, letting out a deep breath.
“Mark’s so fucking stupid for letting you go,” Hyuck says.
His words are bitter sweet, and in your overstimulated state, you find your lower lip wobbling as you hold back a choked sob.
“Shh,” Hyuck whispers, reaching out to cup your cheek. “It’s better to be with someone who knows your worth, like I do. I’d never fucking treat you the way he did- I promise.”
The look on his face is so intense, and you know he’s telling you the truth.
Your body relaxes a little- Hyuck really is such a good guy, and what he’s doing for you helps more than he’ll probably ever know. He’s making you feel sexy again, making you feel needed and wanted and maybe even loved.
“Besides,” Hyuck clears his throat, taking off his own shirt, “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about that asshole.”
You can’t help but laugh sadly, wiping at your own face to get rid of the last tears while you watch Hyuck move to work on his sweats.
When he pushes the waistband down, revealing his cock, you think you might actually faint.
You’ve always thought Hyuck was a pretty guy, sexy of course, but pretty too- and his cock? It’s as stupidly pretty as the rest of him.
He must be a little over seven inches, and he’s girthy too-
You can feel yourself practically drooling as you look at him, and Hyuck smirks at your reaction. “Sure you’re ready for this, gorgeous?”
“If you don’t fuck me I think I might die.”
He laughs at your words. “Then I guess I better fuck you.”
“Should we…” you bite at your lip. “Do we need condoms?”
“Babe,” Hyuck scoffs. “Babe- we’re both clean, right? And I know you’re on birth control… do you want me to wear a condom? I always kind of imagined you’d be the kind of girl who wants to be full.”
How many times has he imagined this, you wonder.
But he’s right. You want him to fill you up like no one else has.
“Come here,” you say, holding open your arms while he kicks his sweats off.
Hyuck’s hands find the pillows by your head and he slots himself between your legs, lips pressing against your own.
You thread your fingers through his soft brown hair, kissing him eagerly. You want to get lost in him, and it’s easy to do that when he begins to rut his cock against your pussy, bumping your clit and making your thighs shake around his hips.
“Just fuck me,” you groan, already feeling so unbelievably needy.
Hyuck smirks against your lips, pulling away to look down at you with mischief in his eyes. “You’re so fucking hot it’s insane.”
“Then why aren’t you inside me yet?”
He moans a little, dipping his head to look between your bodies while he reaches for the base of his cock, lining himself up with your hole. “If it hurts, I’ll stop.”
You’re about to scoff and tell him he’s not that big when he pushes his head into your entrance and a gasp leaves your lips. The stretch is very real, and you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your body to relax.
You can practically feel your pussy struggling to make room for him, and even though you’re as wet as a fucking slip and slide, it’s still a little difficult for him to push in inch after inch-
“Fuck,” you whimper, and Hyuck rewards you by burying his face in your throat, peppering your skin in kisses. The soft feeling of his lips is enough to distract you from the intrusion opening up your pussy, and soon his hips are flush against your own, making you both release groans of pleasure.
“You ready for this?” Hyuck asks.
“God, yes-”
He reaches for your hand, pressing it to the pillow and threading your fingers. Then he kisses you softly-
When he begins to rut into you, it’s anything but soft.
Hyuck’s motions are calculated and rough, the tip of his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you that has you squeezing his hand. You’d be cussing if it weren’t for his hot lips against your own, lips that have gotten increasingly demanding, his tongue stroking yours while you gasp.
It feels amazing- like, truly. You’ve never been fucked like this, and he’s only just started.
He stops kissing you, breathing heavily while he fucks you even harder. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You’re literally balls deep inside of me,” you nearly laugh. “You can ask me anything.”
“I’m just,” Hyuck groans, squeezing your hand. “Did you ever think about me when you were fucking Mark?”
Your pussy clenches at the question, from shock or hornyness, you’re not sure.
“I-”
“You did, didn’t you?” Hyuck grins. “Don’t think I didn’t just feel you get super fucking tight around me- God, you are dirty like me, aren’t you, gorgeous? I thought… thought that when you started dating soft boy Mark, maybe you were more vanilla, but that’s not you, is it?”
“No-”
“You like to get fucked, properly, don’t you, babe?” Hyuck continues.
“Fuck, yes-”
“And Mark didn’t know how to do that for you, did he? Mark didn’t know how to make you wet like this, didn’t know how to make you cry or scream or beg-”
You can’t bring yourself to verbally slander Mark while Hyuck’s fucking you like a wild man, so instead you just shake your head. Your confirmation makes Hyuck grin, and he fucks you even harder, the whole bed rocking while the sound of skin on skin fills the room.
“You know what? Enough about Mark. Forget him. You don’t need him anymore.” Hyuck’s mouth is hot on your neck and his words make you shiver as he moves to suck your earlobe. “You only need me. You only need me, I promise.”
Hyuck lets go of your hand and you’re about to argue with him about it when he shoves his fingers between your bodies, rubbing at your clit while he fucks you.
“Hyuck!” you whimper, writhing beneath him.
“That’s it gorgeous. I wanna ruin you for anyone else. After this, no one’s going to make you cum like I can.” He’s groaning now, voice all breathy and super sexy- “If I make you cum three times the first time I fuck you, that means you’re mine right?”
You moan loudly at the idea, grabbing his shoulders while he works you closer and closer to yet another orgasm that you have no doubt will be as mind blowing as the first two.
“Tell me you’re mine,” Hyuck says, voice gruffer now. “Fuck, gorgeous, I want you so badly- just say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” you gasp when he applies more pressure to your clit.
“That’s my girl,” Hyuck smiles against your neck. “You’ll let me mark you right? Let me suck some pretty bruises into your skin so every time you look in the mirror you know your roommate fucks you right-”
His tongue darts out, licking a stripe of your throat before his lips press to your sweet spot. He suctions his mouth onto you, teeth grazing your skin and causing you to cry out while you move your hands to tug on his hair.
Hyuck lets out a sinful groan when you pull gently on his soft brown strands, but he doesn’t let up. He’s entirely focused on you and your pleasure, cock continuing to rearrange your insides while his fingers abuse your nearly overstimulated clit-
“I’m so close-” you whimper, eyes closed as your body once again approaches the edge with startling speed.
“Yeah?” Hyuck moves away from your neck and you get the sense that he’s looking down at you. “Gonna cum on this cock and let me fill you up? Gonna let me breed you like the good girl you are? Make you so stupidly full that you’re fucking dripping?”
“Yes, fuck, Hyuck, please-” You’re on the verge of tears again, whole body thrumming with energy-
“Then cum for me. Let me fucking feel you.”
You twitch from his words, and then you’re falling over the edge, gasping and clawing at him while you’re overcome with ecstasy. You’re not sure if it’s because this is your third orgasm, or if it’s because his cock is balls deep inside of you, but this orgasm is the most intense of them all.
You’re reduced to a completely primal side of yourself, brain short circuiting while your body takes over. There are no thoughts, only the attempt to process all the pleasure that’s flowing through you like a river that’s broken through a dam.
The sounds escaping you are unlike anything that has ever come from your vocal cords, and Hyuck is also cumming, groaning loudly as he presses his lips to yours. His tongue is hot as it licks at your bottom lip, and his thrusts are erratic.
He takes his hand away from your clit in favour of finding yours again, fingers locking while he squeezes you. You can feel the passion radiating off of him, can feel that this won’t be a one time thing and you both know it.
Hyuck takes care of you through your orgasms until you’re both finished, and his motions begin to slow until he’s simply half laying on top of you, his kisses much more gentle as you gasp into each others mouths.
His hips are flush against your own, keeping his cum inside of you while you make out. His body is warm and it almost feels like a security blanket draped across your own. Hyuck’s fingers are still tangled with yours, and it feels nice just to be holding someone’s hand again.
“Fuck, gorgeous,” Hyuck groans, pulling away from your lips, “if we keep kissing I might have to fuck you again, and I don’t think you could take another orgasm.”
“Not tonight,” you agree, blinking up at your roommate.
It’s like you’re seeing him in a new light, and you assess the soft details of his features. He really is a beautiful man.
“And we ruined your bed,” Hyuck says with a grin. “You were squirting earlier and your sheets are too wet to sleep in, so I guess that means you’re coming to my room tonight.”
“You want me to sleep with you?” you nearly laugh.
“I’d honestly be offended if you didn’t.” He lets go of your hand, pushing himself off of you. “I didn’t get to touch your tits at all, and I’d like to have something to grab onto when we sleep.”
“God, you’re such a menace,” you giggle, pushing at his chest.
“You love it,” Hyuck insists, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, we should shower.”
“So we’re showering together now too? Weren’t you the guy who said Mark was being clingy by wanting to see me every day when we started dating?”
“It’s clingy when Mark does it,” Hyuck notes. “When I do it, it’s endearing and charming and sexy-”
“Sure it is,” you say sarcastically, shaking your head at him.
“What happened to my good girl?” Hyuck teases. “If you keep talking back, I might be tempted to ruin you in the shower.”
Now that you’re thinking about it, that doesn’t actually sound like the worst thing in the world.
“Fine, let’s go,” you concede, letting out a sigh.
There’s so much you could say about what has just taken place, but one thing you can state with confidence is that you do feel better. Hyuck had made you forget about Mark, if only for a short while before he started shit talking his friend- but, his words of slander hadn’t actually made you mad or sad or upset- they’d actually kind of had the opposite effect.
Life will go on after Mark Lee, and Hyuck’s made you realize that.
In fact, maybe your life after Mark will go on with Hyuck.
Maybe it was always meant to be this way.
You’re too tired to think about these big ideas in detail tonight, not after everything that’s just happened. Instead, you allow yourself to live in the moment, allow your roommate to take care of you the way he always has.
For now, this is more than enough.
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm back in my Hyuck feels again
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🔮 preview. “So perfect,” Hyuck tells you, reaching his hands up to cup your breasts. Before he can dive in, however, you press the ice pack to his face again and he winces below you. A scowl forms, and he glares into your eyes. “Maybe I don’t like it when you take care of me.”
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, thigh riding, multiple reader orgasms, dirty talk, praise, claim kink, boob worship, big dick Hyuck, sex in on the living room couch, physical altercation between new boy and ex, overstim, holding off an orgasm, cumming together, light spanking, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe .
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 220
🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!reader
bonus
“Dude,” Jeno sighs, staring at the man sitting on his couch. “You did not-”
“Except that I did,” Hyuck smirks. “You should be happy for me.”
“Is that what you’re going to say to Mark after you tell him you fucked his ex?” Renjun asks, narrowing his eyes at their naughtiest friend.
“Actually,” Hyuck sighs, leaning back against the couch, “I think we shouldn’t tell Mark, not yet at least.”
“So now you’re making us all culpable in your bullshit,” Renjun groans loudly, rolling his eyes.
Hyuck gaze shifts from the angry aries to Jaemin, who’s yet to say anything since Hyuck’s big reveal. “You’re cool with this, aren’t you?”
“I mean…” Jaemin cocks his head to the side, “you have wanted to be with her for years-”
“See, Jaemin gets it!” Hyuck grins, eyes turning to his part time gym buddy next. “And Jeno? You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you?”
“Mark is not going to be happy about this,” Jeno frowns.
“And I wasn’t happy when he started dating my roommate crush,” Hyuck states, “or when he broke up with her unexpectedly.”
“Don’t lie,” Renjun scoffs, “we all know you probably celebrated when they ended things.”
“Only a little,” Hyuck confesses, grinning again. “Okay but for real,” his expression turns serious, “guys, I think I love her.”
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PAIRING: mark x reader
GENRE: smut, fluff
WORD COUNT: 6.5k
SYNOPSIS: meeting the one for you at your best friend's wedding wasn't exactly how you imagined this day turning out, neither was fucking him in the bathroom of the venue.
CONTENT WARNINGS: plot with smut, explicit content, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, bathroom sex, riding, big cock mark, marks a lil goofy
You can remember the first day you met Jieun: her soft hair curled in waves down her back, the rosy red tint of her cheeks from the cold weather, how her smile and eyes gleamed when she introduced her twelve-year-old self to you at the playground, dressed in a sage green sweatshirt and some jeans. It was a simple outfit choice, but you couldn’t deny how gorgeous she looked in it.
You can remember the first day you experienced Jieun suffer through heartbreak: her hair thrown up messily with strands falling in front of her face, eyes puffy and wet, lips curled into a frown with a sage green blanket wrapped around her form, shoving her nose in endless of tissues that were scattered in her room, leaving a trail from the door to her bed. It’s crazy, you think, she still looks gorgeous.
You can remember the first day Jieun met ‘the one’: her hair tied back into a sleek ponytail, glittery makeup decorating her eyes and glossy lips, sage green jewellery dangling from her ears and around her neck. Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink as she met the eyes of the barista that was taking your coffee orders, mouth shifting into a shy grin as she kept her gaze locked on his, completely mesmerised by his appearance. Her voice was soft, her boldness sizzled into nerves and shyness, but yet again, she still looks gorgeous.
Today will be another day that you will remember in the future𑁋her wedding day. You’re starstruck by her absolute beauty: her hair is curled in waves down her back just like the day you first met her with some strands framing her face, her makeup is light and gentle, eyes shining with excitement in the reflection of the mirror as she patiently waits for the makeup artist to apply the finishing touches, how her body is adorned in the most beautiful sage green wedding dress you have ever seen.
“Are you going to cry?” Jieun's voice teases you as she meets your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Because if you start crying, I’ll start crying”
The makeup artist tuts, pointing her brush warningly at you. “No crying”
“I’m not going to cry” You laugh as you gently pat under your eyes, hoping to not feel any moisture. “You just look gorgeous, that’s all”
“Thank you” Jieun smiles softly, giving another quick thanks to the makeup artist who had finished touching up her face. Jieun leans towards the mirror to take a good look at herself, pleased with the results. “My mother wasn’t too happy about me switching out a white wedding for more of a coloured theme”
“It’s your wedding. You do whatever you want” You tell her, taking a quick peek down at your silk cream bridesmaid dress, hands rubbing over the material. “Sage green has always been your colour anyways. I would’ve been surprised if it wasn’t included in your wedding”
Jieun beams at that, “Right? But on top of that, my dad wasn’t happy that we weren't going for a traditional wedding in a church… He’s not exactly thrilled to be invited to his only child greenhouse wedding”
“This wedding is for you and for Johnny, not your parents” You say with a straight face, clearly not impressed with her parents thoughts towards the special day. “If anyone needs to be happy and satisfied, it’s you two”
“Well, I would be even more happy and satisfied if you brought a date𑁋”
“Are you seriously bringing this up again?!”
“It’s my wedding!” Jieun whines, turning around in her chair to face you with a pout. “How could you not bring a date? What happened to the guy you were speaking to on Tinder? I thought things were going well with him”
You scoff, “He was obsessed with talking about himself, was freaking out over the fact that his untrusting roommate had to cat-sit his cats and he refused to eat dessert because it had fruit in it… You know, for a guy called Ten, I rate him a fucking zero𑁋maybe a three because he had nice teeth”
Jieun purses her lips together in deep thought, fingers mindlessly playing with the end of her curls and you watch as the cogs turn inside her head, immediately shaking your head when you see the wide smile creep upon her face as she meets your eyes.
You know that look all too well. She’s got an idea brewing in her head, or maybe she’s already got something planned for you and you’re ready to disagree with everything that’s about to spill out of her mouth until the door to the room you’re in slides open, revealing Jieun's mother who gasps at the sight of her daughter.
You take this as your cue to leave, wanting the two to be alone to talk and experience this moment together. You mumble to Jieun that you’re going outside for some fresh air before giving a quick greeting to her mother, rubbing her arm gently as you slip past, allowing the door to slide shut behind you.
The exhale you breathe out is deep, heels clicking against the marble flooring of the house as you make your way outside and into the sun, using your hand to cover the bright beams as you stare over at the greenhouse conservatory where some of the guests linger outside while others are already seated.
You smile when you see a few people you recognise, waving at a few old classmates that Jieun had invited and you go to walk towards them to give them all a proper welcome until your right foot twists beneath you, your heel getting caught on the concrete below you.
A panicked ‘Oh my god!’ yelps from your right as a hand reaches out to curl around your upper arm, tugging you upwards and steadying you before your clumsiness could cause some real damage. You hiss through your teeth at the slight twinge of pain in your ankle, enough to cause a little discomfort but you’re grateful to see nothing was broken when you glanced down, cursing wildly under your breath for wearing heels that you weren’t used to walking around in.
You turn your head to thank your saviour, expecting to see them staring at you while laughing at your mistake but you’re surprised when you see a boy with messy light blue hair staring at you with a startled expression, deep brown doe-eyes wide and round with his mouth agape.
You’re immediately taken back by his attractive appearance and with him being such an unfamiliar face, you’re intrigued𑁋curious to know who this boy is and who he might be in relation to at the wedding. But before you can even open your mouth to even speak a single word, he’s the one that breaks the silence between you both.
“You almost died”
Your brow raises in amusement. “That’s a little dramatic”
“No, I’m serious. That was a Final Destination moment waiting to happen. Ankle snapped in half, face smashed to the ground, blood everywhere… I had the visions, dude”
“You have an interesting way with words”
The corner of his lips quirk upwards into a smile. “And you have an interesting way of walking”
“Touché” You purse your lips together, looking down at the heels with a soft hum. “I blame the shoes. They’re difficult to walk in”
“I’d offer you to swap but, uh, I don’t think they’d go with the outfit”
“I don’t know…” You tease as your eyes take him in, using this opportunity to really check him out. His white dress shirt is tucked neatly in the waistband of his black trousers, accentuating his pretty little waist. His black blazer is left unbuttoned and the matching coloured tie lays clean and ironed against his chest. You grin, “I think you’d look pretty good in a pair of heels”
He splutters out a genuine laugh, a slight pinkish hue casting over his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck before his hand shoots out in front of you, introducing himself as Mark. You smile as you take his hand in your own and you introduce yourself, and the sound of Mark repeating your name softly is enough to have you weak in the knees.
Mark tells you that he’s close with Johnny and that he’s his best man to which you then fill him in on how you know Jieun and that you’re her bridesmaid.
He’s smiling so gently at you as you explain your long friendship with Jieun, nodding as he listens to you intently, even adding his own little comments to when he first met Jieun and how well she and Johnny are matched and you immediately agree.
The conversations between you both flow so easily that you’re almost shocked, unable to understand how you can feel so comfortable and click so well with somebody you just met𑁋you more or less wish you had met someone like him on Tinder instead.
“The ceremony is about to start,” Mark announces as he takes a quick glance at his phone that he pulls from his pocket, checking over the time before pocketing it back. He wets his lips as it curls into a grin, offering his arm out to you. “Can I walk you inside? Just in case you, you know, trip over your heels again”
You surprisingly feel a little shy at his offer and you can’t help but grin back as you nod, sliding your arm through his, pressing your hand to his bicep. “Yeah… Just in case”
The ceremony was the most beautiful moment you have ever witnessed.
Having Jieun walk down the white carpet of the greenhouse arm in arm with her father and a beaming smile spread across her lips was enough to set off the first wave of waterworks, subtly patting beneath your eyes as you take in how gorgeous she looked.
The second wave of waterworks came when you saw how happy and in love Jieun looked when she and Johnny whispered their vows, holding each other close as they shared a loving kiss and the guests cheered with boisterous claps and hollers.
The third, and thankfully final, wave of waterworks happened when you heard Mark say his best-man speech, claiming how in the many years he has known Johnny, he has never seen him this happy and that a permanent smile was on his face all thanks to Jieun and how eternally grateful Mark would be to her for giving his best friend his happiness.
You weren’t going to cry again, although the food you were all served at dinner tasted like pure bliss and you were so close to getting on your knees and praising the chefs for their hard work and tasteful dishes, but you kept your emotions steady and thanked them as they came across your tables to clear your plates.
“You know, I always knew Jieun would be the first one out of our class to get married” Soojin states as she stares over at Jieun mingling with Johnny’s parents, embracing them tightly with a grin. Soojin smacks her painted red lips together and takes a sip of her wine before nursing the glass in her hand, “She’s always had this aura about her. Meets the perfect guy young, loved up and married in her twenties, ends up living in a fancy home surrounded by a white picket fence with her husband and kids𑁋maybe a dog too. God, I would love to have my life planned out like that”
“Nothing is stopping you” You point out, taking a gulp of your own drink. “How are things going with you and Chan?”
“Do you see a ring on my hand?”
“Not yet” A chuckle leaves your lips, pushing Soojin’s hand out of your face as she teasingly waves it in front of you and she laughs, retracting back to tuck her hair behind her ears. “What about you? Have you been seeing anyone recently?”
“No” You can’t help but sound a little bitter as you give your answer, not particularly in the mood to remember your failed tinder dates and endless hookups that have left you unsatisfied and annoyed. “I’m going to live a miserable single life. Maybe I’ll get a dog to make me feel less lonely”
“The last time we spoke you were seeing Jieun's cousin right? Was it Jaehyun?” His name makes you grimace and Soojin snorts, covering her mouth to conceal the rest of her amusement. “That bad?”
“To be fair, he did warn me that us fucking in his apartment would be risky because of his roommate being there”
“What? Like he never leaves the apartment?”
“No. They share a room. The end of their beds are literally pressed together, toe to toe!” You wail with a frown and Soojin’s unable to control her laughter, almost spitting her wine across the tables as she splutters but you take no notice, shivering at the memory of the beds. “They turned the perfectly capable extra bedroom into a makeshift gym. It was scarring”
“Your dates can’t be all that bad” You almost broke into the story of your recent date with Ten until a soft call of your name grabs your attention, shifting in your chair to see who had called for you and you’re surprised when you see Mark standing behind you with a boyish yet kind grin.
It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to realise that he had asked if the chair beside you is free for him to take and you dumbly nod, giving him your best smile as you expect him to lift the chair and take it to wherever he needs to go, but your brows raise in surprise when he slides the chair out from beneath the table to sit beside you.
“Johnny and Jieun are talking with his family” He explains to you despite you already knowing and he folds his hands in his lap. “Feeling like a third wheel over there so I hope you don’t mind me joining you?”
“Not at all” You smile. “Your speech was amazing by the way”
“She cried” Soojin joins in almost immediately with a teasing tone and you roll your eyes, nudging her with your shoulder as Mark laughs. “She’s right though, your speech was incredible”
“Thank you” Mark smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks tint a slight pink and you mentally awe at the sight, wanting to reach out and pinch his flustered cheeks but you keep your hands to yourself respectfully, keeping them busy with holding the wine glass in your hand.
It doesn’t take long for Soojin’s boyfriend, Chan, to join the table and he instantly makes Mark feel even more welcomed and comfortable, indulging with him in all sorts of conversations that has him laughing loudly and unable to keep his body up straight as his shoulder continuously brushes against your own, it makes you feel a little bit flustered when you feel his body warmth radiating to yours.
You are so touch starved.
Chan excuses himself to go buy the entire table a drink and Mark tags along, quickly asking you what’s your preferred drink but Chan’s already clamping his hand down on Mark’s shoulder and boasting about how he’s already got the drinks memorised, tugging him towards the bar.
“He’s cute” Soojin states, watching after the pair with a smirk before she turns her gaze to you. “He’s cute”
“I’m aware” You nod, chuckling lightly. “I met him earlier, actually. Saved me from tripping over these heels like an idiot”
“Wow… you literally fell for him”
“Funny” You snort, downing the rest of your wine and placing the empty glass on the table before swallowing, patting the corner of your lips with a napkin. You watch him at the bar laughing along with whatever Chan’s talking about and you can’t help but smile at the sight. “Fuck, he is really cute”
“Ask for his number” Soojin smiles. “Or bring him home with you later, keep your bed warm”
“This is a wedding, I’m classy today” You tease.
“I’m far from classy” Soojin scoffs, sending a sultry look over to Chan who meets her eyes from across the room and sends her a wink. “I almost fucked Chan in the bush outside when I saw him dressed in the suit”
You don’t have time to fully comprehend and laugh at her words as the pair are already returning to the table with a tray of drinks, each handing them out to their respective person and you wait for your turn, grinning up at Mark as he takes his seat back beside you with two red wines in hand.
He passes one with a gentle smile, “You cool with red wine?”
You snort, taking the glass between your fingers, “I’m cool”
Mark grins at that, cheeks tinting a slight pink. “Cool”
The drinks start to flow through your system and it doesn’t take long for you to become tipsy and chatty, conversing with the table about different topics and even about the wedding as Jieun and Johnny finally join. Mark seems to be on the same boat as you𑁋tipsy and chatty with a hint of touchiness.
It doesn’t bother you when you feel him unintentionally lean against you to listen to what Jieun was saying, hanging onto her every word and laughing when Johnny pipes in with a joke or flirty commentary that has Jieun nudging him while blushing.
You notice during this interaction how much Mark uses his hands when he speaks, explaining various things with his hands flying around or clapping them when someone says something too funny.
But it's when Mark sighs dramatically at Johnny’s teasing jokes towards him and drops his hands down that catches your full attention, feeling slightly taken back when you feel the heat of Mark’s hand splayed across your thigh, fingers mindlessly tapping against your skin.
He hasn’t noticed𑁋maybe he’s too tipsy to notice what he’s just done and you’re unsure of whether to subtly let him know or leave it be seeming as you wasn’t exactly opposed to him touching you. It feels nice, comforting… and a little hot.
You bite back any type of response or comment, hiding your grin behind the rim of your wine glass as you take a sip, ignoring Soojin’s lingering eyes on your lap and how she teasingly nudges your side.
Jieun catches on quickly too, wiggling her eyebrows in your direction before she leans into Johnny’s ear to whisper. You wanted to roll your eyes when Johnny looked back at you.
The attention is finally brought off of the two of you and back onto the conversation topic which makes you let out a sigh, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Mark and he leans in close, his breath fanning across your ear as he whispers.
“You good?” He asks you with concern. “Did you have too much to drink?”
“I’m okay” You tell him, turning to face him with a smile and he immediately smiles back. He goes to say something else but you accidentally shift in your chair, causing his hand to move slightly and Mark’s head shoots down to see his hand on your thigh, choking on a cough.
“Oh shit” His eyes are comically wide as he slowly moves away. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry, I didn’t𑁋”
“It’s okay” You tell him once again and you make a brave move to place your hand on top of his, causing his hand to drop back down onto your thigh and you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, cheeks dusting a light shade of red as he looks back up at you. You decide to remind him again, “It’s okay”
“You sure?” Mark asks and despite wanting to make sure you were fully okay with what you were doing, he turns his hand around beneath yours, palm against palm, fingers twitching against your own as he was desperate to lace them together, but it was you who took that initiative.
You interlace your fingers together and hold his hand tightly in your grasp, causing him to shy away from eye contact as he looks down at the table, unable to hide the goofy grin that spreads across his lips as his own grip tightens around your own hand, his thumb grazing across your knuckles comfortingly.
“I love this song!” Jieun gasps loudly as a familiar song blasts from the speakers, her guests already standing up to dance. She pulls Johnny up with her and looks over at you, “Do you want to dance with us?”
You’d like to, but you also don’t want to let go of Mark’s hand just yet. You feel a little selfish. “You go dance together. I’m going to finish up my wine”
“Okay” Jieun smirks, sending a sly wink your way as she pulls Johnny to the dance floor.
“Mark, Do you want to come dance with us?” Chan asks this time as he stands up from his seat with Soojin on his arm, grinning down at Mark who licks his lips nervously.
“Uh, you go first. I’ll join you guys later” Mark tells him and you don’t miss the way his hand subtly squeezes yours.
“Suit yourself” Chan shrugs as he, Soojin and the majority of the table head to go dance together. You smile as you watch the couples on the dance floor, how happy and in love everyone looks, especially Jieun and Johnny who are holding each other close, whispering sweet little things into each other's ears while sharing a few kisses.
You’re too focussed on the couples and the music to realise Mark is speaking to you, voice hushed due to the volume of the music. You struggle even more to hear him so you lean in close for him to whisper in your ear, shivers running down your neck as you feel his breath fan across your skin as you listen to him shyly if he can have your number.
You’re not sure why you’re stunned, but you are for a brief moment until you immediately nod your head, watching as he fumbles to grab his phone out of his pocket with his free hand, not wanting to let go of yours that he’s still holding in the other.
He hands you his phone, unlocked and ready to have your number and you can’t help but smile, typing in your number with your name and jokingly adding a heart to which he chuckles upon first seeing. You’re surprised when he shuts off his phone and puts it back into his pocket, not bothering to get rid of the heart or change it to a completely different emoji.
It’s silent between you both for a while as you enjoy each other's company, listening to the music, watching others dance and mingle. Usually you’d be the first on the dance floor amongst your friends, letting the music take over your body and feel the base through the speakers but you’re surprisingly content right now sitting beside a cute boy with your hand locked in his.
“So, why didn’t you want to dance?” You dare to ask Mark, glancing over at him as you take a sip of wine and he looks a little flustered.
“Oh, I, uh… I’m fine right here” He replies, chuckling awkwardly. “Why didn’t you want to dance?”
You smirk, “Because I didn’t want to let go of your hand”
“Jesus” Mark laughs, face reddening up as he shakes his head, tongue coming out to swipe across his bottom lip as he struggles to hide a smile. “You make me feel so nervous, man…”
You quirk a brow, “A good nervous or a bad nervous?”
Mark exhales deeply, meeting your eyes. “A really good nervous”
“Interesting” You state, feeling a little more confident as you lean in close to him, fully pressing your side against his and he laughs, allowing you to do as you please as he squeezes your hand again, the close proximity making him feel a little nervous but hot under the collar.
But he forgets he’s nursing his glass of wine in his free hand as he’s looking at you fully now, biting down on his bottom lip as your face is merely inches from his own and he accidentally loosen his grip on the stem of the glass as your nose brushes his, causing the contents inside to spill over his lap.
He makes a noise of shock and reels back in surprise, letting go of your hand to grab the now half empty glass of wine and stare at the mess he’s created.
He’s obviously embarrassed, sitting in shock and not muttering a single word as he assesses the damage and you’re already gasping loudly, hand flying to your mouth in shock.
You blurt out multiple apologies, regretting having made a move and occupying his attention which resulted in causing this mess and you quickly reach for a napkin off of the table. You’re patting his lap, hoping to dry his expensive looking pants as you still whisper countless apologies. His pants are black, so no stain will be shown yet you’re still feeling bad and entirely at fault.
Mark’s silent as he stares at you with wide doe eyes as you pat the napkin around his crotch, body frozen and mouth unbelievably dry as he feels you press against his cock. He’s unable to move, unable to tell you to stop what you’re doing until you begin to wipe and that’s when he reacts, snatching your wrist in his grasp as a choked groan leaves his lips.
“I’m fine” He strains and you pull back almost immediately once you realise how you were touching him. You wanted to apologise again, but you remain quiet due to your own embarrassment and look away from him, unable to meet his eyes although the thought of making him hard just from some mere touching leaves an ache between your legs and you press your thighs together, clearing your throat.
“Do you want another drink or something?” You ask him, quickly glancing at his half empty glass before looking at the bar. “I can get you another”
“No, no it’s okay” Mark coughs, shaking his head. He clears his own throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably, pulling at his blazer to hide the obvious bulge in his trousers. “I’m… sorry, by the way”
“You don’t need to apologise” You quickly tell him. “It’s my fault for distracting you and causing you to spill your𑁋”
“I wasn’t talking about that” He cuts you off and your face immediately heats up, fully aware of what he’s meaning and you shake your head, wanting to tell him that it’s okay but he’s already continuing. “I don’t… It just happens, you know, and when you touched m𑁋”
“It’s flattering, really” You admit, letting out a slight chuckle. “It’s fine, I promise. I get that it’s totally normal though so don’t worry. It's cute”
It’s silent for a moment until he speaks with a lighthearted tone, “Did you just call me getting hard cute?”
You grimace, “Pretend you didn’t hear that, I don’t know what I’m talking about”
Before you can even begin rambling and make up your excuses, you’re already being cut off as you feel Mark’s hand slide back into your own, fingers interlacing and you bite back a shocked gasp when you feel him pull your intertwined hands to his lap, pressing the back of your hand to the bulge in his pants so casually that it makes your head spin.
You need him. You want him. The thoughts that run through your mind and needy ache between your legs has you desperate to be touched, to be fucked, all by him.
“I need to go to the bathroom” You announce, catching on to the disappointed sound Mark makes as he loosens his grip on your hand but you tighten it almost instantly. “Do you want to come with me?”
Mark’s confused now, “To… to the bathroom?”
“Yes”
“Do you…” He’s unsure of how to word his next words. “Do you need help peeing or something?”
“No, I don’t need to pee” You can’t help but laugh and Mark flushes red. You look at him fully this time, eyes dark and tone sultry. “I just really want to go to the bathroom”
“Oh” Mark blinks, brows pulling together as he’s even more confused. But then it all seems to dawn on him as his eyebrows raise up, hidden by the blue locks of hair that's across his forehead, his eyes widened in shock. “Oh”
“So, do you want to come to the bathroom with me?”
Mark nods quickly as his grip tightens on your hand, “Yeah. Absolutely, yeah”
You’re tugging Mark up from his seat the second he gives you the confirmation you’ve needed, weaving through the people on the dance floor and heading towards the bathroom area.
Mark’s hot on your heels, chest pressed against your back with his hand still locked in yours, almost tripping over his own shoes due to the speed you’re walking and him trying to keep up with you, not wanting to stray too far from you.
You miss the way Johnny and Jieun are watching you both with smirks on their faces, giving each other celebratory fist bumps before Johnny’s arm slithers around her waist to bring her in for a kiss.
You finally reach the bathroom area and Mark lets out a yelp as you walk inside and yank him into a cubicle, slamming and locking the door behind you both as he stumbles and falls back, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.
“Dang…” Mark mutters as he takes in his surroundings, in awe at the white marble flooring and white walls with painted green vines. “Yo, this is a pretty expensive bathroo𑁋what are you doing?!”
Your fingers are pulling at the buttons on his pants as you simply state, “I’m going to suck you off”
“But… your dress,” Mark frowns as he watches you drop to your knees, your dress wrinkling and losing its pristine condition.
“You’re worried about my dress? That’s cute” You can’t help but chuckle and once you finally free his cock out of its confinements, you wrap your fingers around the base which causes him to suck through his teeth at the contact. “I don’t care about my dress, Mark. All I care about is making you feel good”
“Okay” Mark slumps against the back of the toilet seat, licking at his lips as he looks down at you with hazy vision. “Do what you want”
The moment he says those words, you’re already taking him in your mouth and a string of curse words leaves his lips, raising his fist to his mouth and biting down on his knuckles to conceal the noises he wants to make.
His cock feels hot and heavy on your tongue, and you’re taking him down your throat, sucking him and squeezing your hand around the base that you struggle to fit all the way in your mouth. He’s big and it drives you wild, the ache in between your legs becoming almost unbearable but you want to play with him a little longer, to taste him.
With Mark watching you through lidded eyes, it fuels you to put on a show for him and that’s exactly what you do. You pull back and close your lips around his tip, sucking and using your tongue. He’s panting above you, cursing in his fist, moaning when you take him back deep into your mouth, jerking him off with each twist of your own fist.
“You can touch me” You tell him, a string of spit connecting from your lips to the tip of his cock. “Touch me”
“You’re insane” Mark laughs lightly, his free hand coming down to rest on the back of your head, fingers gripping your hair as he pushes you further down on his cock and you gag a little when he hits the back of your throat, but you breathe steadily through your nose, hollowing your cheeks around him. “You’re filthy”
You hum around his cock as you shuffle forwards to sit better between his open legs, the slight sting of his grip on your hair urging you to do better, to give him everything you’ve got. The burn in the back of your throat is pleasurable and you moan, causing his hips to jerk forwards and you take him in deeper.
“Oh, fuck” Mark moans, pushing your head down. “Fuck, just like that𑁋oh my god”
You pull off of him with a pop, using your hand to jerk him off as you smile sweetly up at him, “You’re noisy”
“What do you expect?” Mark breaths out a laugh, hand coming down from the back of your head to caress your cheek. “I got a pretty girl on her knees in front of me sucking my cock”
Your heart swells in your chest, “Pretty girl?”
“Mhm” Mark nods, biting down on his bottom lip. “The prettiest”
The whine that leaves him when you completely let go of his cock almost makes you take him into your hands again, but you’re desperate for him now𑁋desperate to be filled with him.
Usually you’d scold yourself for allowing such a bare minimum compliment to get you hot and bothered but you didn’t care as it sounded so fucking good coming from him.
Mark watches you as you tug your panties down your leg and discard them to the side, bunching the hem of your dress up to your waist as you sit yourself down on his lap. One of his hands comes to rest on your hip while the other touches your cheek, bringing you in for a first kiss.
The kiss is soft at first, delicate, and Mark even leans back to take a look at your face with a small smile on his face. He caresses your cheek, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone, nose brushing against yours before he claims your lips again.
This time, it’s more frantic. You’re nipping at his bottom lip, his tongue melts with yours, hands moving to fist the material of your dress, bunching it higher over your hips as your own hand dips between you both to line his cock at your entrance to sink down onto him.
Mark gasps in your mouth as you moan at the feeling of him filling you so deep, your arms winding around his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you leisurely bounce on his lap, Mark’s grip tight on your hips as he thrusts up into you.
He’s kissing you breathless and you’re too drunk on his lips and cock to pull away for air, lacing your fingers through his blue hair as you fuck yourself down on him, putting all of your energy in riding him and it’s Mark that breaks the kiss to curse loudly with a strangled moan, panting as he stares at you with wild eyes and red lips.
“You feel good” He groans out as you squeeze around him and you whine softly at his compliment, “Fuck𑁋you feel so good”
“You’re noisy” You repeat from before in a teasing tone even though you’re not quiet yourself, unable to keep your noises at bay as you moan loudly when he matches the rhythm of your hips.
You like the way he sounds edging closer and closer to euphoria, and you would relish in the sound a little more if you could but you hear the bathroom door open and you hand immediately flies from his hair to clamp down on his mouth, causing him to stare up at you in alarm as someone walks into the cubicle beside yours.
You’re still lifting yourself and dropping back down on him, and he’s still fucking up into you to keep the pace despite neither of you wanted to get caught. And you’re thankful that whoever is beside you has flushed the toilet the second you let out a cry when he cock hits deep within and Mark’s quick to silence you too, pressing his hand over your own mouth and staring into your eyes.
You’re both panting behind each other's hands and you can make out the sound of water running from a tap before it shuts off, then the bathroom door opens and creaks shut behind them, leaving you both alone once again.
Yet, neither of you move your hand, still keeping each other silent despite the muffled noises you’re both making.
You feel yourself tipping closer and closer to your orgasm and you wonder if Mark’s feeling the same, only getting the answer with his eyes rolling back slightly as he groans, finally dropping his hand from your mouth to grab your waist and pull you down onto him.
Letting your hand drop from his mouth to touch his face, Mark finally speaks, “I’m gonna cum”
“Me too” You exhale deeply. “Cum inside me”
“Oh fuck” Mark grunts, craning his neck up to slot his lips over yours, tongue dipping into your mouth and tangling with yours as he cums deep, keeping you moving against him to reach your own peak and you wail as your orgasm hits you, clenching around his length as you rock in his lap.
You’re breathing heavily, pulling away from his lips to try and catch your breath as he leaves messy kisses down the column on your neck, loosening his hands on your hips to wrap his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest and yours slide around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair as your body quivers as it goes through its last few seconds of your orgasm.
It’s silent between you both now as you embrace each other and Mark’s still kissing your neck, rubbing your back comfortingly and you melt into his arms, fully relaxed and content although you should be both cleaning yourself up.
“Just so you know, I don’t usually do this” Mark mumbles in the crevice of your neck and your brows furrow, slightly leaning back to get a good look at his face and he smiles at how confused you look. “I mean, like, meeting someone and hooking up with them straight away. I don’t usually do that”
“I don’t either” You tell him. “I usually go on a few dates before that”
“Noted, I’ll take you out next time” He says nonchalantly and your heart flutters at that. You wonder if he realises what he just said and if he’s serious on potentially seeing you again, you want to question it a little but you keep quiet when you notice Mark’s attention is brought to the décor of the cubicle. “Dude, this is a really nice bathroom though”
pairing ⇢ perv roommate!hyuck x afab!reader (mentioned other nct members + karina)
word count ⇢ 12.8k
synopsis ⇢ someone has been eating haechan's favorite ice cream so he decides to put a hidden camera in the kitchen and living room thinking it's a shared space it shouldn't invade anyone's privacy... right?
warnings ⇢ 18+, dubcon, invasion of privacy, filming with and without consent, voyeurism (hyuck is a peeping tom), exhibitionism, panty stealing, toys, multiple orgasms, nipple play (m & f receiving) , cum eating, oral (f receiving), switch but mainly sub!hyuck, reader has a bdsm relationship with johnny, yuta, and jaehyun, switch but mainly dom!reader, handcuffs, unprotected sex, cream pie, hyuck is a little bi icon, lots of masturbation (m & f), excessive talk of legend of zelda (SORRY), anal (not super detailed), use of good boy & pervert, slapping, overstimulation, mentioned (bdsm, bondage, whips, rope/shibari, threesomes, mxm, scissoring, spit roasting, getting high, double penetration, marking) pls let me know if i missed anything
playlist ⇢ creep_radiohead / obsession_sky ferreira / nothings going to hurt you baby_cigarettes after sex / wet nightmare_bibi / i wanna be your slave_måneskin / use me_bill withers / sweet_cigarettes after sex / guys my age_hey violet / sexy silk_cumkitten / pussy is god_king princess
a/n ⇢ i'm trying to get better at making the reader as general as possible please let me know any ways i can improve!
“no one is stealing your goddamn ice cream,” you groan, rolling your eyes. you’re currently having a “house meeting” in the kitchen, more like you and your roommates get yelled at by your other roommate haechan for 30 minutes. you’re sitting at the end of the island beside jaemin and karina who is leaning next to the wall while haechan stands across from the counter in front of the fridge waving an empty box around.
“well, where the fuck are my double vanilla yogurt bars going?” he says waving the box around for dramatics.
“who the fuck wants double vanilla ass yogurt ice cream bars,” jaemin argues.
“literally we have chocolate, strawberry,” jaemin gags, “even cones, why would we want double vanilla,” karina quips while you roll your eyes.
“because it’s the best ice cream in the world,” he groans, running his hands through his hair.
“yeah maybe to old white dudes,” karina says, making you and jaemin giggle.
“listen i get it, no one wants to fess up. you’re embarrassed, feeling guilty even,” you scoff at his dramatics. “but just tell me between friends, i will forgive you if you buy me a new box.” no one says anything, just stares across the counter at haechan. “god i hate all of you. i swear i’m moving out.”
“finally, let me know if you need help packing,” you smile as he storms off middle finger raised in your direction.
“so which one of you ate the ice cream?” karina whispers, you and jaemin shake your heads hearing haechan's door slam.
“swear i didn't, i would probably have the strawberry before double vanilla,” he grimaces.
“same, i would just go without, who wants double vanilla anyways? i bet he just doesn’t remember eating them.” you laugh.
haechan sat in his room sulking and determined to figure out who was eating his precious ice cream. this wasn’t the first time it happened and it had only gotten worse. he pondered which one of his housemates would eat his ice cream.
karina was in her green juice phase and probably wasn’t eating ice cream but if she was she would want the "healthiest" option which were the double vanilla yogurt bars. she couldn’t be marked off the list.
jaemin would definitely eat the double vanilla bars. especially when he would just open the freezer and grab anything that didn’t have a strawberry pink label. haechan grumbled to himself pulling his fingers through his hair.
and you, you would totally eat his ice cream just to spite him. you would probably throw away an uneaten bar just to annoy him, give them out to delivery men, or offer them to your annoying friends.
he furiously typed into his search bar. “how to stop roommates from stealing food.”
he scrolls reading over the bulleted list.
write your name on everything
that wouldn’t work, jaemin would just read it and ignore it.
hide the food in an unlikely place
where can he hide ice cream unless he got a mini freezer and that just seemed like too much work.
douse the food in hot sauce, chili powder, etc.
wouldn’t that just ruin the food for him?
install cameras to present evidence of the theft
bingo
haechan had plenty of access to cameras, the tech, and the knowledge to install nanny cams. his it major finally came to his aid during his time of woe.
he made a plan, go to the tech lab and talk to kun about security cameras. he can play it off that it’s for a friend, his mom, or maybe his roommates wanted to feel safer. then he could install them on thursday morning when everyone was in class. then he would wait for someone to eat his ice cream and catch them in the act. foolproof right?
“so wait, why do you need cameras again?” kun asked, rummaging through a box of wires.
“it’s for a friend they asked me since they knew i was majoring in it,” haechan says nonchalantly, pushing his hands in his pockets.
“oh cool, you said home security right?” haechan nodded, moving to the side after kun got up with various wires in his hands. he followed kun to another part of the tech lab.
“just don’t set them up in locker rooms. some dude did that a few years ago and i helped him pick them out. god, i felt sick after.”
“god no, just home security, said he has some weird roommates or something,” haechan shook his head. watching over kun’s shoulder as he scrolled through some tech website.
“okay, i would go with one of these if it’s just basic home security. they have an app for easy access and pretty good quality cameras,” kun says, clicking on one of the images before scrolling through. haechan nodded, eyes dancing over the webpage.
“sounds good to me, can you order them?” kun nodded, adding the items to the cart.
“does he need any wifi extenders?” haechan shook his head looking over the total price. still cheaper than a mini freezer. “i’ll let you know when they come in.”
the cameras came in faster than haechan even expected, he hadn’t even gotten the chance to restock his ice cream bars to set up the trap. he waited for the perfect time when everyone was out of the apartment in class, studying, or doing whatever haechan didn’t care enough to ask.
he took to unboxing the set of five cameras, one for the kitchen right above the fridge, one diagonal from the fridge to get the full angle of the theft, one in the living room facing the couch and the hall, and one for a wide angle of the living room. he had one to spare so he decided to put it in the corner of his room to see if anyone was snooping around.
it took him about an hour to set up the two in the kitchen, fiddling back and forth on his phone and with the cameras to perfect the angle. walking back and forth to make sure the entire walk from the hall would be caught and no denying could happen.
one camera was hidden between some old cereal boxes he and jaemin had used for a project that they never threw away. the other was between the bread maker karina had stopped using two weeks after getting it and was just collecting dust and the protein powder.
it took him about an hour more for the two in the living room, making sure the camera was facing the couch fully because that would definitely be where the culprit would enjoy the sweet treat.
the camera was tilted slightly to hide nicely on the corner of the dvd shelf. the other was squeezed snuggly between some half-dead plants on the window sill, viewing the full kitchen, part of the dining table, living room, and the hall.
haechan was lucky his room was on one side of the house and his three roommates were down the opposite hall. so it was unlikely one of them would come down his hall unless it was for a shower or to piss.
he finally fiddled with the one in his room more for fun but he thought of the possibilities of “accidentally” filming while fucking some hot chick he brought home or even the occasional big bulky dude he would find on some field or court who wanted to experiment when he needed to get fucked.
he didn’t want to be a creep and it wouldn’t be like he’d share the footage if it happened but it would be a nice bonus. getting to relive a good fucking on some shitty camera like a perv.
he wouldn’t openly admit to being a pervert, but he was. he often got off on being watched and watching other people, that’s why he liked going to the gym, not for the workout or health benefits, but the view of some hot girl sweating while doing squats or the best part seeing hot guys in the locker rooms and if he was lucky getting to shower beside them peaking at their cocks hanging heavily between their legs next to him.
he loved the thrill of jerking off in the corner of the showers waiting for some muscled beefcake to come in and embarrass him before cursing and manhandling him. his fantasies never quite came true but that didn’t stop him from releasing onto the tile below him while he tweaked his nipples and the water hit his chest.
haechan often found himself in these “compromising” positions. like the time he hid in the closet of some frat dude's room while he watched his friends, jeno and jaemin, fuck some sorority girl.
he didn’t mean to get high and roam the house ending up in some closet, but what was he gonna do when they came in and spit-roasted her right through the slits in the door. so he shut up as best he could and jerked off while peaking out. he hated to admit being jealous of his friends and the girl but he couldn’t help it.
he also didn’t mean to listen in when his housemates brought someone around and didn’t realize he was there. he would stand in the hall watching jaemin fuck some cheerleader until she was brainless or karina bringing over some girl to “study” but he watched them scissor for like 20 minutes and they never noticed. you however never brought anyone home at least that he knew of.
he’d heard stories from his friends about how you were apparently into being dominated by older men, but haechan didn’t fully believe it. at least not the stories his older friends johnny, yuta, and jaehyun would tell of you. how you liked to be whipped and cuffed to the bed while johnny edged you, or how yuta would tie intricate ropes around you bending you into pretzel-like positions before making you cry, and jaehyun boasted about making you cum some insane amount until you passed out on his cock. you were too annoying and mean to be submissive, and far too uptight to be into adventurous casual sex.
the stories did get him off though just like viewing his other roommates in secret, the thought of his little prude roommate being into nasty sex had gotten him hard. after hearing all about it he excused himself to the bathroom and came in his fist embarrassingly fast.
it didn't take long to start getting notifications of motion most of the time being someone arriving home or leaving. he gets strangely excited at the prospect of catching someone at the fridge but every time it has been for something lame like eggs or soda. he had started to worry about the house eating habits when everyone was only eating eggs, popcorn, and frozen food.
by the third day he’s grown accustomed to the notifications on his phone of detected movement. it's not as exciting when it’s the fifth time of the day and he knows it will probably just be jaemin making toast. but he opens it quickly waiting for the app to load.
before he sees you sitting on the couch, knees to your chest twirling something in your mouth. he grins convinced he had caught the ice cream thief. he started his car ready to rush home and catch you in the act, that is until you pull it out of your mouth. squinting bringing his phone closer to make sure it is his ice cream his eyes widen when he realizes it’s not his ice cream but a dildo of some sort.
you wouldn't, there's no way you would in the living room. his mouth hung open watching you bring the toy back to your lips. he was surprised by the camera quality when he could see your spit dribbling down the toy and collecting at the corners of your mouth.
he should have closed his phone and put it on silent never to be thought of again, but he can’t look away, he knows it’s wrong but he can’t stop staring.
he gaped when you opened your knees and moved one hand between your legs flipping your skirt up revealing some light blue panties. he’s sure he’s seen them in your hamper or when you accidentally left them in the wash that one time. he watched as your hand slithered between your legs pressing against your heat, squinting in surprise seeing a dark spot growing under your hand.
his eyes were scanning quickly trying to take in the entire scene watching you with one hand over your panties and the other swirling what he assumed to be silicone between your lips. he can’t believe you of all people would be getting off in the living room knowing any of your roommates could walk in. little miss goody two shoes had a thing for exhibitionism he smirked.
you moved the toy from your lips, a line of spit still connected until the toy slid over your panties. he gasped when you moved your other hand from between your legs to pull your shirt up tits falling out.
he had seen you naked a few times completely accidentally of course, not that he didn’t keep the image in his head permanently. one time when he walked into the bathroom while you were changing before turning around swiftly and attempting to avert his eyes while you cursed him out. it was your fault for not locking the door.
or when johnny’s frat had a pool party and your swimsuit came untied during a game of chicken. nipples hard and perked from the cool water and right in front of his face. he recalls the embarrassment that flooded your face when you realized before your hands covered up quickly. he had jerked off later to the thought of fucking your tits.
he remembers how he couldn’t get your cute nipples off his brain for like a week after. it pissed him off how you walked around the house braless, nipples pointed right in his face. you were also the bane of his existence you were so annoying and difficult, but so fucking hot but you pissed him off with your bratty attitude.
but he loved the way you scolded him and grabbed and pulled his hair when he went too far, or when you yelled at him and called him names with an angry tone in your voice and pout on your lips all because he had spoiled the new season of stranger things.
he shook his head before pressing his palm to his face and moving his glasses to rub his eyes. he should turn it off. there's no going back if he keeps watching, but he just couldn’t look away. he had to make a decision and he did, taping the full-screen icon in the corner, turning off his car, and sitting back to watch.
he wished it was his hand pinching your nipples, making you sigh and bite your lip. he was too busy staring at them to notice you press a button on your toy before pressing it to your clit and grinding against it. his eyes trailed down when he noticed the movement. he felt his mouth water when the darkness grew in your panties.
you had to stop yourself from letting the feeling take over, wanting to be filled up before you came. you pulled your toy away and moved your hand from your nipples to pull your panties to the side. you could feel how sticky and wet you were. you wished it was someone else between your legs a warm body fucking you open.
haechan’s mouth fell open with your pussy on display. he watched your hole flutter just begging to be filled up. he could feel his cock pressing against his jeans as you slid the toy between your folds leaning your head back against the couch. it was smaller than him from what he could tell. why was he even comparing his dick to his least favorite roommate's dildo?
his mind was just playing horny tricks on him while you were using one hand to pull your panties aside and the other to slip your blue toy into your cunt. haechan watched your mouth open and eyes close. somewhere in the back of his perverted mind, he wished the camera had sound.
he watched in delight when he saw your toes curling against the cushions and your hand speeding up between your thighs. you took it so well spreading your legs wider and mouth hanging open. he knew you sounded good and he could practically hear you whining. he jumped when your eyes met his through the screen he could swear you could see him watching.
he needed to shut his phone off and throw it out his car window but he also wanted you to know he was watching like a nasty peeping tom. he kept watching the way your eyes glazed over, your hips rutting up to meet your flicking wrist.
he didn’t realize but he had started grinding against his hand pressed between his legs. he felt so fucking pathetic in the library parking lot unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock out. and anyone walking by could see his windows weren’t nicely tinted but cheaply tinted and that just made it more exhilarating.
he continued staring at his phone jerking his terribly hard cock in his fist whining wantonly in the quiet car. he tried to match his fist with yours, bringing his hand to the tip when you pulled out before pressing back into your cunt and he would fuck up into his own fist. he felt his forehead growing sweaty and he watched you slide deeper into the couch, knees bending harshly and pressing into your chest.
you looked so desperate thrusting your hips up and your brow furrowed concentrating on your incoming orgasm. haechan was wondering if you were close because god he already was briefly removing his hand to spit in his palm and coat his aching cock.
he looked up for a second sensing movement to his right, watching some group of guys walk by his car not noticing the movement right under their noses. it only made him harder if that was possible reaching down grabbing his balls squeezing tightly making him hold his breath.
his eyes focused back on you but you were slowing down and he was hoping you weren’t stopping. were you into edging like johnny had told him? he watched intently massaging his balls breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth waiting for your next move.
you pulled the toy out of your cunt and he whined when a wet glob of slick dripped out not to mention the wetness coating the toy that you were bringing back to your lips. he brought his hand back to grip his dick, holding the base and pressing it down between his legs before letting it slap up against his stomach with a hiss, while you cleaned off your toy.
he watched you stand up and slip your panties off your legs, what he wouldn’t do to steal those and shove them down his throat? maybe he could sneak them from your dirty laundry.
you turned around bending over the back of the couch making him whine, a perfect view of your ass bent at the best angle, cunt still glistening below your tight asshole. his glasses were slipping down his nose from sweat but he didn’t care especially when you brought your toy to rub over your pussy. smearing your slick over your holes making a wet sticky mess that he would die to clean up.
he’d started thrusting into his fist again trying to be patient and slow like you were. bringing the toy to press against your rim while your head turned hoping to catch a glimpse of your taut hole being teased. he watched you push the limit seeing the way your toes curled when you tried pushing in dry, your cunt clenching at the pressure above.
you whimpered but he wouldn’t know that just watched the way you bit your lip before bringing the toy to your cunt and pressing in fully arching your back when you had buried it fully between your legs. he stared at the way your thighs flexed and met the base of your toy as it filled you up.
he could even see drool starting to fall from your open mouth. he wanted to hold back and wait to cum but you just looked so delicious he couldn’t help his hand speeding up. his whines raised in pitch as he pumped his girth it definitely was not as good as your pussy probably felt.
his own pleasure was distracting him, making his eyes close and he had to practically pry them open to watch you again. he didn’t know how close you were, only you did.
if he had noticed the way your head fell forward on the cushions and legs tried to squeeze together and wrist flicking lazier. he would have known but he didn’t. he didn’t see it coming when you came with a silent cry, legs tightening, ass shivering. he didn’t realize until you were cumming. hadn’t heard you whimper “i’m gonna cum.” into your palm.
he came with you completely accidentally, pulling his hand away too late, cum already spurting out before he could stop it, hips twitching along with his dick. he whimpered bringing his hand back to milk his cock, thick cum leaking onto his sweatshirt sleeve, and steering wheel. an embarrassing amount pooled on his stomach as his breathing evened out.
bringing his attention back to his phone he watched you pull the toy from your cunt another thick gush of slick dripped down hitting the couch below you. he hoped you didn’t do the considerate thing and clean it up but he knew you would.
you laid the toy beside you bringing your fingers between your legs and toes curling when you made contact with your swollen cunt. his mouth watered when you dipped your fingers in to collect the juices and lifted it to your mouth to suck them clean.
once you both had caught your breath he dug around in his glove box for napkins swiping at the drying cum on his sweatshirt and steering wheel. you were cleaning up your own mess and he left his phone open catching a glimpse of your wobbly legs when you got up.
eventually he closed his phone, guilt taking over him, he just watched his roommate get off. it definitely wasn’t the first time or the last so the feeling drifted away quickly. the idea of installing a camera in your room even crossed his sick and twisted mind but he knew that was too far.
he was tucking his softening length into his pants when a banging at his window startled him looking up to see shotaro and yangyang banging on the glass. he clutched his chest after swiftly zipping his jeans before unlocking the doors and they got in.
“what are you doing bombarding me during my meditation?”
“you said you were leaving like 30 minutes ago, the fuck are you still doing here?” yangyang questioned from the back seat.
“didn’t you have some meeting or something?” shotaro questioned with a smile.
“shit,” he did have a meeting at the caf about a group project that he was now almost 20 minutes late for.
“did you get distracted or something your car smells like you fucked?” yangyang said laughing as he leaned forward between the two front seats.
“and if i did you’d be jealous so i can’t talk about it.”
despite having watched you cum in the living room via camera nothing about your dynamic changed. that was something haechan was good at distancing his peeping adventures and the people he actually peeped on. he didn’t find it awkward to be around them later even after seeing their most intimate moments. he did steal a pair of your dirty panties though but you didn’t seem to notice yet, at least that he was aware.
and just as expected he did watch you again not even a week later a notification lighting up his phone hoping again to find the ice cream culprit but to see you swinging your legs open bringing some type of purple wand vibrator between your legs in the most erotic way. head dropping back as you upped the vibrations, stomach tensing when you pulled the toy away, hips canting up to chase the feeling.
he snuck off to the bathroom of his job and came while he set his phone up on the sink and watched himself in the mirror.
it seemed to be almost like clockwork. you waited until you were sure everyone was out and you’d slip into the living room spreading out with some toy or your fingers and going to town. and like clockwork, haechan would open his phone as if on cue to see you putting on a show for him and he’d grip his cock and jerk off. able to cum when he started recognizing when you were close.
he did save all the videos using them later in his room late at night humping his pillow, or early in the morning in the shower even getting bold enough to leave his door open hoping you would hear his whimpers and come stare at him while he came to his stockpile of footage.
he had even started carrying his ipad around with him so he could watch both cameras he had set up in the living room. using the larger screen to view the camera on the dvd shelf directly in front of where you would usually sit and his phone for the wide angle in case you decided to change positions.
he looked like some crazy hacker sneaking off to the back seat of his car setting up his devices. somewhere along the lines he bought another flesh light to keep in his car. he may or may not have searched for a pocket pussy that resembled yours at least from what he could tell.
he would try to mimic the positions you were in, leaning back when you would ride a toy, fantasizing about you riding him, or rising to his knees leaning over to hump into the sticky silicone hole when you would bend over the couch.
he sadly still hadn’t caught his ice cream thief even though the ice cream was still being eaten by someone he just either didn’t see the notification or they were way too quick with their hands.
he’d also visited kun again. this time asking about the sound for the cameras. giving some story about his friends’ roommates talking shit about them and wanted to know what about.
he felt like a kid on christmas when thee mics came in, installing them quickly and testing their quality. hoping to all the gods, that he knew wouldn’t let him into heaven at this point, that you would be desperate and needing to get off that very day so he could verify the sound quality. he wrote it off as trying to figure out if he could hear a wrapper when someone was at the fridge, not that he wanted to hear your whining and moaning.
and by some stroke of luck you did get desperate and by a double stroke of luck you had plans that night. plans that included two large cocks filling you up so you needed to prep of course and haechan didn’t even know the show that was accidentally in store for him.
he watched on, intently as you slowly with slick fingers dipped past your tight rim. he gawked at the way you whimpered when you curled your fingers inside of you. his airpods weren’t enough somehow and he hurriedly dug through his bag for his noise canceling headphones.
when they connected he swore he could cum from the surround sound of your cries. he paid extra attention to each movement the way your voice changed or cracked when you added a finger. scissoring inside of your opening your warm walls, what he wouldn’t give to be inside of them himself.
“just a little more,” you slurred before pressing a third finger inside of you, back arching into the fullness. you were talking yourself through it whimpering and moaning, biting your lip in concentration.
he was starting to regret not exiting the library and at least hiding in a bathroom stall, now he was stuck in the back corner of the british history section on the third floor with a hard on and live porn on his phone.
but he didn’t stop or even make a move, continuing to watch you stretch yourself the audio proving to be the best investment since the cameras. each little sigh was picked up on the mic he had cleverly placed next to the couch.
it was getting hard both literally and figuratively to not whip out his cock and jerk off behind some dusty textbooks. so he pressed his hand against his crotch hissing at the contact and grinding slightly into his palm.
he tilted his head back against the wall, eyes widening and bringing his phone closer when you started pulling your fingers from your hole. your empty rim clenched, almost begging to be filled again.
“fuck,” you choked, reaching around beside you to grip your large plug pushing yourself up to grab your lube. haechan watched curiously seeing you squeeze a large amount onto the glass toy.
you wondered if the boys you were going to see would call you pretty when they bent you over and saw the pretty flower pressed into your hole stretching you out. you shivered in anticipation, fingers moving to grip the base bringing it to your rim and sinking it slowly inside. you tried to go slow but the bulb felt so good stretching you out so you thrust backwards groaning at the stretch.
haechan can hear you loud and clear and it’s going straight to his cock before he realizes he’s rutting his hips rubbing himself against his hand. watching desperately as you fuck yourself with the pretty plug.
he had gotten used to your toy collection finding you far more experimental than he ever imagined, from dildos to vibrators and wands and now plugs. he wondered what all you had in your little treasure chest hidden in your room somewhere. he began to believe all the stories he had heard considering you surprised him each time he caught you.
his brows tilt up in confusion when you slow your movements letting the plug settle between your cheeks. you're breathing slowly resting your head on the arm of the couch before you get up, grabbing the lube and going down the hall. he waits for a few seconds then a minute before you return to clean up the spot you occupied before.
you weren’t stopping right? you hadn’t even cum you always came at least once. he recalled the time you had continued holding a vibrator to your clit until you were shaking and crying unsure of how many times you had actually released but the slick puddle glistening underneath you told him enough.
he waits patiently watching his phone but you don’t reappear and his cock is hard and needy, twitching in his pants. he groans head hitting the wall behind him dropping his phone against his leg next to the outline of his dick. he tries to think of turn offs but truly he didn’t have many and whatever he thought of led him back to something that turned him on.
now he was left in the british history section with blue balls and flushed cheeks trying to decide what to do. he wondered what you were doing walking around the house still naked with a plug stretching your ass. so he did what he knew to do. text you.
evil roommate
what are you doing tonight?
he stared at his phone waiting for something, seeing your phone light up where it set on the coffee table. he watched you pick it up rolling your eyes and for some reason it made him more interested in you.
y/n
why does it matter?
he smirked at your response still peeking at the mini screen in the corner of his phone watching you sit back on the couch position oddly reminiscent of the first time he watched you. knees bent and legs spread just enough for him to view your glistening cunt and the glass base peeking out between your cheeks.
evil roommate
just wondering? maybe i have plans or something?
he waited for you to see the notification not ignoring the way your fingers danced between your legs to collect the cream spilling from your cunt.
y/n
well i won’t be home if that’s what you mean?
his eyebrow raised. if you were going to study or out with your friends you would just say that not beat around the bush. he got distracted though when your fingers circled your clit lazily. it felt more intimate for some reason. the fact that he was talking to you and watching you.
evil roommate
:( not staying cooped up in your room all night?
your fingers sped up wetness being spread around your soft pussy. you rolled your eyes wishing haechan would just shut up. you knew you couldn’t cum yet johnny had already made explicit rules but he didn’t say you couldn’t edge yourself.
y/n
i don’t want to be witness to whatever weird “plans” you have
he grinned, if only you knew. his plans consisted of watching videos of you and busting as many nuts as possible. if you weren’t home he would be able to sneak in and steal another pair of panties. he breathed deeply thinking of your smell that was so close but so far away. recalling how hard he had cum when he had stolen them before. fabric shoved in his mouth, your taste lingering on his tongue. the panties between his teeth silenced his loud whine when his eyes rolled back and legs started shaking. god he needed to stop his mind from wandering; he was just getting harder.
evil roommate
how do you know i have weird plans? when have i ever done anything weird at our house?
you stopped, lifting your sticky fingers to your mouth as you read your phone. he watched you furrow your brows and type back quickly.
y/n
when have you done anything normal? just don’t do your plans in my room i like cleanliness.
evil roommate
seriously what are you doing though
y/n
it’s none of your beeswax
evil roommate
going to meet up with johnny or yuta? or both?
his lips twitch when he sees your eyes widen when you read the message. he could read you like a book, confirming his suspicions. not only were the guys' stories most likely true but you were going to meet up with both of them to get your back blown out. haechan wanted to be a fly on whatever wall got to witness that scene. he watches you squirm and shuffle around typing and deleting and typing and deleting a response.
evil roommate
what embarrassed? cat got your tongue?
you rolled your eyes, biting your lip while you thought of a response. he was right but he didn’t need to know that. you didn’t want you sex crazed roommate having any intimate information about your sex life let alone what you did with johnny or yuta.
y/n
it’s literally none of your business if i’m seeing anyone or no one. but fyi johnny invited me over to see the movie he’s been working on for his final
that was technically true. johnny was working on a film for a final, he had been talking about it for a while. and you were going to view some sort of media he had filmed before. whether you were in it or not was none of haechan’s business. yuta also happened to be invited, johnny had been teasing the final cut of a tape he had made with you. sadly jaehyun was out of town for some away game. you were half happy and sad, happy you wouldn’t have a dick in every hole but sad you wouldn’t have a dick in every hole by the end of the night.
haechan knew what you were talking about. johnny had been filming a documentary since the beginning of the semester. he didn’t fully believe you unless you were going to do that and then get dicked down during or after.
evil roommate
okay fine just wondering what if i wanted to spend the evening with my most favorite housemate :)
you breathed out a laugh as if you were his favorite roommate. he knew he was your least favorite. you much preferred his friends being over eating your food and being loud to him just staying in his room.
y/n
yeah… you have the whole house to yourself to fuck whatever and whoever you should be happy just make sure the clean up after :)
he grinned to himself thinking of sitting in the very spot you were sitting completely naked on the couch. and he would take you up in that and fuck whatever and whoever while he was home alone. and he would watch videos of you while he did. maybe even connect his hdmi to the living room tv get your pretty pussy on the big screen.
you closed your phone, dropping it on the cushion beside you before getting up, mood ruined by haechan’s pestering. haechan watched the way your ass bounced as you walked down the hall to your room.
he closed his phone too. finally getting up grabbing his bag and stalking to the bathrooms locking the stall and finally getting the release you unknowingly withheld from him.
he paid extra attention to wake up earlier the next day despite his tiresome late night activities, and watch you come home. taking care to see any signs of hard sex, bruises, hickies, or even a limp.
but when you came home and he was sitting on the couch eating cereal he didn’t particularly notice which made him question all his conclusions from the day before. maybe you had just gone to johnny’s to watch his film and maybe u just liked wearing a butt plug around.
you didn’t talk to him when you got home heading straight for your room not even sparing him a glance as he stared at you searching for something.
he stayed on the couch for most of the day and into the evening playing tears of the kingdom to no end. not even noticing jaemin coming and going or karina complaining about some project she hasn’t started and needing to camp out at the library.
you eventually joined him in the living room giving in to his pestering to show you the new game you had been waiting to play. he talked way too much about all the new features that didn’t completely make sense but you listened anyway and watched him die by bokoblin’s.
his eyes caught sight of your neck when your shirt collar shifted seeing a bite mark hidden on your left breast. maybe his theories were correct, but his suspicions were distracting him, causing him to die once again.
his lack of skill in the new game had you laughing but also frustrated you, eventually grabbing the controllers and trying your hand but dying just as fast as he did. blaming it on his shitty weapons or lack of hearts.
“told you,” he said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair when you died once more, eyes drifting to your wrist noticing raised skin reminiscent of rope burn. thoughts wandering to what you looked like tied up.
“is this harder than breath of the wild or am i just rusty?”
“definitely both but you suck at breath of the wild too.”
“shut up!” you squealed faux throwing the controller at his head making him duck.
“wait let me show you this video.” he pulled out his phone, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “some dude used the building materials and built this walking stick man with a flamethrower for his dick.” he laughed, scrolling through his camera roll to find the video. he held the phone to your face and you watched on, laughter filling the room.
you grabbed the phone from his hand replaying the video watching the awkward wooden creation blast across the screen with a flame shooting from its lower half. your laughter faded turning into a face of confusion when you tapped the screen to rewind seeing the video thumbnails surrounding that one.
“what the fuck is this lee donghyuck!?” tapping the arrow in the corner, the screen filled with various thumbnails and many of you sitting in the very room you occupied now.
“oh not the government name,” he chuckled as he leaned forward to see what you were talking about the color draining from his face when you began playing a video, the static sound coming from his phone.
“what the actual fuck is this.” you shrieked, shoving the phone in his face and he looked like he was about to be sick. the video clip he had saved, one of you sitting in the exact chair he was sitting on, fingers drilling into yourself as you came with a cry.
“you’ve been filming me?” you were oddly calm in his opinion but his mind was racing trying to come up with something to say while his mouth was suddenly dry.
he had always fantasized about being caught during one of his escapades but that had never actually happened. and now that you were glaring at him asking him questions and his stomach was dropping to his ass.
“i asked you a question you fucking freak.”
“let me explain.”
“explain what? that you’re a fucking pervert who secretly films his roommate?” you shrill standing up and staring daggers down at him.
“i was trying to figure out who was stealing my ice cream.” he said shyly realizing how fucking stupid he sounded bringing his fingers to fiddle with the hem of his shorts.
“oh my god you fucking idiot. no one wants your fucking ice cream. you set up cameras and didn’t tell us? you know that’s illegal? are you fucking stupid or just dumb or both?” haechan peered up at you avoiding eye contact but trying to pay attention. his face felt hot and embarrassment flooded him with each passing second.
“i didn’t.” he paused, looking up at you through his lashes. “didn’t think it was a big deal since it’s like a common area. i didn’t mean to watch you but-“ he paused looking down between his legs. you laughed down at him tossing his phone on the table between the couch and chair where he sat.
“but what?” you questioned bringing your fingers to push his forehead back so he would meet your eyes. haechan was trying his hardest not to get hard knowing you could literally call the cops on him but you looked so hot glaring at him from above. he didn’t know that you were just as perverted as him, planning out how to punish him.
“i- it was an accident. the first time. really i swear.” he stared up at you, his hands raised in defense trying to make you believe him.
“then why did you save it? you were getting off to me weren’t you? fucking freak.” your words stung but went straight to his growing cock. he didn’t want to answer hoping his silence was enough.
“were you?”
“yes,” he whispered, before bringing his lips between his teeth.
“how many times?”
“i- i dunno.” he was being honest he lost track of the amount of times he had watched you. he knew it was more than 10 and probably less than 30 but he wasn’t totally sure.
“how long have you been doing it?” he tried to look away again, searching for an answer like it would appear in front of him. but you grabbed his face squeezing his cheeks in your hand making him look at you.
“maybe more than a month i - i can’t - don’t remember.” he stumbled over his words before you released his face but only to bring your hand back slapping his cheek. and he whined he fucking whined, raising his hand to rub at the reddening flesh.
“remember better then.”
“okay it was the day yang and taro came over and we ate all that pizza and you got mad at us because we spilled garlic sauce on your lit book. but we blamed taro so you wouldn’t be as mad since you like him but it was really yangyang that spilled it.” the confession came bubbling out like he was a volcano ready to erupt.
“haechan, that was over 2 months ago.” you sigh almost mocking him. “so you have been watching me everytime?” he nodded slightly.
“everytime?” you repeated.
“if i couldn’t watch it live i would save it and watch it when i could,” he confessed. something about the thought of him being so into it he would save it for later made you clench around nothing.
“did you cum too?” you could practically hear him gulp when you leaned down coming face to face with him. he didn’t answer, just attempted to avoid eye contact. “i fucking asked if you came while you watched me?”
“i couldn’t help it,” he stuttered.
“you know you’re fucking disgusting right?” you questioned bringing your hand to his face again rubbing over the red cheek before slapping it again. he hissed this time hips jumping up.
“a disgusting little pervert and you're getting off now aren’t you?” you brought your other hand to hover over his crotch before firmly gripping his length making him curse under his breath.
“you know i should call the police, the dean, file a report, get you kicked out of school at the least.” he nodded below you as you grazed his cheek with one hand and squeezed your other around his length.
“that wouldn’t be as fun though.” you smiled when you lifted a leg to straddle him. his breathing sped up when he felt you rest your warmth fully on his lap. he wanted to buck his hips into you, rut into your fist for some relief.
“i’m going to watch you now, and your little cameras in here are going to record it. then you’re going to save it and send it to me. got it?”
he nodded, his hair bouncing on his forehead before you leaned back, removing your hands from his face and clothed cock. he quickly moved his hands from his side, fiddling with his waistband to pull his cock out.
“nuhuh,” you stopped him. “i didn’t say i was gonna watch you get yourself off, did i?” he shook his head. “you think you deserve to touch yourself after that’s all you’ve been doing when you watch me?”
“i’m not going to let you have the joy of picking a toy, obviously.” you grinned, head tilting. “but what is your favorite? if you’ve been watching me i’m sure you’re familiar with them.” his eyes widen and scan the content in his mind focusing in on certain toys he’s seen you use.
“the purple one.” he says, picturing the small purple wand he had seen you many times and it always left you gushing. you raised an eyebrow, immediately knowing what toy he was talking about. you lifted yourself off of him walking around his chair and down the hall without a word.
he tried to steady his breathing and prepare himself for whatever you had in store. he was also insanely relieved you hadn’t immediately called the police to report him. he heard your door open and shut and your feet pat down the hall and behind him.
he gasped when he felt a cool medal on his right wrist, he turned quickly eyes shaking just as you closed a cuff around his wrist. he just stared as you yanked his other arm over his head and tightened the other cuff around it, securing his hands together before letting his arms fall in front of him and land on his lap.
he’d been cuffed before usually at his own volition or with this guy from his biochem class but that fizzled out a year or more ago. never by a hot girl like you who was about to punish him. you finally stood in front of him, light purple wand in one hand.
“your perverted little mind is probably running a mile a minute.” you were right he wanted to know what you were going to do to him, if his camera was getting all of this.
“stand up.” he tried to as quick as he could but his legs wobbled but he did it. you faced him and grabbed the chain that connected his hands pulling him to the couch where you had been sitting before releasing him and tugging his shorts down in one swift movement. he hissed when his cock made contact with the cool air and slapped the chain that connected his wrists.
“aww aren’t you cute,” you lilted, kneeling in front of him staring at his leaking cock before flicking the head with your finger making him jerk forward. he didn’t have a chance to regain balance before you pushed him back on the couch with a thud. he squirmed on the leather seat cock bobbing between his legs precum beading at the slit.
“you really are a freak,” you smiled, lifting the toy admiring the familiar ridges that left you quivering. you held it beside his own cock admiring aching member. haechan’s cock was what you would call pretty, plush red tip, subtle veining, not too long and just slightly thicker than average. it seemed to hang heavy between his supple thighs.
“why do you like this one?” you ask, tilting your head curiously looking at him from between his legs. he’d dreamt of you between his legs but not while he was handcuffed and you were scolding him, more of you between his legs choking on his cock.
“uh, i, you,” he paused, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. “you, i watched you use it.”
“oh really? of course you have. what haven’t you seen at this point.” you roll your eyes flicking your wrist to tap against his lower stomach with the tip of the toy to bring his attention back to you.
“you, you looked so hot. you always look hot, but you use this one so much,” he whispered. his words made heat pool between your legs. the idea of him watching you cum over and over, none the wiser to his viewing. if you had known you might have been more deliberate with your actions.
“did you like that? did watching me get you all hard?” you cooed bringing your fingers to circle the head of his cock collecting the precum spreading it around. he hummed staring down at the movement between his legs. “i bet you came in your pants like a stupid bitch.” your words were shooting to his cock, twitching when before you flicked the head again making his legs shake.
“i loved it. i love it.” he whimpered.
“how’d you touch yourself?” you cocked a brow at him waiting for his response. you’d never gotten off on dominating someone always preferring to be the one getting dominated, but you could feel your panties dampening with each reaction, sound, and bob of his cock.
“i was at work.” he started licking his lips. “i uh, it wasn’t busy. i went to the employee bathrooms. you were still, you weren’t using it yet. you were sitting here and fingering yourself. your pussy was so wet, i wanted to taste you so bad.” he paused again taking a breath. “put my phone on the sink so i could watch you but then i kept seeing myself in the mirror. watched you and watched myself when i came. came so hard watching you. fucking pussy was so wet you were fucking dripping. wanted to be in you. came so hard and so much, made a mess. got in trouble for being gone for so long but it was worth it.” he finished finally making eye contact with you.
you hoped he didn’t notice how turned on he was making you. the way he spoke about you in such a filthy way. you didn’t see haechan, your obnoxious annoying roommate in front of you, but donghyuck, the loser you met your first year who was awkward and shy and not so secretly harboring a perverted feelings for you.
“you are fucking pathetic.” you raised your voice using the toy that was still in your hand to tap along his clothed stomach and up his chest. he keened when the toy brushed his nipples through the fabric of his sweatshirt.
he knew you knew about how sensitive his nipples were. it was just common knowledge in your circle everyone picked on haechan for it, pinching and tweaking his nipples to make him scream. no one knew that it made his cock hard though, of course now you would know.
“i am,” he confirmed, biting his lip when you laughed at his squirming.
“at least you’re aware.” you paused, dropping the toy in the his lap and bringing your fingers to unzip his sweatshirt. he was glad he didn’t wear anything beneath offering you easy access to his nipples. he whined when your skin finally met his, the teasing touches felt like electricity sparking on his chest.
“i’m so fucking pathetic,” he groaned when you tweaked his nipples, pinching the buds between your soft fingers, nails pressing into the pebbled skin. you laughed tauntingly at him, something about the way he called himself pathetic was so hot.
“i bet you’re glad i caught you, right? you were waiting and hoping for it. this is all your perverted little fantasies coming true. you should be thanking me.” there was spit pooling in his mouth, he felt dumb already, with how you were looking up at him an evil glint in your eyes and a teasing lilt in your tone.
“thank you, fuck.” he paused when you let your hand roam lower, one staying on his left nipple the other tickling lightly over his stomach. “thank you so much.”
you grabbed the toy again pressing the well worn button the sound of vibrations filled the space between you and haechan’s eyes widened. you moved the toy to tap against his nipple making him keen and fold into himself whines sliding up his throat.
“you’re so sensitive,” you coo at his reaction. switching the toy swiftly to the neglected nipple, making him squirm. you could help but laugh at how pathetic he looked squirming in front of you begging to stop but also asking for more his cock was throbbing precum slipping out with each pulse.
“it’s - fuck- ‘s too much,” he mewled pitifully, legs quivering.
“aww sorry, is it too much for you,” you teased lifting the toy from his nipple as he nodded.
“maybe this will help,” you offered, upping the vibrations before bringing the buzzing device between his legs touching the head of his cock. his eyes flew open as he groaned and writhed.
“please, y/n, oh god,” he strained the veins in his neck and lower stomach appearing under his skin.
“please what?” his hands were trying to separate but the chain didn’t let them so he opened and closed his fists tightly fully overwhelmed.
“i’m gonna cum oh god,” he cried, jerking his hips to rub against the buzzing toy.
“we can’t have that, can we,” you teased, pulling the toy away swiftly, making him whimper.
“please.” he sounded like he was sobbing now as his head hung down.
“do you really think it would be that easy?” you asked bringing the still buzzing toy back to his nipples his stomach tensed warm pleasure flooding him again.
“i’m sorry, fuck, so sorry,” he cried, bucking his hips up off the couch. you smirked at him turning up the toy again with a simple click. “please don’t i’ll cum.”
“you’ll cum just from your nipples?” your curiosity might just get the best of you when he nodded weakly.
“no way,” you teased excitedly, eager to see if he was telling the truth. you used your other hand to squeeze and pinch the untouched bud.
“can’t take it,” he whimpered, giving up to the tightening in his stomach so close to letting go.
“cum then, little pervert,” that was all he needed, the degrading name going straight to unravel the knot in his stomach. his hips jerked hot cum spurting out of his cock as you looked on in awe. his body was hot and buzzing, cum painting his chest.
“good boy.” you smiled, pulling the toy away and turning it off dropping it somewhere beside him. you dipped your fingers over his stomach collecting his cum before smearing it on his cheeks. he stuck his tongue out chasing your fingers. you scoffed slapping your sticky hand across his messy cheek.
“fuck,” he whimpered as you stood up in front of him, reaching to pat his head and brush the hair from his face. you didn’t realize how sweaty he had gotten, strands of hair sticking to his skin and his glasses were slightly foggy as he was catching his breath.
“i’m still not done with you. wouldn’t it be so much fun to just leave you sitting here cock out, cum on your chest, and handcuffed. your little camera, wherever it is, to record you.” his eyes went wide, shaking his head furiously.
“no no no what if jaemin or karina come home. no please,” he begged, whimpering up at you.
“then they would point and laugh at you, but you would like that too fucking perv.” you lifted your hands to pull your own shirt over your head seeing the boys’ adam’s apple bob as he made eye contact with your tits.
“fuck me,” he murmured, eyeing the bite marks that littered your chest.
“isn’t it better to see the real thing, in person? not through your shitty camera.” you told him as your own fingers now touched your nipples pulling and tugging at the buds. you felt more excited watching his reaction the way his eyes scanned as you toyed with your tits.
“so much fucking better.” he confirmed but you didn’t really need him to. his hands opened and closed almost trying to reach out for you.
“where is your little camera anyways?” you said turning around looking around the room.
“on the dvd shelf,” he says, hanging his head. you walked over to the shelf looking between dusty cd and dvd cases. “it’s with the old psp games.” he looked back up, gawking at the site of your bare back, marks from someone or multiple someone’s teeth littered your shoulders and neck along with a mark he again assumed was rope burn that went around your shoulders and disappeared at your back.
“aha,” you sounded, finally finding the small camera in the corner of the dark shelf. “as if you weren’t trying to be sneaky.” you laughed waving at the camera. you turned back around to face him but you didn’t move back towards him.
“i’m sorry,” he offered again.
“oh you will be. this camera is going to get the best view of me ruining you,” he groaned in response leaning back against the couch. you stalked back over to him and he looked back up at you.
“i think i’ve decided what else to do with you and you can tell me your color. i know you’re into this but i’m not as much of a perv as you and i value consent.” you brought your hands to your hips as he nodded up at you. “got it?”
“yes. i’m so green right now.”
“umhuh.” you slipped your hands beneath your waistband slipping your shorts down and letting them pool at your ankles. haechan wanted to cry not from anything other than how hot you were like your body was sculpted by michelangelo. the real thing was so much better than the cameras.
“eyes up here hyuck,” the endearing nickname slipping for your mouth and settling somewhere in haechan’s tummy filling him with warmth as he looked back up into your eyes.
“sorry you’re just so pretty,” he gulped.
“i know.” you laughed, stepping forward between his legs. “i don’t think you really deserve any of this for how disgusting you are. but at the same time i think you should stop fantasizing and get the real thing once right?” he nodded harshly, hair bobbing around his face. you brought one leg up, resting a foot on the arm of the couch fully trapping him with your cunt on display. his mouth was watering, your wetness glistening right in front of him he could practically taste you.
“you’re not even listening.” you tutted, bringing your hand between your legs a site he was all too familiar with. you dipped your fingers between your lips collecting an obscene amount of slick with your fingers before pulling them away. you leaned in front of haechan bringing your soaked fingers to shove between his lips. he moaned around your fingers not breaking eye contact as his tongue swirled around your creamy digits.
“this will help you focus, right?” you questioned, he nodded humming around your fingers. you moved your leg again this time bending to settle on his thighs again you could feel the heat radiating off of him as your skin pressed to his. his cock was just a few centimeters from being pressed against your own stomach.
“i’m going to ride you, and you’re going to like it, right?" he nodded, moaning again in response as your fingers fucked into his mouth. “and you’re going to make me cum. but you don’t cum until i say so.” he whimpered but bobbed his head anyway.
“good boy,” you praised, pulling your fingers from his mouth, spit spilling from his lips. you didn’t clean your hand bringing the slippery digits to caress his cheek mixing with his cum.
you leaned over grabbing the toy you had teased him with earlier before slipping off his lap and settling beside him. he watched intently the way you laid back against the opposite arm of the couch and spread your legs just for him. he turned his body fully peering between your legs, cunt glistening and fluttering.
“i didn’t say to move,” you said sternly, bringing a foot to press against his shoulder and push him back into his place before letting your leg drape over his. he neck craned to get the best view of your pussy.
you brought the toy between your legs sliding it over your clit circling the raised nub. you relaxed into the feeling staring at haechan who was staring between your legs, finally getting a front row seat to his favorite show.
“you’re drooling.” you taunt, and he brings his connected hands to wipe at the skin around his mouth just rubbing the spit around rather than removing it.
you turned on the toy, the vibrations immediately overtaking you, the buzz spreading in your lower stomach. you whined pulling your lip between your teeth flicking your wrist pleasure washing over you. you swirled the toy as pressure built in your stomach.
“you’re so fucking hot,” haechan mumbled, glancing up to see your face twist in pleasure. you watched him swipe his tongue over his lips and visibly gulp seeing the cream already dripping from between your legs.
you reached up grabbing his hair and pulled him to you kissing him harshly, it didn’t take him long to collect himself moving his lips against yours. his hands fumbled trying to rest them around you but just tugging against each other. you continued pressing the toy between your legs whimpering against his mouth.
he moaned into you when you slipped your tongue into his mouth. he tasted like those stupid double vanilla yogurt bars he loved so much.
you pulled him away spit connecting your mouths as his tongue lapped up as if reaching for you. you turned off the toy tossing it beside you, gripping his hair tighter and tugging him between your legs.
“use your tongue,” you whispered and he didn’t need another word, tongue sliding over your clit. kitten licking at your most sensitive spot, you tasted better than he could have imagined, still reminiscent of the taste of your panties but double or tripled or whatever.
he leaned in deeper feeling the tug on his scalp as he lapped at your hole feeling it flutter against his wet muscle. his tongue explored every spot it could touch sucking and drinking you up. he couldn’t hear you whining from the wet smacking his mouth was making as he ate you like his final meal.
he felt your hand pull his hair harder and your thighs shiver around his head, squeezing his glasses frame into his cheeks. he recognized the shiver as an indicator you were close so he went harder, suctioning his mouth around your clit and flicking his tongue over the bud. he was grinding down against the couch awkwardly cock already hard again grunting into your cunt.
your eyes rolled back as you came against his face, hips bucking, riding out your orgasm. he didn’t stop until you physically pulled him away, chin shiny and lips pulled in a shy smile.
“you taste so fucking good,” he looked up at you, leaning in again to lick one more long strip collecting as much slick as he could. you let go of his hair laying back to catch your breath and he stayed between your legs.
suddenly realizing how badly his wrists hurt pressed into the couch awkwardly beneath him. he sat up, eyes not leaving you, wanting so desperately to grab your hips and fuck his cock into your cunt.
finally opening your eyes looking up at him, heat in your cheeks and his hair was disheveled, glasses slipping down his nose. he was licking over his lips swiping his sleeve over his chin.
you sat back up and straddled him again before lifting up to your knees bringing a hand between the both of you grabbing his length and pressing it to your slippery entrance.
“holy fuck,” haechan groaned, staring down watching his cock slide between your folds. he could cum again just from this but he was determined to feel you wrapped around him. he felt dizzy with each swirl of your hips, your clit was swollen and puffy against his plush head.
“i’ve barely done anything,” you laughed, hearing him let out a strangled gasp when you sat down in one fluid motion. you sighed feeling so full all at once and his cock was so perfect filling you up completely.
“you’re fucking, holy shit, y/n.” he whined, hands grabbing for you but the chain stopping him from being able to hold your skin. he was squirming beneath you head shaking back and forth eyes closed, lashes fluttering on his cheeks. “fucking tight.”
“i know, hyuck,” you said, squeezing around him using it as punctuation. you lifted your hips finally moving, letting his cock slide inside of you perfectly. he looked a mess in front of you sweat trailing down his exposed chest and hair scruffy.
your hands slide under his sleeves pushing them down before gripping his shoulders using him for leverage bringing your hips up before slamming back down. his breath was hot and heavy as he leaned up and nuzzled into your chest. his tongue hung out of his mouth like a puppy panting and begging.
releasing one of his shoulders you reached between you both, yanking the chain that connected his hands pulling on it to lift his hands above his head and push them against the wall pressing into his chest. he looked up at you needy and desperate fists clenching in the air.
“keep them up,” you commanded, and he could only nod up at you, keeping his arms in place over his hand. this gave you more room to swivel your hips above him.
“good boy, you feel so good, hyuckie,” you mewled, grinding down on him, clit pressing into his hips. he whimpered at the nickname head lulling back into your chest with a cry. his tongue stuck out again leaving wet strips against your skin he was murmuring against you but you couldn’t tell what he was saying.
his hips were thrusting upwards, meeting your every move. his hands felt heavy above his head and he urged, to bring them around you trapping you against him but he wasn’t going to break another rule.
“feel so good. wanna fuck you,” he mouthed against your breast tongue searching for your nipple.
“you are fucking me,” you breathed, threading a hand through his hair, the head of his cock pressing perfectly deep inside of you.
“no i- i know,” he paused, slurping lewdly sucking your nipple into his mouth making you gasp. “i want to fuck you.” he repeated his words came out garbled as his tongue swirled around the bud. he looked up at you mischievously batting his lashes.
“i’m not uncuffing you if that's what you think.” you said sternly gripping his locks and pulling his head from your chest to look down at him while your hips were bucking erratically on top of him.
“hurts.”
“good,” you replied with a smile that was quickly replaced with an open mouthed gasp and a tighter grip on his hair. he thrusted up into you, filling you to the brim, your walls squeezing his cock.
“can i please? been fucking dreaming of your cunt.” he leaned back resting his arms on his head for some relief. “i mean literally,” he paused with a groan eyes moving down from your sticky chest to his cock disappearing into your cunt. “having wet fucking dreams like a loser.”
“you are a loser and a filthy pervert. dreaming about your roommate who you’ve been peeping on it’s fucking disgusting.” he reeled at your words shooting to his cock, squeezing his eyes together fending off the urge to release hot cum inside your tight hole like he had dreamed.
“tell me your dream.” his eyes opened glazed over with lust and desire looking at you, cheeks red and glasses fully fogged hiding the dilation of his pupils.
“had you, in my bed.” he paused when you rocked particularly hard against him. “laid down all pretty. fucking sexy, was fucking you so good. you kept crying and crying and wanting more. shit- fucked my cum into your cunt.” his words went straight between your legs stomach tightening as you clenched around his cock before you brought your fingers from his hair to his chest and already to his abused nipples.
“fuck oh my god you’re gonna make me cum,” he cried hands falling from his head to push against your stomach trying to stop you.
“you gonna fuck your cum into my cunt?” you teased feeling your own orgasm rushing towards you. he nodded squirming at the feeling doing everything he could to stop himself. but your warm tight heat was sucking him in like a vice, he wanted so badly to bend you over ass up and fuck his cum deep into your cunt until you were full and dripping.
“then do it,” you demanded. he stared at you as if asking for permission eyes glinting up at you with need when you nodded back at him. he wasted no time, his arms moved up and over you trapping you against his sweaty chest, hands splaying over your back and moving down to try and grip at your ass, as his hips sped up beneath you. the new angle allowing him to fill you up deeper, cock hitting you perfectly. skin smacking together moaning in unison as he pounded into you.
“i’m gonna cum, hyuck,” you whined, eyes closed as he stared up at you with determination.
“cum on my cock, fuck. gonna fill you up,” he groaned, his tongue licked against your chest again driving you over the edge with a cry and shaking legs.
“holy shit,” you mewled, letting the pleasure overtake you, grinding down on his hips in return.
“fuck you’re so fucking tight,” he whined, suddenly you not only wanted him to cum but you needed him to. bringing your fingers from his shoulders to tap your fingers down his chest and pinch at his nipples.
“fuck, y/n,” hot breath hitting your neck as he groaned. you were dancing on the edge of over sensitivity.
“cum for me, fill my cunt up, please hyuckie,” you whined, he responded with a moan and jerk of his hips letting his hot cum shoot deep inside of you.
he continued thrusting into you looking down at the white ring forming around the base of his cock as you tried to push at his hips to stop him but he had you pressed against himself.
“don’t wanna fucking stop, shit,” he groaned as his hips finally slowed the overstimulation spreading down his own body making his toes curl and legs shake.
you fell against him, head tucking into his neck as you caught your breath. his hands smoothed over your back relaxing you.
“gimme your hands,” you finally said breaking the silence and he lifted his arms from around you bringing them between you both.
“you take the cameras down tomorrow,” you said sternly and he nodded. you grabbed his hands pressing a button on one cuff to unlock it before doing the other. once his hands were free he brought them back around you, grabbing your ass like he had been wishing to do before lifting you up.
“shh, let me,” he answered before you could protest. he laid you back against the couch before pulling out staring between your legs watching his cum slide out. he leaned down face to face with your cunt again. his fingers spreading your pussy as he leaned in to lap his own cum from your cunt. you gawked at him watching him lewdly slurp your pussy collecting every drop of your combined juices.
“you really are disgusting,” he just smirked up at you from between your legs. not moving as he let his tongue roam your cunt again.
“nope,” you said pushing a hand against his head already feeling overstimulated. but he didn’t really care you tasted so good and looked so good from where he sat.
“hyuck, ‘m sensitive,” you whimpered, protests going unnoticed as you squirmed and pulled on his hair.
“just taste so good,” he mumbled, hands reaching to grab your thighs he so desperately wanted to grip earlier. he felt unrestricted this time hands kneading your skin feeling the goosebumps rise.
“too much,” you whined when he suckled your clit into his mouth. he tried to hold back a smile peaking up at you through his frames, eyes shut tight, lip pulled between your teeth, pretty face twisted in pleasure.
he couldn’t get enough lapping at your hole still tasting himself mixing with you. just reaffirming that he had really fucked you it wasn’t some fever dream. he fucked you and made you cum twice and came in your pretty pussy.
“so fucking good. just stay still,” he groaned into you vibrating against your cunt making your legs shake around him.
“so hard, ‘s too much, hyuck,” you whimpered, your other hand had moved up to grip your breast while the other stayed pulling at his locks.
“just one more, baby,” he smiled, leaning back to admire the way your cunt was gushing all over again before settling back placing kisses over your lips and clit. he moved one of the hands holding you down rest just above the action where he was fucking his tongue into you. his fingers swirled over your clit making you whine.
“sound so pretty. even better in person,” he chuckled, the pleasure was bubbling in your stomach all over again.
he watched you shiver knowing you were close he moved his fingers and suctioned his mouth around your clit flicking his tongue over the swollen bud listening to your whine and whimper was music to his ears.
“cum,” he said releasing for a moment before diving back between your legs slurping at your cunt. you couldn’t hold it back legs shivering around his face again, crying into your palm as you came.
“good girl,” he said between licks, he finally pulled away when the tugging on his hair got to be too much. you laid there catching your breath staring up at the ceiling.
“you’re pussy is like the most perfect creation, swear to god,” he said rather seriously taking you from your empty day dream to look over at him admiring the space between your legs. he glanced up at you making quick eye contact before watching your still fluttering hole. your head felt full and foggy but also empty and numb.
“would you sit on my face.”
“no more,” you said sitting up to push him off.
“maybe like tomorrow,” he asked with a smirk.
“shut up,” you groaned moving your legs from around him and rolling off the couch. wobbling on your feet he lifted a hand to slap your ass playfully, you whined cuffs in one hand and toy in the other before walking down the hall. he watched you patter to your room listening for the door.
“wanna play more zelda,” he called when he got off the couch, legs equally as shaky.
“yeah in like thirty minutes,” you called back making him smile.
before long you were both back together on the couch, cleaned up and somewhat put together sitting beside each other sharing his double vanilla yogurt ice cream and bickering back and forth about the gameplay.
“can i put one in your room?” haechan asked when the conversation had lulled. you sat up staring daggers into him.
“have you learned nothing?”
“if i say no will you do that again?” he smirked over at you.
“god you really are sick in the head.”
“i love it when you’re mean to me,” he said, tilting his head to tease you.
“probably a little too much don’t you think?” you asked, rolling your eyes and leaning back.
“a normal amount for a perverted fuck like me,” you laughed at him eyes drifting back to the screen when he unpaused and started to play again. the room was somewhat quiet until he offered you tips and tried to tell you what he was doing in the game.
your mind was drifting similarly to the way his did earlier. the idea of having him watch you but knowing this time was arousing all over again. you thought to the camera that was still in the room that had recorded the two of you fucking not even an hour earlier. you wondered what it would be like if there was a camera in his room that you could watch. catching him jerking off at his desk or humping his pillow or having a wet dream about god knows what.
“you can put one in my room but only if i get to put one in your room,” his jaw dropped, not expecting you to agree and add delicious stipulations.
“are you fucking serious,” he said, as link fell from a sky island to his death.
“yes, but don’t be weird about it. we’re not making this weird,” you said gesturing between the two of you and whatever this relationship was. “also no watching if there’s someone else involved.”
“deal,” he raised his hand for a shake of agreement, he tried to seem casual but his mind was running a marathon at all the prospects.
“since you’re being so generous, will you tell me who’s been eating my ice cream?” he said tipping the popsicle stick to you, you laughed over at him.
“shotaro.” you responded with a glint in your eyes.
Cool night air brushes across your cheeks as you set foot on the roof, eyes already scanning your surroundings in the hopes of finding what you’re looking for here. Of course, it doesn’t take much — Hongjoong is a hard man to miss unless the government officials are looking for him, in which case he has an uncanny ability to make himself totally invisible in a crowd.
There are no crowds up here though; just you, him, and the night to keep you company.
You see him clearly across the stretch of roof that’s accentuated by gaudy neon signs and other electrical components that keep the bar below powered.
“Closed up shop for the night,” you offer as a means of greeting the man. He’s donned his usual dramatic regalia tonight as well, complete with the patterned bandana pulled up over his nose and the ridiculous cowboy hat he fetched out of a dumpster several months back. It matches the vibe of the bar, he had told you and Mingi. While you weren’t on board, Mingi was more than a little eager to pull together a similar outfit for himself. “Everyone else went home.”
protected sex (hinting of non protective at the end), both reader and mark are very stubborn, slight (smallest hint) of humiliation play, switch! mark & reader, sexual tension, mentions of mark packing heat, bratty mark & reader
"i always knew you wanted me.."
he chuckled looking up at you with his signature cocky smirk, you couldn't help but scoff disgustingly. "i'd say the same about you, your dick is literally poking into my thigh.." you bit back hearing him laugh at your accusation. "well at least i'm not denying it.. shit i get off at the thought of fucking my own worst enemy.." he kissed down the valley of your breast groping onto the soft flesh that rested in the palm of his hand, letting your erected nipples roll in between his fingers as he left a trail of kisses to the other before latching his mouth down onto it feeling his tongue swirl around your nipple as his lips covered your areola.
he sucked on to you softly as he grazed you over his teeth making you moan lightly you hated that you were in this position with him, feeling your hatred for him grow deeper the more and more he made you feel good. the effect he had on you was something you shouldn't be feeling, feeling mushy all over in the hands of mark lee your number one hater? yuck.
the stimulation from both nipples sent shock waves of pleasure to your cunt feeling yourself drip in your panties that you knew were spoiled by now, wanting to shut your legs to rub your thighs together to get any form of friction where you craved it the most. he moaned into your soft flesh as he removed his mouth from around you with his doe eyes staring into yours taking in your facial features carefully.
"i bet you're so wet right now.." he smirked as he saw how your cheeks became rosy, taking your silence as an answer he parted his mouth to lick over your nipple at such ease watching you bite your lip feeling frustrated by the lack of touching elsewhere. "if you want more.. beg."
he spoke nonchalantly as he switched boobs repeating the same action to the other with your back arching slightly to feel his tongue pressed up against your nipple, ready to be sucked and licked by the male. "fuck off.." you panted feeling him laugh against the mound of your breast, using his other hand to pinch your nipple making you gasp slightly as he tugged on it.
"fuck off?" he said with such attitude looking up at you with his brows raised, letting go of your nipples with such force watching them jiggle against your chest. he let out a sigh removing himself from your body per request making you rise from your back to look up at him with a confused expression. "where the fuck are you going? you can't be serious right now.."
"oh i'm dead serious, you can't even drop the bitchy attitude for two seconds.. two fucking seconds.." he snapped back holding up two fingers feeling himself get riled up even more as he looked at your face filled with such frustration. “all you have to do is beg, is it really that hard?" of fucking course it was "that" hard, begging wasn't something you'd ever do for anyone- and you sure as hell weren't gonna start with mark. you felt your blood boil at the thought of him having the audacity to even tell you to do such a thing, you were fuming. you felt yourself growing hot with anger, seeing how he looked down at you never wiping that same annoying smirk off of his face, breaking into a smile at how worked up you had gotten over his request.
"what? oh- you thought i was just gonna fuck you? let you have it so easily?" he laughed in your face watching how your mouth formed into a thin line letting your anger get the best of you. "aw come on princess i know you want me.." he taunted reaching to whisper in your ear, "just need to hear you say it."
he mumbled on your skin with his lips now attached to your neck placing soft kisses on your skin, letting them linger. feeling you swallow your saliva he let his teeth come into play as he nibbled against your neck; you had too much pride for this, to even be put in a situation like this you wanted to cct out violently.. but he was right, you did need him. you needed him oh so badly, being so hot and bothered by the aftermath of his teasing there was no denying how much you needed his assistance.
"mark.." you mumbled feeling him hum against you in response to you calling out his name, proceeding to kiss you so gently with the sounds of it filling your ears riling up your body up with more and more desperation. you were gonna get him back for this for sure. "what is it, princess? need something?"
"i.. i need you to fuck me.. please.." you sighed gritting through your teeth at such obscene words you never thought you'd ever say to him. feeling him smile as he pulled away to face you, his wide toothy smile decorating his face as you rolled your eyes hearing him chuckle in victory. "it could be better but i'll let it slide cause my dick is aching." he critiqued as you shook your head falling back onto your elbows to watch the male undress himself, focusing on unbuckling his belt with the noise of metal clashing together filling your ears.
"i hope this will be worth the begging.." your snarky reply made the male snort, hearing his zipper unzip as he worked himself out of his jeans wearing nothing but his boxers and a baggy t-shirt.
"if that's even what you call begging.." he hovered over you as you spread your legs apart shifting his way between them, letting your eyes land on his bulge hidden behind the material as his eyes landed on the dampness of your flimsy panties. deep down as much as you hated his guts you always fantasized how it would be to have sex with him, how it would feel to have his dick in you fucking you ruthlessly so much denial when it came to him you found yourself yearning for him in ways like this.. hating him so much you wanted him to do anything to you.
"you'll be coming back for more by tomorrow babe.."
"just hurry up and fuck me already."
he rolled his eyes with an irritated sigh hooking his fingers around the elastic band of your panties, pulling them off with no care watching them slide down your legs that rose slightly to kick them off your ankles giving him a perfect view of yourself unintentionally. "fuck princess.. so fucking wet and you were gonna be a brat and suffer the consequences.." he started as he stared you down licking his lips with his brows raised in disbelief, on the other hand, he was amused by it. "shut up." your voice was small falling deep into his lustful gaze that racked your body, in awe over you.
"condom?" he cleared his throat looking up at you as you shifted to one arm reaching towards the drawer placed beside your nightstand, pulling it open, and reaching inside for the individual square package. he worked himself out of his shirt tossing it off to the side along with his boxers leaving the two of you bare- completely naked for each other, it had to be something straight out of your deep dark imagination; so unreal it all felt so dream-like. "here." you said handing it to him once you pulled it out of the drawer and hearing him mumble a small 'thank you' before tearing it open with his teeth. it was funny you thought, how much you fucking despised each other going out of your own ways to bring one another down leading to constant arguments that made no sense whatsoever, completely forgetting why you guys even started arguing in the first place but not one of you dared to back down, fighting hard to get the last word in.. now here you were, about to get fucked by your own worst enemy. saying “thank you” as you hand him a condom he’s about to use for you. crazy.
"i-i know you probably think i don't care... but um, let me know if you need me to stop or something okay?" he held onto the base of his cock as you felt your nerves somewhat subsiding by his words. taking in his size you weren't all too positive that he'd even get his tip in with the thickness he held, your heart beating and palms sweating you had to stop yourself from letting out a nervous chuckle— this newfound feeling was annoying you, not even trusting your ability to speak you simply nodded a clear 'yes' motion.
"no, i need to hear you say 'okay' if you want to continue."
"okay mark."
"thank you."
flashing a smile sarcastically as he pumped his cock over the slippery base of the condom that he rolled onto himself, looking down at your cunt he couldn't help but stare no his eyes weren't enough, he had to touch. seeing how pretty your pussy cried for him, could you blame him for even having the drive to? he reached to place his hand down on your pelvis, letting his thumb run in between your slit to brush over your clit making you gasp at the smallest bit of friction. you looked down at his hand laying above your cunt with his thumb pleasuring you agonizingly slow, he didn't dare look away from you watching as your chest heaved with your lip tucked in your mouth and hips stuttering; so sensitive he found it all too cute.
he aligned himself with your opening continuing to let his thumb rub over your soft swollen nub whilst pushing himself into you slowly with his brows furrowed as he focused on your pussy pulling him in for more. the unfamiliar tightness wrapped around him given by you made his mind go wild, your small whines and moans from the stretch along with him stimulating your clit letting you soak in the mix of pleasure and pain. "f-fuck, if you weren't such a bitch i'd happily fuck you every day.." he groaned pushing himself in deeper and deeper. "as if i-i'd let you.."
"you are now aren't you?" (point taken) he chuckled as he felt himself bottoming out inside of you letting out a throaty groan as his hips met with your skin, his thumb halting as he placed both of his hands on your hips, gripping onto the flesh as he felt you clench onto him lightly earning a hiss from the boy. "i-i can't hold back anymore fuck i need it, i need you.."he began rolling his hips into you feeling the smallest glide of his cock shifting into you. it felt so good dismissing the fact that it was mark doing this to you, filling you up perfectly you also reached his level of neediness pushing yourself down lower to meet with him moaning at how deep he was inside of you.
"fuck yourself on my cock princess.." he sighed, princess.. could you get used to that?
feeling you move along his stiffened dick, hearing how he moved in and out of your tight wetness with you letting out moans of satisfaction. you complied with no problem, no bitching, no remarks.. he liked you better this way so obedient— but that "bitchy attitude" though? how much of a brat you were towards him got him worked up in so many ways, so angry he'd only wish to fuck it out of you to fully break you. maybe some other time?
"that's it baby fuck, you feel so good..doing so good"
"mark please.."
you shuddered as he kept his tight grip on your waist as he met your movements. "k-keep begging for me.." he panted as his eyes closed tightly drowned in you and all that you gave him. hearing his voice on the verge of breaking as he let out nosily groans and hisses it was such a different atmosphere, feeling like two completely different people from who you were on the daily made your stomach do flips looking up at his tensed figure between your legs. "fuck me please mark, i c-can't wanna be fucked by you.." you cried as he whimpered at your words feeling your plead striking straight down to his dick that twitched inside of you, so fucking turned on he couldn't take it anymore.
he began fully thrusting into you roughly with your bed frame hitting against the wall harshly, your back arching at the desired feeling he couldn't stand it. "look me in the eyes and tell me you want me.." he muttered reaching for your arms, placing them above your head only being given the view of his face and feeling his lips touch yours softly, "fucking tell me.." he spoke roughly as his sharp and hard thrusting never came to a halt building up more all while watching you closely, hearing how you choked on your moans trying to keep eye contact with the male's dark lustful eyes. "i want your mark! only you" he reached to kiss you which you quickly accepted, the pair of lips on yours felt so different so foreign that you couldn't help but crave more.
reaching to kiss him even more with him smirking against you, you parted your mouth with his tongue slipping past to kiss you properly just how you deserved. it was sloppy, moans being swallowed up by each other with his grip still keeping your arms above your head with one hand and the other reaching down to get another feel of you.
"fuck i love what you're doing to me.. feels so good.." he mumbled on your lips as you squealed that the stimulation he gave your clit, repeatedly abusing your spongy walls with his tip kissing your cervix at every thrust you felt yourself trembling with goosebumps rising on your skin once more.
"mark!" you whined falling in the pits of ecstasy, he enjoyed it- he was enjoying how much of a mess he was making out of you he definitely felt like the top dog right now. "mm, you like that? you keep c-clenching onto me, it's driving me insane.."
the lewd sounds of skin slapping and bed rocking with sinful moans coming from the two of you as he rubbed you vigorously meeting with his thrust watching how his arms flexed as he worked your clit, his built and toned body making you gawk shamelessly.. never ever admitting it out loud, you found him so fucking attractive. "c-close.." you whined feeling his body heat radiating onto yours, wishing he'd let you go so you could touch him, to bring him close to you. "please, please mark- kiss me again please.." of course, he listened already knowing his lips felt as lonely as yours he wasted no time in kissing you just how you begged him to.
he felt how you clench around him harder with your senses telling you your orgasm was approaching and ready to let go with or without you, he rubbed and fucked you faster with you squealing loudly directly into his mouth you trembled with your orgasm coming to roll past you. "f-fuck!" you muffled into his mouth as you came around his cock, the contractions making him moan along with you as he was close to his himself, milking your high while reaching his you haven't felt this good in so long, so damn long and of course, it had to be by the works of mark fucking lee out of all people..not complaining though if we're being dreadfully honest. shh it’s a secret.
"y-you feel so good.. shit!" he hissed feeling his orgasm buildup faster than ever, all his fantasies of this being fresh on his mind sending him into overdrive finally having you, feeling you, kissing you, fucking you. "fuck fuck fuck.." his body stilled as his thrust became inconsistent, shooting his white ropes of cum into the condom, balls tensing as his dick contracted to spurt out his cum from his delicious orgasm. his pants and whimpers became more consistent as he proceeded to thrust into you finishing himself off before becoming to a full stop with your room now falling silent of any noise besides the breathing from such a workout that aimed to make the two of you reach pure relaxation in the end.
"fuuuck do you wanna keep going?" he panted as he looked into your eyes that focused on him, smirking as he saw your smile grow feeling him resting inside of you still hard and excited as if he didn't cum just a few seconds ago. "are you always this horny?" you playfully rolled your eyes as he shrugged not caring that he was still hard and ready for more. "i could go all night if you wanted me to."
"oh yeah?" you smirked as he nodded eyeing both your eyes and lips, "we can go again.." you reached for his lips that you ghosted lightly, "but this time, take the condom off.. i wanna feel you, all of you." you didn't miss the way his eyes widened at your request, instantly removing himself from above you to pull himself out gently feeling all too trigger- happy to remove the used condom from around his cock.
"i really feel like your starting to like me now could be my delusion but still.."
"don't get it twisted mark lee it’s definitely the delusions."
SYNOPSIS. You and Johnny have been academic rivals since the day you first met. Top Two on the Dean’s List for your university’s English Department, it was hard to tell who claimed the number one spot on the list. You always butted heads, whether it was over who led the discussion in a course lecture, who got a higher grade on a paper, or who helped more customers at the bookshop you both worked at. When a bet to see who could sign up more customers for their shop’s loyalty program came to life, the both of you would stop at nothing to win this little game even if it meant getting closer to the other.
PAIRING. coworker!Johnny Suh x (f) reader
GENRE. college!au, bookshop!au, enemies-to-lovers!au, academic rivals!au, suggestive, humor, fluff (?)
WORD COUNT. 4.6k+
WARNINGS. characters are like cat-and-dog, make-out scene, profanity, name-calling (lmao), they bicker a lot
DISCLAIMER. This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters and concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work.
There were many things you loved about your university.
You loved how the campus was swarmed with trees, each building surrounded by a lush and vibrant green in the spring and summer months and warm brown shades during the cold of autumn and winter. You loved the sense of community your school upheld, always hosting events that were opened to anyone and everyone in the immediate area. The way it made you feel at home when you were miles away. The friends you made in your major and the small department you belonged to.
haechan — gold-skinned, eager baby pt.2
read the first part here!
haechan x fem reader
wc: 11k
genre: fluff, smut 18+ minors dni
warnings: chest/boobs/nipples fixation, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex, choking, finger sucking, blowjobs, handjobs, mirror sex, overstimulation, a little bit of dacryphilia (crying), hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics (haechan doing both), tittyfucking, thigh riding, this list is making me feel embarrassed minors dni i am so serious, breeding kink, a bit of saliva play i guess, aftercare , haechan is a mastermind male manipulator (in a cute way), me using mark as a plot device
or: in which haechan is competitive (read: eager to please), and determined to find out what about him makes you lose all control
a/n: where do i even begin. writing this was so exhausting but also so rewarding at times but also i feel like i'm going to take a break from writing smut after this, i've literally written almost everything i could think of for this fic. i think what we liked from part 1 was haechan being needy and subby so i did add in scenes for that dw <3 i know i describe a lot of what they are thinking in this fic so hopefully it doesn't bore you... if it does... please sugarcoat it for me in your review (just kidding but also like...please don't be mean) anywayy... do send me an ask/reply if you liked this, as per tradition, i hope this is at least a little bit hot :) happy valentine's day!
haechan would say that his standard of living had increased exponentially since your second anniversary.
the two of you had become more open with each other, communicating your frustrations and needs more easily. there was also a faint buzz of something in the air, moments when you would look over at him and he would feel a blush spread across his cheeks, burn low in his stomach. it felt a little like he was falling in love with you for the first time — it had been a while since he had felt so vulnerable and loved by you.
"what are you thinking about?"
but perhaps the most significant improvement made to his life was the way he could now reflect on your loving and healthy relationship with his face nuzzled against your boobs.
"love you so much," he mumbles against your skin, placing a small kiss on your cleavage. "that's what i'm thinking about."
he feels your hand come down to stroke his hair gently, and he closes his eyes at the feeling. sunday mornings with you in bed: you scrolling through your phone while he's given the freedom to love on his favorite parts of you, have become just another routine that started ever since your second anniversary.
focusing on freckling kisses on your warm skin, he's then completely unprepared for when you card your fingers through a handful of his hair only to give it a light, but still significant, tug.
the sensation sends a feeling shooting down his spine, a slight shudder to his body as he lets out a small gasp muffled against your chest. feeling something stirring in the pit of his stomach, his legs twitching on the bed, he nuzzles his face into your chest.
"again, please," he mumbles.
he feels the giggles you let out at that right from where his face is pressed up against your chest. kicking his feet, he whines lightly in protest.
"what's so funny?"
"found something else you like," he hears you muse. "you're so sensitive, baby."
frowning, he sits up. the visual is slightly amusing — his hair mussed up, his lips swollen.
"it's not fair," he states. you reach out a consoling hand to him, and even as he continues to grumble, he still intertwines your fingers gently, a contrast between his unhappy tone and his tender actions. "you have too much power over me."
"what are you talking about?" you laugh, and he scowls.
"you know." he mumbles. "you can just flash your tits at me and i'd do anything you ask-"
"i can?"
"and now you know i like it when you pull at my hair," he whines, a permanent pout forming on his features. "it's like there's nothing i can do that makes you go crazy."
"that's because i love all of you," you soothe. "all of you makes me feel crazy."
"do you have any kinks you're keeping from me?"
"you're my kink," you tease, but your smile drops when he scowls. "sorry."
there's a pause. haechan looks at you, hard. scanning your face, his gaze doing a slow drag down and up your body, his expression darkening. something had shifted in the air, and suddenly you're a little scared to breathe too hard.
"haechan?"
"i'm going to find it," he breathes.
"what?"
"i'm going to find it, and then i'm going to make you beg for me to fuck your brains out."
"what the fuck?"
but haechan shakes his head, and when he next refocuses his eyes on you, his eyes have the familiar twinkle in them. moving over to you, he cups your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your cheek.
"love all of you too," he beams. "i'm going to go make breakfast, okay?"
and with that, he all but skips out of the room, leaving you sitting on the bed, feeling unsettled and also just a little bit excited.
x
the first time he tries it, it's a complete disaster.
it's not that haechan isn't good at observing you and what you like. when you go shopping together, he doubles back when you're not looking to take photos of items you've picked up to examine, making mental notes of their price and when he could get them for you. point something out to him, and haechan runs back to the store if you leave him alone for just a second, the bag hanging from his arm when he returns as he tries to hide how fast his heart is beating from sprinting. make an off-handed comment about how good a dish looks on instagram, and he's looking up the recipe before the video ends, and you can bet on the fact that you're having it for dinner the next day.
it's just that when it comes to him, he has no clue how to begin. you had laid out the perfect plan for him because you knew exactly what he wanted — meanwhile, he was starting from scratch.
so in the end his brain goes to the one thing you've told him you enjoyed. after all, considering how many times he's seen you fall apart on it, you must like his cock, right?
"y/n?"
"yeah?"
"why are you so far away…" he whines, exaggerating his tone a little. you're seated on the other end of the couch, head against the arm rest, your laptop perched on your lap as you work on something. at his words, you lower the screen a bit, peeking over the top of your knees with your eyebrows raised.
"what's wrong?" you frown. "are you okay?"
"come here and sit on my lap," he says quickly, before the embarrassment can get to him. "i missed you," he adds, patting his thighs for emphasis.
that evening, he had chosen to put on a pair of gray sweatpants that usually left little to the imagination. he didn't wear them often for that exact reason, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable in any way. however, that was kind of at the top of his agenda right now.
shrugging, you make your way over to him, settling down in his lap with your back pressed against his chest. his chin rests on your shoulder as you open up your laptop again, typing in a few extra words on your document as mumble to yourself under your breath.
and then nothing.
haechan doesn't really know where to go from here. his plan had actually only involved one step: putting on the sweatpants. asking you to sit on his lap was already improvisation on his part, hoping that by getting you close he could hopefully get you to react. but here you were, sitting peacefully, happy in your boyfriend's warm touch.
unsure what to do, he figures he might as well get comfortable, bringing his arms around to hold your waist. feeling like this was turning out to be a complete bust, haechan sighs and buries his face in your neck, huffing a little as he wonders if he should just give up and spend a nice evening cuddling with you.
but then suddenly, haechan jolts. troubled by your slow progress at your work, you’ve started to absentmindedly fidget, wiggling your hips uneasily and even bouncing a little in his hold as you shift around some more. his arms reflexively tighten around you, his breath catching in his throat as he feels something stirring in his navel.
"y/n…"
"sorry." you whisper sheepishly, trying to keep still as you continue your work. but behind you, haechan is grinning as if christmas had come early.
"don't be," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. gripping your hips again, he begins to move you on his lap so that you're grinding down on him. "keep going, sweetheart."
you bite your lip. you really wanted to pay attention to haechan, the sinful way he began to rut against you and the feeling of him slowly getting hard creating a soothing haze in your mind. "i can’t. my work…" you mumble.
haechan freezes, thinking to himself. you weren't giving in yet. he wanted you to beg him, but so far he had initiated almost everything. "okay," he breathes, settling back down and removing his arms from your sides, even though he could feel himself getting hard. "okay, i'll stop. focus on your work, baby."
confused, and a little worried — because when haechan wanted something he usually never stopped to get it, — you try to snap out of it. "maybe i'll go work in the bedroom…" you suggest reluctantly.
"sure," he replies, easily. crossing his fingers and hoping you didn't truly mean it.
but before he knows it, you're standing up, the absence of your weight on him making him feel doubly empty as you begin to walk unsteadily back to your room. a slightly sad expression on your pretty features, the tension in the air making it difficult for you to look at him.
it's the look on your face that makes haechan forget all about his mission.
"y/n wait-" his voice is high-pitched and breathy. he was more affected than he realized he was.
at the sound of his voice, you turn around. immediately putting your laptop down on the dining table, you all but run back to your eager boyfriend, skidding slightly on the floor. clambering back into his lap, this time straddling his waist, you smile as he leans in to kiss you, frustration making his movements a little rougher than usual.
punching him lightly on the shoulder, you glare at him for playing with your feelings. "did you really want me to go…?" nervously, you fiddle with the hairs on the nape of his neck.
"no," he says firmly, kissing you again and pressing you closer. "never."
you beam at him, happy you had such a sensitive and caring boyfriend. anyone else would have found your reaction laughable, but haechan just got you. it warmed your heart to no end.
"y/n…" pulling you back to the current situation, haechan gently thrusts up, reminding you he was still hard. "can i…?"
"yes," you say, excitement making your reply come out rushed and flustered. "please."
smiling to himself, he pulls your sleep shorts to the side, pressing his fingers hesitantly to the seat of your panties before he falters.
"you're so wet," he breathes, tugging your panties to the side too so he can stroke your folds with his long fingers. rubbing quick circles into your clit, he pulls you down by your shirt so he can kiss you heatedly.
holding on to him, you feel your thighs start to tremble, unable to hold yourself up with the feeling of his hand between your legs. as he runs a finger along your slit, rough fingertips sending jolts of pleasure up your spine, you lean your weight almost entirely on him. "please, -" you gasp, not sure what you were asking for, but somehow he's even more desperate than you.
a groan rumbles from his chest as he impatiently lifts you off his lap, maneuvering you so you take a seat on the couch. scrambling to kneel on the floor between your legs, he pulls you to the edge and pushes your legs upwards, practically folding your body. your feet planted on the couch, your breathing grows heavier and heavier as he tugs off your shorts and panties, leaving you completely exposed to him. the sight makes him moan out again, and he pauses.
"can i lick you?" breathlessly, and almost in a trance, he presses a kiss to your thigh, arms coming up to hook around your thighs and keep them open. "pussy's so pretty baby…" he murmurs, blowing air on your clit and making you tilt your hips towards his mouth. "i just know it'll taste sweet."
"don't tease," you plead. haechan's only ever done this a few times and on special occasions, usually more for you than for him. but when you look at the way his eyes are glazing over, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips hesitantly, you know he wants this just as much as you do.
"wouldn't dream of it." and with that he dives in, his tongue flat and wide as he licks up your arousal. alternating between flicking at your clit and lapping at your entrance, his moans fall from his open mouth freely, muscles in his arms flexing as he presses you further in the couch and tries to keep your hips from bucking up into him.
when you feel him dip his tongue into your tight entrance, your hands fly to his hair, curling on his strands around your fingers. the feeling going straight to his cock, he whimpers as he loosens a hand to ease a finger into you, his mouth suckling on your clit.
"haechan-"
"cum for me," his mouth detaches from you sloppily, and you swallow as you see his chin dripping with your juices, his lips wet with saliva. "wanna feel you cum on my fingers so bad…" dipping his head back down, he flicks at your clit harshly, his fingers pressing against your walls. you feel your back arch off the sofa as your thighs clamp down around his head, his tongue still working on you as you cum, hard.
your hips buck against his face and his nose bumps against your clit as he kitten licks at your folds, lightly overstimulating you as you ride out your high. pushing his head away gently, you’re just beginning to put down your legs when you're startled by his hand, shooting out to prevent them from closing entirely. grasping your thigh.
"please?" haechan's eyes are blown out and wide as he rises up on his knees, his hands trembling slightly as they move higher up your thighs. "i'm so hard…" you take in the way his hips absentmindedly move against the edge of the sofa seat. fully hard in those sweatpants, looking absolutely sinful the way he chases any form of friction.
"of course," you breathe, lying back on the couch as he enthusiastically tugs down his sweatpants, his cock slapping up against his navel, the tip red and leaking precum. propping himself up with a hand, the other gripping onto your waist, he closes his eyes as he slides in, the two of you letting out moans as you shiver from the sensitivity. before you know it, he's fucking you into the couch, whines falling from his lips freely, rising in pitch as his eyes screw tightly shut. you close your eyes too, reaching out to grab onto his shoulders, the feeling of him stretching you out pushing you close to your climax again.
haechan has completely lost all grip on reality. he feels your walls sucking him in, wrapping around him so tightly he can't even pull out properly. the rhythm of his thrusts jagged and needy, his hips rutting into you in a frenzy, he's only able to last a few more seconds before he's cumming, his hips stuttering as he feels you tighten around him again. his throat is hoarse, and he wonders if he was screaming instead of moaning. under him, you're also coming down from your high, smiling as you see how winded he is.
"you okay?" tapping him gently on the cheek, you give him a small kiss on his cheek as he blinks dazedly at you. "haechan?" you give him another kiss.
"yeah-" he mumbles. "fuck." he realises he's still pressed on you, so he gets up, giving you more space to sit up and breathe. as he collapses on the other side of the couch, he takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to his knuckles, lips still sticky. "was i too rough?" he murmurs, worriedly. "i'm sorry, i just really lost control at the end-"
"it was perfect," you assure him, crawling over so you can hold him. "i liked it," you smile.
his expression clears, and his eyes crinkle into a smile that mirrors yours as he kisses you sweetly on the tip of your nose. "you were perfect," his eyes sappy with love, he feels sleepiness overcome his body. "i'll run a bath and we can relax after, okay?"
it's only after the bath, and after the impromptu supper he makes for you, when the two of you are in bed, when he realizes that he's completely lost the plot. today's attempt had told him nothing, except maybe he was going to get addicted to the feeling of eating you out.
looking at your sleeping form in bed, a light smile ghosting on your lips and the glow of being taken care of by your boyfriend shining on your face, he shakes his head and decides that for now it doesn't matter. he'll figure it out eventually, he knew he would.
x
the second time haechan tries it, he starts out slow.
"your fingers are so pretty."
you're out running errands with him, and as the two of you stroll back to the car, his fingers brush yours and he takes your palm in his. now, holding up your clasped hands to examine his fingers, you smile sweetly at him. "i think you have really pretty finger joints."
"yeah?" it's a small compliment, but haechan always liked being praised, even for the smallest things. "thank you, baby."
he doesn't want to build any expectations for himself, or expect any reaction from you immediately. he's sure that that's what went wrong with the first attempt. did he really expect you to fall to his feet when you saw him in those sweatpants? it was silly. it was childish. haechan could do better than that.
he starts out by not taking off his rings when he's around the house, hoping that the sight of them on his pretty finger joints could stir something in you. so far, nothing. (although you did ask him if you could get another set of couple rings together. he said yes.)
he starts picking up activities which show off his fingers more. asking you if you wanted to watch him play the piano, or the guitar. still mostly nothing, although the activities did bring you closer together, his cheeks burning as you praised him for his talent.
happy that your boyfriend was sharing his interests with you, you asked him to help you with your baking, wanting to reciprocate with your own creative date-night ideas. he was nothing but sweet to you when you brought up the idea, accompanying you to the store for ingredients and helping you set up the kitchen. sure, he seemed to want to hold your hand throughout almost the whole thing, following you around the kitchen like a lost puppy, but once you assigned him to the task of melting the chocolate the two of you fell into a nice rhythm, his soft humming filling the kitchen as he busies himself with the hot water.
"is the chocolate ready?"
"yeah," he mumbles, lips pouting with concentration. he looks up to see you smiling at him, tilting your head in curiosity as you watch him stir the melted chocolate a few times.
and suddenly, he knows exactly what to do.
dipping two fingers in the chocolate, he holds it up to your lips. "wanna taste?" he asks, as casually as he can.
flustered, you swat his hand away gently. "i can do that myself," you try, shyly.
"come on," he urges you. his eyes, which have been zeroed in on your lips, flicker up to your eyes and you can see them glint. "just a taste," he says, softly.
inside, his heart is beating hard against his chest. although it was only the two of you in the kitchen, he could tell from the way you looked at his fingers that you were flustered, hesitating over the idea of sucking on his fingers so boldly. if he could just get you to do this…
he watches with bated breath as you swallow, inching forwards. grabbing his wrist to keep his hand steady, you stick out your tongue to lick at his fingers cautiously. you're just able to taste a hint of the chocolate, when haechan pushes forward and his fingers are enveloped in the warmth of your mouth.
"now come on," he breathes, a thrill running down his spine as he sees your eyes widen. gently but firmly, he continues to hold your gaze. "suck."
this was it. a smile spreads across his face as you begin to suck on his fingers obediently, looking up at him through your lashes. he'd won. except…he wasn't really sure anymore, what with the way your tongue was now swirling around his fingers as you continued to lick them clean. the feeling of it foreign yet familiar, making his breath catch in his throat as he’s reminded of the fact that it had been a while since you’ve sucked him off.
but while he was still struggling to figure out who had the upper hand, you already released his fingers with a pop, looking at him knowingly as you went back to measuring ingredients.
a pause.
shaking his head a few times to steady himself, he tried to stay confident, putting on his cockiest smile as he sidled up to you.
"y/n?"
"hmm?"
"did you like that?"
"like what?"
"you know what," he wraps a hand around your wrist to halt your movements, pushing your measuring scale and various other bowls to the side so you focus on him. "did you like sucking on my fingers?"
"haechan…"
"i felt what you were doing with your tongue, baby." he relishes the way you can't look him in the eyes. "i know you liked my fingers, but i didn't know you liked them that much…" he muses, voice low. a heavy hand snakes up to rub your waist. "wonder if you would like my hands somewhere else…" a flicker of need courses through his body as the words leave his mouth, his hands wandering up to your chest to palm your boobs. "or…" he trails off, biting his lip to try to keep his thoughts to himself.
confused as to why he had gone silent, you finally look up at him, feeling your eyes widen in surprise to see that haechan's demeanor had done a total shift entirely on his own. rather than the usual hard stare and stony expression that accompanies his low tones and rough touches, his lashes flutter with need, teeth tugging mindlessly on his lip as he is completely and wholly distracted by the soft feeling of your chest in his palm.
"haechan?" you prompt him.
"fuck, sorry-" he blurts out, unsure of what he was apologizing for. "it's just…", breathily, he scrabbles at your bra, tugging it down so he can touch your nipples. "they fit perfectly in my palms…" and there it is: the familiar pitch of his voice that tells you he's going to start whining soon.
you can't help but laugh at him, amused as much as you are in awe of him. "did you really just dirty talk yourself into this state?"
"yes. wait, i mean, no-" troubled, he furrows his brow as you begin to take off your shirt. "uh…"
"we can discuss this later," you soothe, leading him out of the kitchen, the idea of baking long forgotten.
x
1.12 am, haechan: don't get distracted by boobs.
1.12am, haechan: don’t look at boobs.
1.13am, haechan: don't touch boobs.
1.13am, mark: what the fuck ?????
x
“you taste good,” you murmur, touching his cheeks lightly as you lean in to kiss him again in the darkness.
eagerly, haechan sits up. you’re startled by the sudden movement, blinking at him blearily, but soon you’re being tugged up and into his lap, him rearranging your legs haphazardly so you’re straddling him as he leans against the headboard.
“what-?”
but haechan kisses you before you can finish your sentence, his remarkably soft and pillowy lips moving against yours with a soft fervor.
“feel good?” he asks, expectantly.
“yeah…” you mumble, a little dazed.
“used a lip scrub,” he states, proudly, kissing you again to punctuate the point. “and i’ve been using a lip sleeping mask for the past 2 days.”
“you taste like strawberry,” you point out, weakly.
“lip balm,” he breathes, almost buzzing with excitement. “you like?”
“yes,” you smile at him, endeared by how happy he was. you lean in, kissing him again, sucking gently on his bottom lip and making him sigh into your mouth. pulling away, you fail to notice the way his eyes light up in anticipation, only to flicker with confusion as you dip your head to snuggle into his hold. burying your face in his chest, you give him a gentle pat as you close your eyes, ready to return to the peaceful state of dozing off you were at when he had first kissed you goodnight. “sleep well, baby.”
his puffy lips, his puffy sweet strawberry-scented smooth lips, pucker slightly into a pout. “y/n?”
“hm?”
“you don’t wanna kiss me more?” he whispers, the words a little pathetic in the silence of the room.
“tomorrow, baby.” you assure him, stifling a yawn as you feel yourself drop off. “sweet dreams.”
sighing, he pats you gently on the back as if you were a baby, lulling you to sleep. this really wasn’t as easy as he thought it was going to be.
sweet dreams he thinks bitterly to himself, closing his eyes too.
x
all the thinking was taking a toll on haechan's brain.
he was good at games, he was good at strategy. but the thing was, this felt less like a game and more like an experiment: the observation required, the long-term planning, introducing new variables, and analyzing your reactions to see if his actions had the desired outcome.
he tried revisiting the hand thing.
"look at how pretty my fingers look around your neck."
he slides his fingers out from between your legs slowly, smearing your arousal on your thighs before coming up to steer your chin back towards the mirror. the image is so lewd that you want to look away again — you, wearing only his shirt. haechan's chest pressed up against your back, you sitting between his spread legs, your thighs propped apart by his own. one of his hands squeezes lightly on your throat as the other trails back down, two fingers stretching you out as much as he can.
choked moans fall from your lips as you shake in his hold when you cum, his rings digging into your throat. he releases you almost at once, letting you come down from your high as air floods back into your lungs, murmuring praises into your hair as he cleans you up, while you were too tired and hoarse to speak.
but that was that. you never brought it up with him or requested he do it again, although he knows that if he asked you wouldn't deny him. so he filed it away for next time.
he tried thinking of things he loved about you. he loved to kiss your neck — so he tried wearing necklaces, tilting his head back more to showcase his jawline, encouraging you to kiss him there. but the most you'd done was ask him if his neck felt sore.
it was a friday, and haechan decided to leave work early, to see if he could get a headstart on a new lead he had. you had stared a lot at his legs the other night when he had taken you out for dinner, saying they looked pretty in the skinny jeans he was wearing. if that wasn't a directive, he didn't know what was.
and so he made a short detour on his way home, stopping by the mall to pick out a pair of ripped skinny jeans. he liked the way they hugged his thighs, the slivers of soft skin that showed underneath.
that's how you find him, when you arrive home. standing in front of the bedroom mirror, scrutinizing his appearance in the mirror.
"i'm home…" you call out, before stopping. in the mirror, haechan can see your eyes widen and his heartbeat quickens with excitement. you're clearly distracted, unable to tear your eyes away from his legs. was this it?
meanwhile, you can't stop staring at your boyfriend. usually in sweatpants or baggy jeans, you haven't seen him dressed like this in a while. there are so many rips in the jeans he practically didn't have to wear them, and yet somehow they're positioned in a way that made you want to suck bruises onto his smooth skin.
your eyes flicker up to his, narrowing slightly when you see the expression of pure unadulterated glee that takes over his features. the corner of his lips quirked up smugly, his eyebrows raised in a challenge.
and it just flips a switch in you.
"did you dress like this for me?" you ask, softly. walking over to him, you tug him closer by the belt loops of his jeans, leaning in so your lips brush his. "did you want my attention that badly?"
haechan falters. this was not how it was supposed to go.
"can't think of an answer?" you mock. trailing your fingers down to his thighs, you scrape at the exposed skin there with your fingernails, making him jolt. "you were so confident just now, baby…" you pinch him, and he sucks in a breath. "what happened?"
"i…" at the sight of you tugging your shirt off, his splutters out in alarm. "wait! don't-" feeling stupid, but panic overtaking his brain, he squeezes his eyes shut. "don't take off your shirt."
you burst out into genuine laughter. getting more and more flustered by the second, he slowly opens his eyes, peeping a few times to make sure your shirt remains on. "don't make fun of me," he mumbles. "it's just that, i get really distracted if i see them, and-"
"oh i know," you assure him, kissing his cheek. "i mean, i was going to let you fuck them, but i'll just suck you off instead."
"what?"
he protests the entire time as you push him to take a seat on the edge of the bed, babbling on and on about how this was supposed to be about you. however, the moment you take your position, kneeling between his legs as you reach out to palm him through his jeans, he falls silent.
"these are new…" he mumbles, weakly. he can't help the way his hips begin to squirm under your touch.
"aww…" you squeeze him tighter over the denim and he whimpers. "bought them just for me?"
"yeah…" he admits, swallowing hard. "y/n…can you…"
you finish his thought by undoing the buttons on his jeans, tugging down the zipper as he lifts his hips obediently, tugging the material down to free his hard on. when he starts to remove his jeans entirely, you place a hand on his to stop him. grinning at him, you place a light kiss on his thigh.
"i really like these jeans," you explain.
you can feel haechan's eyes on you as if he were in a trance. looking up at him, you coo at the sight: his mouth hanging slightly open, drool spilling around his mouth from how he's been licking and tugging at his bottom lip from just the feeling of you touching him over his jeans. reaching a hand up, you wipe his saliva off with your fingers as if he were a baby, his tongue darting out to lick at your fingers. indulging him, you push them into his mouth: full, heart-shaped lips, wrapping around your knuckles as he sucks obediently.
extracting your fingers from his mouth, you comfort him with a pat on the cheek as slowly, and with a light touch, you start to rub at the pink tip of his cock with your wet fingers. the stimulation makes his legs jump, and he lets out a cry, hands scrabbling and twisting at the sheets. neediness seeping out from all the pores in his body, your hand becoming slick with his precum as you pick up the pace, giving him longer strokes along his shaft.
you look up at him, and his face is contorted with pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut. his head thrown back, you can see his adam's apple bobbing as he gasps for air.
"do you like your reward, baby?" you tease, taking your hands off his cock to dig your nails into his thigh instead. the feeling makes him wail, eyes opening to focus on you, blinking away the spots in his vision.
he nods, still gasping for breath. "don't stop," he manages. "please, don't stop."
"i'll take care of you, baby, i promise" you ease, hands going back to stroke him, although at a much gentler pace. "keep your eyes on me, okay? i want you to think of this every time you see these jeans…" you take his tip into your mouth, pressing your tongue into his slit. and without any warning, his hips buck into your face and he's cumming messily, all over your mouth and chin.
"sorry," he moans, unable to control himself. "fuck, i'm sorry,-" his words are twisted into a loud cry at the sudden feeling of both of your hands on him. cum makes the slide easier as you twist your wrists in opposite directions, watching as haechan's whole body spasms — his movements jerky, grabbing at your arms to push you away while his hips continue to thrust forward into the pleasure. you feel a sense of excitement rush through you too as you survey how his thighs shake, muscles in his legs spasming.
"thought you told me not to stop," you bite your lip, putting on a confused expression. "i promised i'd take care of you."
haechan is too far gone to respond. tears begin to run down his cheeks as he cums again, globs of cum oozing from his slit. finally stopping your movements for good, you climb up onto the bed next to him, letting him reach for you and pull you close. his tears stain the shirt on your shoulder, and you run your hands through his hair to soothe him.
finally, his breathing evens out and he plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.
feeling a little guilty, you brush the hair out of his eyes as you try to read his expression. "are you okay?" you ask, softly.
he gives you a dopey smile. "yeah," he kisses you again, letting the feeling of your lips moving against his ground him. his hands ghost over your thighs, and he starts to pull you into his lap. "you want me to return the favor…?"
"no, it's okay." smiling at him, you cup his face in your hands before you realize that your palms are still filthy with drool and cum. "we should probably get cleaned up…" you murmur.
"i'm never wearing any other pair of jeans," he sighs, contentedly, letting you guide him towards the bathroom.
x
later that night, haechan is lying in bed, reflecting on what just happened. sure, he hadn't gotten you needy and desperate, and in fact he'd done all of the begging, but this was definitely a step in the right direction. it was the biggest reaction he'd gotten from you yet, one that was entirely initiated by you, his cheeks warming at the memory.
"haechan?"
"yes?"
"can we talk?"
"of course, baby." clearing his head of his thoughts, he pulls you in closer to him, heart warming at the feeling of you snuggling up to him. "is everything okay?"
"yeah," you say in a small voice. "but i wanted to ask you if you're okay."
hearing the soft concern in your voice, he tries to remember if he said anything to you about feeling upset, or unhappy, but nothing comes to mind.
"yeah i'm fine," he frowns. you look up at him with skeptical eyes, and he lifts a hand from where it's wrapped around you to stroke your hair, hoping to comfort you. "what's wrong?"
"it's just this whole…" you sigh. "you trying to find ways to make me feel good."
"is it too much?" panic starts to seep into his brain as he runs through the things he's done with you, and to you, these past few weeks. he's sure he made sure you were comfortable with everything, but there was always the possibility that you were appeasing him. maybe he'd gone a little too far with the choking. "i can stop if you want, i didn't think-"
"no, that's not it-" you interrupt, placing a hand on his chest. "i'm okay, everything's okay." moving up a little bit on the bed, you press a soft, close-lipped kiss against his lips. it takes a few seconds, his body still frozen with uncertainty, before he relaxes and kisses you back, deepening the kiss and holding on to you tightly.
"i just hope you know that i love you, so much," you say when he pulls away. "and, you don't have to do anything special to make me feel crazy about you."
"y/n…"
"i meant what i said that day," you insist. "i know i've mostly been in control recently, and you think i have so much control over you now…but i want you to know that even before our second anniversary i've been just as obsessed with you."
shyly, haechan bites his lip in thought, your words making him feel more flustered than he would have expected.
"see?" you continue. "i think you look so pretty when you bite your lip. and i love your hands…" you reach for his palms and place a soft kiss to his knuckles. "love your fingers, no matter what you're doing with them. love your legs, love your moles…"
"okay, okay." he buries his face into his pillow, a warm glow spreading through his body at your praise. "you can stop now," he murmurs.
"love all of you." you finish, burying your face in his chest again. "love everything you do, so don't worry, okay?" you mumble, sleep slowly taking over your body as a weight is lifted off your chest. watching haechan observe your reactions extra carefully has been endearing, and being on the receiving end of his constant affection has you dizzy in more ways than you show. you just hoped that his relentless attempts to please you and read your mind didn't mean he felt unconfident about how much you loved him.
but haechan doesn't respond. a sense of disappointment blooms in his chest, and he can't for the life of him figure out why he felt so forlorn. it had seemed so simple: he wanted to find out how he could have you needy and eager for him, just as he was with you. just like you had tested out his obsession with your boobs — and at the thought, his hand guiltily strays downwards to palm you over your shirt, needing at least some form of comfort on this confusing night, — he had tested you. and while you responded eagerly to whatever he did, there was no denying that you didn't usually initiate it, and he doesn't know if he would classify your behavior as needy in the way he wanted you to be.
maybe he just needed to tease you a little more. or maybe he needed to deny you pleasure just as you were about to cum. maybe, if he initiated it, and then suddenly left to do something else-
"you're thinking so loud, baby," he snaps out of it with a jolt, feeling you shift in his hold, your eyes opening groggily and a pretty pout settling on your lips. "go to sleep, please," you groan.
haechan lets out a groan of his own. "i'm confused…" he mumbles.
"about?"
but he shakes his head. you've already reassured him, and honestly he thinks he'll go crazy if he hears you profess your love to him again.
drumming your fingers on his chest, you hum lightly, thinking to yourself. "will you feel better if i let you fuck my tits?"
"yes please," haechan sighs, sitting up and shaking the sleepiness from his body before clambering over to straddle you, practiced hands pushing your shirt up.
and as he lets out a soft wail — feeling you licking at his tip when he thrusts all the way up your cleavage, his hands scrabbling for purchase on your soft breasts, — he almost believes he's okay with giving up this game he set for himself.
almost.
x
haechan spins the controller in his hand and waits for his next game to load.
he had let the whole thing fall from his mind. he'd gotten some pretty good sex out of it, and he felt closer to you than ever before, and that was all that really mattered in the end. now, he could actually focus on his favorite past-times without wondering what you were doing, could wake up each day and not stress over what he should wear. he was sure he would get over the disappointment, pushing the uneasiness from his mind completely as he slumps further down in his gaming chair and starts to think about how to get past his opponent instead.
faintly, he can hear the door push open behind him. you must have entered the room. "hey," he calls out. "i just started another round but i can come spend time with you after i'm done, okay?"
no response. weird, but maybe you were distracted with your phone.
"i was thinking," he continues. "do you want me to cook dinner or should we order in? i've been craving pasta but i need to know if you prefer mine or-" but he cuts himself off when he notices you hovering next to his computer, a large oversized shirt hanging from your frame. it's the look on your face that makes him forget everything about dinner or pasta or cooking.
"y/n?" he blinks. "what's wrong?"
"i need you," your soft voice whiny.
"um…" surprised, he's taken aback as you sit yourself down on his lap, straddling one of his thighs. he drops his controller clumsily, arms coming around to hold you as the game goes on ignored behind your back. "are you hurt? or is it…do you-" he sucks in a sharp breath when he feels your wet core moving on his bare thigh. you're not wearing anything except for the shirt.
you start moving, rolling your hips onto his firm muscle as if it were second nature, your eyes locking with his and he gulps at the desperation in them, pleading with your expression for him to help you.
"fuck, baby, what's gotten into you?" what should he do? panicked, he sits up in his seat, the movement making his thigh muscle tense and you let out a whine, your swollen clit extra sensitive at the feeling. "baby, not here," he coaxes, alarm in his tone as he wonders if you're going to cum right then and there. his hands going to your waist, he feels you press down harder on him, your moans increasing in pitch as you ride his thigh without a care in the world, egged on by the feeling of his skin on yours.
"baby, wait, get off for a moment, let's get on the bed," he tries to move again and it jostles you, and you roll your hips even faster.
"don't care," you whine. "need you now. wanna cum now…" tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. you're so frustrated that it hurts, you needed him so badly but it's like he'd forgotten how to touch you entirely. "haechan," you groan. "i need your fingers, anything…" the hot friction on your clit making you fall forwards, burying your face in his neck.
still flustered, haechan tries his best to help you out, wracking his brain of what to do. tensing his thigh muscles, he bounces you gently on his leg, one hand steadying you and the other scraping lightly across your nipples, just the way you like it. gasping at the sudden stimulation, you whimper in his ear to let him know you were close, your arms grabbing haechan's hands and guiding him to move your hips for you.
you cum just like that, a high whine and your body shuddering, haechan continuing to bounce you on his thigh to help you ride it out. as you recover, he realizes that he's winded and breathless too, the reality of what just happened sweeping over him.
but what exactly just happened?
"if you don't mind me asking…" he panted.
you nodded, still in your head. "yeah?"
blinking up at you politely, he licks his lips nervously before asking, "what did i do? and, how do i do it again?"
shaking your head you hug him before clambering off his lap. "like i said," you reassure him with a kiss on his cheek before you stumble off to clean yourself up. "i love all of you."
x
"you guys need to leave me out of your sex life," mark grumbles, the moment the call connects. "i want the best for you, dude, but i'm not that invested in your personal happiness, okay?"
haechan scoffs at that. "firstly, it's not like i'm not privy to your sex life. been a good boy for mommy recently?"
"haechan's fucking obsessed with your tits…" he mocks in a clumsy voice, scowling at the memory. "you gave her an unfair advantage-"
"i don't sound like that-"
"so you owe me. now help me figure this out." before mark can think of some other way of protesting, haechan begins to ramble on and on about his feelings for you, and the dynamic in the relationship as of late. he analyses your reactions to him, the varied success in his attempts to get you riled up, your conversation together when you convinced him to drop the matter.
"but then, this morning i swear i'm just doing nothing-" he cuts himself off, feeling his breath hitch as the vivid memory hits him with full force. remembering how it sounded when you begged for him. the feeling of you moving on his thigh, of you guiding his hand to your core.
everything he ever wanted, and he had no idea how he got it in the first place.
mark is staring at him blankly. "this morning…?" he prompts.
"nothing," haechan shakes his head quickly. "basically, she kind of jumped me, and i'm still trying to figure out why."
"jumped you like in a bad way…or-"
"in a really good way," haechan mumbles, suddenly feeling a little shy. not wanting to describe exactly how it felt for you to use his body like that, when he wasn't even trying.
"okay, uh, cool." mark nods a few times, frowning slightly to himself. "you sure you were doing nothing?"
"i was playing a game in my room."
"could've been the gaming?" mark suggests, half-heartedly.
"but i do that all the time," haechan sighed. "she doesn't do that with me every time." if only it were that easy, he would have you figured out in 3 seconds flat.
"what were you wearing?"
"just some shorts and a shirt."
"could've been your thighs…?" mark tries. "she told me she loved your thighs."
"could be…" distracted, haechan blinks. "wait. my thighs?"
"yep," mark winces. "i won't quote exactly what she said, because i don't want to hear myself saying that to you, but just take my word for it."
haechan thinks about it, hard. but then he shakes his head. "fuck, i think i did it wrong. i mean i tried legs and it didn't work, and i thought thighs were included in legs for obvious reasons, but-"
"or maybe it just had nothing to do with you," mark shrugs, reaching for his drink to take a sip. "maybe she's just ovulating or something."
"she's just what?" haechan balks.
"um…ovulating." mark freezes, immediately wishing he hadn't brought it up. to hell with haechan's sex life. "it affects the hormones and it might results in a higher sex drive for her or-" he cuts himself off when he notices that haechan is staring at him, stock-still in his seat. "um…it's part of her menstrual cycle…?" mark tries.
haechan looks at him blankly.
"basically, it's like when her ovaries-" mark winces. "dude, i'm not about to explain your girlfriend's ovaries to you."
"but i can't ask her," haechan finally speaks up.
flustered, mark runs his hand through his hair a couple of times before deciding to just rip the band-aid off. haechan could be very persistent if he wanted to be, and he didn't want his phone blowing up with texts about this.
"basically, in the days leading up to her…um…her period, her hormones levels are messed up because her body's preparingforababy," mark rushes through the sentence, hoping to god his girlfriend wasn't currently standing outside his room, listening to him poorly explain what a woman's menstrual cycle was.
thankfully, haechan gets it on the first listen. "so she might be extra…"
"yeah," mark cuts in, feeling his face burn. somehow, haechan seems to be taking in this information extremely calmly, as if he were sitting in a life sciences class. "um, so, can i go now?"
"sure," haechan says, absentmindedly. "thanks mark-" but the call ends before he can finish the words.
slowly shutting the screen of the laptop, haechan stares at the empty wall before him and just thinks. could it really be that your neediness this morning wasn't a result of his doing at all? he tries to think back to previous months, because if mark was correct, this wouldn't be the first time this has happened: but for some reason, he can't recall a thing. he's always too lost in the feeling of you to ever notice things like what day it was happening on or whether it mirrored your behavior from previous months. scheming and plotting was truly not his style.
what exactly was he trying to do with this experiment? was he really trying to find a way to get to you just as you had to him? but he did have you just the way he wanted. this morning had proven that.
so what if he couldn't figure out if it was his hands or his thighs? you had promised all of you to him. said you loved all of him just the same.
so maybe it was time to make good on that promise.
x
haechan has been on his phone the whole day.
normally, you wouldn't really mind. he was so loving and attentive all of the time, that a little bit of absent-mindedness didn't bother you. it's just that today, you wish he were paying a bit more attention to you, especially because you can't seem to get him out of your mind - what with it being your peak day of ovulation.
the thing is, haechan was always somehow so attuned to you that he never left you feeling restless and needy. you rarely had to ask him for anything, because he would always deliver of his own accord — wanting you as much as you wanted him. it had been fun, in the weeks leading up to your second anniversary, seeing how riled up you could get him, and exactly how far he would go. even while he claimed to be doing the same to you, he was still the one to initiate everything, leaving you more than satiated afterwards, each time. and although his efforts had unsettled you, you'd eventually told him, hoping that it wasn't some underlying miscommunication or problem in your relationship causing the sudden eagerness to take you anywhere and everywhere.
and ever since, nothing. chaste kisses on cheeks, arms around your waist while you cuddled. somehow, subtly, control had shifted back to him as you waited on his next move, waited for the next time he would approach you to try something. you suspected he didn't even know that he had control, skipping around the apartment, unaware that you were practically begging for him to make a move.
this morning, you couldn't take it anymore. your dreams the previous night punctuated by visuals of haechan eating you out, of him letting you ride his thighs, of him playing with your chest. the moment you heard him in the next room, raspy voice ordering his teammates around, and the moment you caught sight of him in his shorts, you had decided to indulge in your own needs, to hell with waiting for your boyfriend to take care of you.
but almost an entire afternoon had passed since then, and you could feel the space between your legs getting wet again, your brain flitting back to the scenes from your dream. shuffling into your bedroom, you see haechan lounging on the bed, disappointment flickering at the back of your mind when you release he had put on some sweatpants instead. still on his phone, he barely looked up at you when you approached him.
"haechan?"
raising his head to look at you, he raises his eyebrows. you falter as you see his closed off expression.
"yes?" he responds, softly.
swallowing, you press on, sitting down opposite him. "can you…can you please…" you take a deep breath, fiddling with the edge of your shirt before you realize that yes, that was the perfect way to get him to notice you. removing your shirt quickly, you see him look up from his phone, his eyes flickering down to look at your bare chest, lingering slightly before moving back up to your face.
"can i please…?" he repeats, face devoid of expression.
you balk. haechan never acted like this with you. embarrassment, and a little bit of indignance, rises up in you, and you have to stop yourself from whining. "you know," you bite your lip, imploring him to understand.
he sighs. "speak in full sentences, baby." going back to his phone, he clicks on a new tab. "i can't read your mind."
"i need you," you blurt out, feeling delight rush through your body as he looks up at you. finally.
but he makes no effort to move. "why?"
confused, you make an impatient sound. "what do you mean, why?"
"why are you suddenly so needy?" he asks, voice steady and calm. his eyes stare at you, gaze unwavering. "was it something i did? or did something happen to you?"
"i don't know what you mean…" you hesitate, but your answer doesn't mean anything because he's not really listening. setting his phone down, he pushes you onto your back with a slight roughness, crawling over to you.
"thought i was doing it for you, baby-" he confesses, quietly. "trying to figure out if you liked my fingers, or my thighs…seeing if you liked it when i use you…" towering over you, he takes in the tension in your body, your shaky breaths as his fingers trail up your stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"but i was wrong," he muses. you hang onto his every word, mind attuned to the syllables falling from his lips, body sparking at his slightest touch.
"haechan…"
"was doing it for me," he breathes. "i wanted to see you this fucked out before i even touch you." his hand caresses your upper thigh, tutting lowly under his breath. "messy baby, dripping all over the sheets…"
unable to take it anymore, you try to sit up and move towards him, pushing your body up on your elbows, but haechan's hand whips out and he shoves you back down onto your back with a firm palm.
"don't move." he soothes, but there's a warning in his tone. slowly, he eases your legs apart to settle down in between them, and you whimper slightly from how he manages to make you feel so exposed.
"when was the last time you'd been good for me, hm?" his thumb traces soft circles on your soft skin. "i give you a little bit of power and it goes to your head…doesn't it, pretty?" his face leans closer, his lips almost brushing yours as he speaks.
"it doesn't-" your voice trembles, as his palms press down firmly on your thighs, spreading you open wider.
"have me touching your tits, stroking you all the time," he breathes. "does it feel that good?"
"i-"
"thought you were letting me use you, but all this time you were using me," he ignores you. "all i wanted was for you to sit on my lap and beg for me…" suddenly, his hand moves, and you feel a sharp sting as he flicks at your clit with his thumb and forefinger over your panties. a loud whimper leaves your mouth as you feel your thighs jerk, and embarrassingly more of your arousal seeps out onto the sheets. your hand reaches out, trying to hold on to his wrist so he stops teasing you, but gently, and almost lazily, his other hand manages to grasp both your wrists in his hand.
"but no matter what i tried…" he continues, and you can tell he's saying it for himself more than you. his hand moving as if on instinct, his fingers beginning to stroke your folds over the fabric, paying no attention to the way you trembled and squirmed at his touch. "you would still sit there on the couch, waiting for me to come take you…"
"i'm sorry-" you sob, your throat closing up.
"you're so spoiled." and for the first time this evening, he kisses you lightly on the corner of your lips. you tilt your head, trying to catch his lips with yours, mouth open and ready, but already he's pulling away, smiling to himself. "spoiled." he repeats.
"haechan please-" you try to free your hands so you can do something — touch him, or even touch yourself. "i need-"
"you need me to fuck you?" he tilts his head, the harshness of his words contrasting with the gentle, and almost mocking way he says it. "is that what you want to say?"
shame burns low in your stomach, and you nod imperceptibly. mirroring you, haechan nods too, his eyebrows raised.
"say it," he insists. "say you need me to fuck you."
"i…"
at your hesitation, he backs away slowly, the warmth of his body leaving yours as he starts to slacken his hold on your wrists. immediately, your hands shoot free and you pull at the hem of his shirt pathetically, trying to keep him close to you.
"i need you to fuck me," you whine, trying to hold your gaze with him even as his eyes go dark. "please, don't go-"
"how long were you going to make me wait?" he seethes, flicking at your clit again, fingers roughly pulling at your panties and making them snap against your skin.
you can't think of anything to say. you whine his name, and he scoffs at how wrecked you sound.
"why didn't you tell me your body wanted a baby, hm?"
you freeze. what? "you m-mean…" you stutter, as haechan begins to tug your panties down your legs.
"needy baby fucks herself on my thigh because she wants a baby in her, is that right?" his voice thick.
"yes," you hear yourself say. there was no point in denying it, you needed him so badly. and the idea of him putting a baby in you, of fucking you so full of him until you were swollen and full…
"then prove it." sitting back up against the headboard, you follow him eagerly, no longer caring about how you acted around him, your skin burning hot from the way he was speaking to you. he let you strip him of his sweatpants, your mouth going dry at how hard he was. maybe you could suck him off first, and in return he could finger you-
a rough hand shoots out to grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "focus," he demands. "i want you to ride me."
hurriedly, you start to straddle him, lining his cock up to your entrance before you hesitate. he hadn't really prepped you yet, and although you wanted it so badly…
you cry out as he shoves two fingers into you, sighing at the way you fall forward into his chest at the feeling. curling his fingers in you, finding your soft spot effortlessly, he murmurs close to your ear. "tell me if i'm being too rough, okay?" if possible, his words make you even more needy, and you nod, hips chasing his hand. "don't wanna hurt you," he mumbles, before stilling his fingers and pushing you back.
"why am i doing the work here?" he muses, condescendingly. "i thought you wanted this."
nodding vigorously, you begin to grind on his fingers, whimpering when your clit bumps the heel of his hand. a hand on his chest to steady yourself, you move the other downward and try to shove a third finger into you, wiggling your hips as he relents and starts curling three of his fingers against your walls.
"cumming," you gasp, feeling something tighten in your core. his thumb comes up to stroke your clit, and you're about to tumble over the edge, when suddenly he yanks his hand away, leaving you throbbing and empty. a sob rips out from your chest, the built up pressure of having him act differently around you, of needing him for the whole day, washing over you like a tidal wave.
"crybaby," he coos, wiping your tears away with the hand still slick with your arousal.
"please," you choke out. "cum, i wanna…let me…" pawing at his chest, you try to lift his hand back up and guide it in between your legs, but he grabs onto your wrist instead, forcing you to stay still.
"just want you to cum on my cock, that's all," he soothes. "don't you want me to fill you up?"
gulping, your breathing slows as the words seem to calm you. "yes," you mumble.
"good girl." grabbing your hips, he eases you down onto his cock, groaning as your walls spasm around him, your entrance fluttering uncontrollably. "fuck," he muses. "did you just cum?"
feeling humiliated, you nod reluctantly. "was sensitive…" you mumble. he laughs, stroking your cheek as you take all of him. he gives you time to recover, stroking your back tenderly as you get used to the feeling of him in you.
"ready?" he urges, thrusting his hips gently.
you nod, placing your hands on his shoulders as you begin to bounce in his lap, your thighs still shaking from your previous climax but the feeling of him too good to ignore. trying to pick up the pace, you stare at where your bodies are connected, the wet sounds of you sliding on him embarrassingly loud in the room. you only realise you've been letting out a steady series of moans when he brings a hand up to squeeze your throat.
"tired?" he pouts at you. you nod, begging him with your eyes to take over. "thought you said you wanted my baby," he mocks. your hips continue to circle even as you lose the strength to lift yourself up and down. feeling his tip brush against a spot inside you, you wail as you feel yourself clench hard around his thick length.
"please help me," you gasp. "wanna feel you cum inside me, want you to fill me up-" and haechan, tired of waiting, finally gives in.
he pushes you back onto the bed again, his arms pushing your legs up so they brush his shoulders, hips tilted towards him as he rams himself back into you. letting out a low moan, he begins to thrust hard into you, snapping his hips such that the blunt head of his cock repeatedly brushes your g-spot.
"you gonna cum?" he mocks, sarcastically. "or do i have to do that for you too?"
your hands find your clit, rubbing circles on it frantically as it immediately brings you to your high.
the feeling of you cumming around his cock, your warm and tight walls milking him, pushes him closer and closer to his own climax.
"where should i come?" he breathes unsteadily.
you don't respond, still too lost in your own pleasure. a hand comes down to pinch at your nipple, and you whine incoherently.
"where should i come?" he demands again.
he can see you struggle to piece together the words in your head. he hadn't asked you this in a long time — ever since your first anniversary, when you went on birth control and he celebrated by finishing inside you, the feeling of you raw making him come undone faster than he would have liked.
"w-where?" you make a sound of confusion.
"should i come on your tits," he pinches your nipple again,
"on your face," a light slap across your cheek,
"or inside?"
"inside," you moan, beginning to thrust your hips upwards to meet his movements, desperate for him to finish.
"good girl," he breathes, and with a final stroke he's cumming, pushing deep inside you as you feel his warmth fill you up inside, seeping out where your bodies connected.
the two of you stay like that for a while, him stroking your hair and peppering kisses on your face. you holding on to him for comfort, whimpering whenever he made an attempt to leave, burying your face in his chest. it's after you've mostly recovered when you finally let him go get something to clean you up with, and after you drank the glass of water he insisted you have, when you finally get a hold on what just happened. and a question comes flitting into your mind.
"haechan?"
"yes, baby?"
you open your eyes, and squint at the angelic expression on his face. "tell me…mark didn't have anything to do with this, did he?"
❝ Your boyfriend does a lot of things right. He studies hard, wakes up on time, never forgets your birthday, and likes all the same snacks as you. On the outside, everyone notices how sweet he is as your other half but your parents would probably forbid you from seeing him if they knew what went on behind locked doors.❞
m.list | ao3 | minors dni! if you read it, reblog it.
requested by @zenlzen
wordcount ― 10.9k
pairing ― jaemin x fem reader
content ― summer vacation au, established relationship, college setting, fluff, smut
note ― first of all, lets give a round of applause to @rainyjeno for stepping up to become my main beta, now i no longer have to release fics full of typos ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) this ended up more dirty than i was anticipating so….ur welcome.
smut tags under cut::
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