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[lucyandthepen]

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties. 

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert. 

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling). 

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption —  like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you. 

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease. 

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it. 

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine. 

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever. 

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory. 

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you. 

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM. 

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect. 

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer. 

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist. 

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront. 

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day. 

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will. 

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

[puck-luck]

between the tiles | jack hughes

warnings: unprotected p in v, creampie (& mention of how unsafe that is bc PREGNANCY??? me when i’m scared. on the bright side, the mention is ambiguous, so it’s not revealed if jack gets reader pregnant by creampieing her <3), drinking, frat aesthetics, semi-public sex, praise mixed with degradation (sooo true), spanking, frat behavior (the brothers being gross and invasive about their brothers’ sex lives…) pairing: frat!jack hughes x fem!reader summary: based on the prompt “frat!jack fucking you in the bathroom at a party my god”, IMO based in the same universe as ‘frat fever’ but later in the timeline. wc: 3120

“Here you go, pretty girl.” Jack delivers a red solo cup of liquid to you. He holds his own cup of beer, the backwards hat on his head falling askew. He reaches up to fix it when he notices your gaze and you sneak a peek at his messy brown locks before Jack hides them again.

“Thanks, J,” you say with a smile. 

Jack stands close to you, his arm wrapped around your waist easily. He talks quietly with the brothers that pass him by, keeping you close but never paying close attention to you. You’re content with it, sipping on your drink as you watch the mayhem around you.

Jack had invited you to the party in class the other day. He loves to bother you in class. He flirts, he invites you to parties, he asks for help with his homework, he begs you to read his essays before he submits them, and he flashes those big blue eyes at you to get you to agree every time. 

You had denied his other invitations, not wanting to get involved in the frat life. You had joined a sorority your first year, but dropped less than a year in because your exec board was toxic and you felt like you didn’t belong. 

You learned that you and Jack had rushed the same year, but he had stuck it out longer than you had. Years later, he’s at the top of the social hierarchy.

Jack is the president of his frat and he loves it. Whenever you walk with him in the halls before and after your class, he seems to know everyone on campus. People are constantly saying hello and dapping him up or waving and batting their eyes. You like Jack– he’s definitely class crush material– but you don’t see how he’s completely charmed all of these people.

He’s Jack– he’s dry and his laugh is always half-hearted at best. He talks with a smirk on his face like he knows more than you, but it’s hard to ignore how well he holds eye contact through his hooded eyelids. Maybe the charm is how dry he is– how little he seems to care must make people want to impress him even more.

It’s dark in the frat house. The wooden floor is creaky and a little sticky. Music is emanating from the living room, vibrating through the whole house. The LED lights in the living room burn your eyes when you look over there, so you’ve been avoiding that room. It’s where you found Jack at first, leaning against the wall near the speakers talking with the brother that’s DJing. He looked handsome in the green and red lights, his face growing scratchy from his commitment to No Shave November that he told you about in class last week.

Tucked into Jack’s side, looking up at his facial hair and the freckles that are faded along his cheeks, you start to really see the appeal.

The drink he brought you is strong and was clearly made by a pledge. You wouldn’t be surprised if the drink was mixed and retrieved from a massive cooler that is branded with Gatorade. You decide in a moment that you want to see if your suspicion is true, but you don’t know the way around the house. 

You turn to face Jack, putting a hand on his bicep to get his attention. He pauses his conversation immediately, turning to look down at you with a little grin on his face. 

“What’s up?” Jack asks.

“Wanna give me a tour?” You say. You feel like you have to shout to make him hear you, so you stand up on your tiptoes to speak directly into his ear. 

“Sure,” Jack agrees, putting his hand on your lower back and guiding you down the hallway. You started in the room where the boys were playing pong, then Jack leads you to the kitchen. He introduces you to the pledge who is serving drinks, who blushes when you thank him. He introduces you to brothers in every room, shows you the composites hanging in the halls and points out his friends who have graduated. He’s surprised when you say you know Nico, the last president of the frat. 

Eventually, you ask Jack to show you to the bathroom. You’ve finished your drink and you’re feeling a little tipsy, but mostly bloated. There’s a long line at the bathroom in the main hall, which you wait in with Jack until you’re squirming and no closer to the door than before. You whine a bit about how long it’s taking, receiving some nasty looks and side-eyes from the girls around you in line. It doesn’t take them long to notice that you’re with Jack and the looks turn more interested than annoyed.

Jack is frowning about how long the bathroom line is taking. You can see him growing more frustrated, the frown on his face and furrow of his eyebrows deepening.

“Come here,” Jack says, taking your hand and pulling you to the front of the line. He shoulders past drunk people who are equally as annoyed as you and Jack, but now they’re growing frustrated with the blatant show of self-importance that Jack puts on as he drags you along. You hear a number of grumbled “excuse you”s and scoffs, and your face burns red slightly from embarrassment. 

Jack doesn’t care that he’s pissing people off. He simply starts to bang on the door of the bathroom with a pounding fist. 

“Get the fuck out of the bathroom!” Jack commands, shouting through the wooden door. You can hear shuffling on the other side and a few minutes later, a clown car of girls leave the bathroom, looking down in shame. One of them is leaning on her friend, covering her mouth. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had been vomiting.

Jack stops the next people in line and pushes you forward. He closes the door behind you and leaves you to do your business, which you do quickly. It’s less than three minutes before you’re washing your hands, which Jack can apparently hear through the door, because he lets himself in as you do so.

You look at him through the mirror, making eye contact. He walks toward you after turning the lock on the door. You don’t miss the tension in the room. Jack touches your back, then plasters himself against you. He brings his arms around your shoulders, hugging you tightly and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Y’look really pretty,” Jack murmurs. “Did y’know that I’ve been flirting with you since sylly week?”

“I had a feeling,” you reply, leaning into his touch. You’re wearing a low-cut going-out top, something different than what Jack normally sees you in, and you’ve noticed his glances throughout the evening. Your chest was the first place his eyes went when you greeted him in the music room.

“I was hoping you’d come tonight,” Jack says. His touch loosens and his fingers trail lower, tracing the stitching on the neckline of your shirt. Half an inch over and he’d be touching your skin– you feel like he is already. You can feel the goosebumps rising beneath his warm touch, even though it’s more absent-minded than sexy.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, unable to find any other words. 

Jack meets your eyes in the mirror. “Oh, yeah,” he replies like it’s obvious. “I’ve been wanting to get you to one of my parties for weeks.”

“Why’s that?” You ask, laughing slightly.

Jack moves your hair off the back of your neck and kisses the side of your throat, near your pulse-point. “Because you’re so uptight and I thought you could use a little fun.”

“Oh,” you scoff, laughing for real this time. “You just want me to loosen up and you thought you’d help me out?”

“Yeah,” Jack says.

“No ulterior motive?” You check with a knowing smile, reaching a hand up to thread your fingers through the hair that peeks out from under Jack’s baseball cap. You scratch his scalp, earning a purr from the boy and another kiss to your neck. 

Jack hums instead of replying directly to your question. He keeps his lips planted against your skin, but you can see that he’s smiling against you. There’s your answer. Of course he had an ulterior motive– it’s why he came into the bathroom at all. It’s why you’ve been attached to his side since you showed up today.

You don’t mind. You’ve suspected all along. It’s part of the reason why you showed up tonight at all– you finally decided that there was no harm in seeing Jack outside of class, specifically in his bed.

You continue to scratch Jack’s scalp, rolling your head to rest against his body so that your neck lengthens and Jack has access to more skin. He’s behind you still, leaning down to kiss all over your skin, and you can feel him starting to grow hard when you press your ass back into his shorts.

You grind against his bulge, sighing with Jack at the feeling. His is a groan of relief as your body alleviates the pressure of being untouched, whereas yours is a sigh of contentment as a fire lights in the pit of your stomach.

“Wanna fuck you,” Jack says quietly before biting your earlobe. 

“Yeah?” You ask, breathless.

“Yeah,” Jack continues. He brings his hand down your front, bypassing your chest to touch the button of your jeans. “Been thinking about touching you for ages.”

“Then let’s go,” You say. You make a move to get out of his grasp, but Jack holds you in place.

“No, here,” He whispers. “Where everyone can hear you.”

Your breath hitches when his fingers pop the button and drag your zipper down. You’re dripping in your panties and Jack is inches away from discovering it. You can feel yourself nodding wordlessly as Jack’s fingers dance around your mound and abdomen, sending sparks up your spine.

“Is that okay?” Jack asks, checking another time before he touches you.

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, arching into him. Your lips are tingling with the need to connect with Jack’s, but his nibbling along your neck is much too enticing to halt.

Like whiplash, Jack bends you over the sink and tugs your jeans down to your knees. He takes your panties with them, leaving your lower half bare. It registers briefly that you’ll be taking longer in this grimey bathroom than those other girls. Regardless, you spread your legs as best you can with the fabric still constricting your knees. 

“Good girl,” Jack praises preemptively. His voice is gravelly and his words make you shiver. You can feel yourself clenching on nothing, seeking something that is far, far away. Jack swats the skin of your thighs, making you jump and squeal slightly. “Look at how easy you are for me.”

Your head immediately lifts, finding yourself in the mirror. You look at yourself for only a second. Under the harsh light of the fluorescent bulb, you look washed out. At the same time, you look bright red because of your attraction to Jack. Your attention turns to Jack, who looks nothing short of holy under the brightness. He looks like he’s closing in on everything he’s ever wanted.

You watch as he digs his fingers into his waistband, pushing his shorts down. He pulls his cock out of his pants, pumping his shaft until he, too, is leaking precum. Your mouth hangs open at the sight of it, dropping even further when Jack lifts the bottom of his shirt and bites it, keeping the fabric out of the way and revealing his toned abdomen.

“Jack,” you drawl. It’s not quite a moan or a plead. It’s an indignant little while for more mixed with an acknowledgement of how good-looking he is. 

“I’m coming, baby,” Jack tells you, touching the skin on your waist with one hand and lining himself up with the other. “Keep saying my name.”

He slams forward once the head of his cock slides into your pussy, unable to resist the feeling of your warm and damp heat. He’s pounding into you from the get-go, grunting as he thrusts into you. His noises just add to the lewd squelching filling the room, as well as the slapping of skin as he pulls your hips back to meet his. 

You follow his direction, repeating his name over and over mindlessly. You fall to the pleasure, letting your head droop and eyes close. 

Jack slaps your ass hard without ever pulling out. He regains your attention, flashing you a warning look and a muffled snarl since he’s still biting his t-shirt. You moan out his name even louder, eyes rolling. You shuffle your hips back further, hoping to entice Jack to slap you again. 

He does so, eventually, with an evil smirk on his face.

“You like that?” Jack asks around his t-shirt. “Like it when I spank you? Dirty, dirty girl.”

“J,” You whine, pleading with him in the reflection of the mirror.

It’s so good. It is. 

But you need more.

“Okay, baby,” Jack says soothingly. He pulls out, tapping your hips so you turn to face him. Your ass presses against the cool tile of the sink. Jack reaches under your thigh and lifts your leg, eventually sliding his hand down to grasp your knee. “Let’s see how bendy you are, hm?”

He places your ankle over his shoulder, creating a stretch in your hamstring that has you arching into Jack for some relief. He misreads your movement, but fills your hole again in an even better outcome than you had expected. Now, he’s facing you. Now, Jack’s able to kiss you.

His tongue fills your mouth when he seals his lips over yours. The kiss is messy, just like the union of your lower halves, and you can taste the beer that Jack drank earlier in the night. Still, even though you hate the taste of beer, the kiss is perfect. It’s exactly what you wanted from him earlier and the touch of your lips to his is equally as thrilling as a touch to your clit would be.

“You sound so pretty,” Jack praises against your lips, his hips still bucking into yours. You can feel his balls slapping against your skin as he moves. “Fuck, baby, aren’t you just so perfect for me…”

“Jack,” you gasp, feeling his tip nudge your spot. “Oh, fuck. Don’t stop.”

“Won’t,” Jack promises through gritted teeth, pushing your hamstring to the limit as he hunches over you to get a better grip on the wall behind you and the sink beneath you. His muscles are bulging, his abs flexing and mesmerizing you in a way that has you nearly screaming.

You chant his name in a high-pitched, desperate voice along with a series of curses. Jack becomes smug as his dick turns you into a mess beneath him, coating his cock in wet slick. Not only does your pussy leak all over Jack’s length, but your slick drips from your hole onto the floor of the bathroom, dirtying the room even further.

In the coming weeks, unbeknownst to you, Jack’s frat brothers will chirp him for taking you in the house’s most public bathroom. They’ll chirp him for making you scream and whine louder than the music and for the way that an audience gathered around the door, speculating about who was in there. It didn’t take long for word to spread that it was Jack Hughes, frat president, bagging some girl from his classes rather than the typical sorority presidents that he was used to sleeping with.

Jack, in return, will claim that this fuck was better than any of those had ever been.

His statement will be motivated by the memory of how your walls squeezed him and milked him through a paralyzing orgasm. You’re clenching down on him now and he’s so, so close. Sweat is beading at his hairline. His hemline fell from his teeth when his jaw dropped at the depth of the new position and he let out a choked moan when you took it between your own teeth, quieting yourself. 

You’ve got a hand in his hair and a hand on his love handles, feeling him move his hips as he fills you. You’ve got his shirt between your teeth and your ankle over his shoulder. 

Your body seizes up shortly after Jack turns his head and kisses your ankle, a place that no one in your life has ever touched, to your memory. The intimacy of that action and the persistent bump of his leaking cockhead against your cervix sends waves of pleasure over you, whiting out your vision and sending your eyes to the back of your head. 

You can’t even hear yourself as Jack’s name shrilly leaves your mouth. You don’t hear the curse that falls from his lips as you clench down, sucking him into your cunt. You don’t feel his body shudder as he loses his rhythm and buries himself into you, shallowly thrusting as his cock spills its seed inside of you. 

He meant to pull out, he did, but your cunt was too warm and too appealing. He feels much more drunk than he actually is, warm and overwhelmed by the envelopment of pussy around his cock, and Jack can’t remove himself from your entrance until he’s milked completely dry. Even then, he kisses over your neck as he thrusts slowly through your aftershocks, fucking his come deeper into you. 

The danger of the situation doesn’t register to either of you– not how public this is, not how unsafe it is to be doing this without protection, not how cramped and stiff you both feel from fucking each other in a tiny bathroom rather than Jack’s big bed.

No, you both breathe in pure bliss as you come down. You touch his cheek and hair until Jack presses his lips against yours. 

He’s the one who moves your ankle from his shoulder, kissing up your ankle to your knee before he does so. It’s romantic and sweet and you can feel your heart clutching. After fixing your clothes, Jack kisses you on the mouth once more before you both leave the bathroom. 

In class the following days, Jack acts like nothing happened at the party. He’s no different, and it leaves you wondering if it meant anything at all to the boy. Little do you know– it didn’t change anything, but it meant everything. Jack’s already organizing another party, just so that he can invite you.

notes: dear frat!jack, one chance. please. one. fuck me in the dirty bathroom NEOWWWW.

[missqhughes]

HATE TO WANT YOU | Q. HUGHES43

-> quinn hughes x fem!reader

-> includes: smut with plot, dom!quinn, fingering, unprotected sex, sexual themes, use of y/n, intended lowercase, platonic fem!reader x luke & jack

-> IN WHICH: y/n loves her best friend luke with all her heart, but there’s one person she can’t stand; his brother. she can’t take it anymore; in a confrontation with quinn, he can’t help but drop his facade and give her everything he’s always wanted to.

-> sexxxxyyyy request anon thank you! i too want quinn to hate me and then fuck me senseless. drooling. love it as much as i do! mwah

*fic is not proofread

18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

this wasn’t y/n’s first summer with the hughes brothers.

and it wasn’t her first at the lake house.

ever since they bought it, she’d been there every summer since.

she loved the hughes family, especially her best friend luke. all of them treating her like their own, all except quinn.

and now she stood in the living room, leisurely on her phone, when a rough shoulder shoves past her,

“can you not stand in the middle of hallway? always in the fucking way…” quinn mumbled, ruffling his hair whilst disappearing into the pool room.

y/n scoffed, trying to appear unphased by quinn’s attitude.

quinn had it out for her for so long she couldn’t even remember a time he didn’t act like he hated her. shoving her roughly whenever they all would play together, putting spiders on her body in the summer when he knew she was afraid, and god, all his rude comments galore.

she shook out of her thoughts, making her way to luke’s room, knocking five times to signal to the other that it was them.

“come in!”

she didn’t bother creaking open the door, luke was sitting on his computer playing video games, her flinging herself onto his bed. y/n sighed, causing him to pause his focus and face her,

“what’s wrong? you never just dramatic sigh for nothing.”

she sat up, scrunching her nose before answering, “have you ever noticed… that like… do you think quinn hates me?”

luke gave her a look, “hates you? like genuinely?”

“yes.”

for some corrupt reason in her mind, he started laughing at her question,

“luke! it’s not funny! i’m being serious.”

luke held is stomach, his laughter dying down a bit, “he just treats you like a little sibling that’s all. plus why do you care what quinn thinks? you’ve never brought it up before.”

his words stirred in her brain. sure, she had never mentioned it, but deep down it bothered her and she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why.

because it was just plain rude?

because she couldn’t stand up for herself?

because she found quinn attractive?

thinking about it all made her chest feel weird.

“i don’t care. i mean, i guess i do, i don’t want my best friends brother to hate me for the rest of our lives,” y/n sighs, laying back down on luke’s messy sheets.

he removed his headset and sat next to her, patting her leg affectionately,

“dude you’re fine, i promise he doesn’t hate you, lighten up okay? you’re freaking me out,”

the two giggled softly at his comment, y/n feeling better with luke’s reassurance but not quite. nonetheless, she decided to ignore it.

“sorry, sorry, can’t be mopey here. let’s go down to the dock yeah?”

luke’s smile grew, “race you down there?” he lightly shoved her off his bed, out of his bedroom,

“i’ll beat you to it lukey!”

——————————————————————————

y/n did beat luke down to the dock, only to be met with quinn.

and only quinn.

not even picking up his head to look at her, quinn continued to scroll on his phone as y/n laid her towel down.

“y/n.”

“hello quinn.”

the awkward silence sat between them per usual when this sort of thing happened, when they were finally in a weird position of being alone together. y/n put her sunglasses on, feeling quinn’s glare branding her skin every time he looked at her.

in time to save her, luke ran down, towel and speaker in hand.

“damn it!” he huffed, completely out of breath and throwing his things down next to hers in defeat. she giggled, and saw quinn rolling his eyes out of the corner of hers.

quinn cleared his throat, getting up off the chair, “well now that the peace and quiet is gone, i’m going up. see you guys for dinner.” and with that, he disappeared up to the house.

luke waved off his brother, focused on his phone picking a song. y/n watched until she knew quinn was out of sight, then shoved luke hard in the shoulder,

“shit y/n, what the hell was that for?”

“i told you he hates me. he literally just went up as soon as i came down!”

“dude, he went up because he knew we’re gonna play music and you know how he is. seriously what’s up with you? you’re way too bothered by this.”

she rolled her eyes at him, not really being able to exactly articulate why she felt the way she did. at least not to him.

“i told you already i just don’t want him hating me for the rest of our lives,”

“want me to ask?”

y/n’s eyes widened, shoving luke once more, “no! that’s so embarrassing luke don’t,”

he shoved her back, “then YOU ask him, jesus! ask him after dinner or something,”

she laid on her side, facing him with contemplation in her eyes, he shrugged in response, “doesn’t hurt to say somethin,”

“okay fine, but if i’m totally right then i’m blaming you.”

after soaking up the hot summer sun, y/n and luke retreated back into the house. both exhausted, they parted their ways until dinner.

not another body was sighted in the house, and thinking quinn and jack went to the store, she went down to the kitchen to get a drink, restoring the energy the sun brought out of her.

she grabbed a coke from the fridge, hearing footsteps behind her she turned her head around, and there was quinn.

she all of a sudden felt very exposed in front of him her small bikini, especially alone in the kitchen. it’s different on the dock, you’re not supposed to be wearing barely nothing inside.

she turned her head back, hearing quinn let out a long exhale as he slipped past her, likely annoyed by just her simply being in his vicinity. the tension still stood thick between them, and in the discomfort y/n made a break for her room, not looking back.

——————————————————————————

she tried to get through dinner as normal, but y/n couldn’t control the bouncing in her leg, the anxiety of asking quinn the dreaded question manifesting through the rest of her body.

after everyone was done, her and luke stood beside each other doing dishes, him giving her a slight nudge when quinn left and settled with jack in the living room.

“so are you gonna say something?” he whispered, barely loud enough for her own ears to pick up,

“yeah i will, just not right now. not when there’s an audience,” she said wiping her hands, waiting for luke to finish up.

“you guys wanna watch a movie?” jack’s voice echoed,

“yeah we’re coming!” luke replied, waving her over to walk with him. they sat on the two available chairs, while jack and quinn occupied the couch.

jack had already picked something out, and even though it had just started, she felt eyes peering at her. y/n continued to look over at luke, who was focused on the screen, thinking it was him. she looked over at jack, who was in the same boat as his younger brother, then eventually landing at quinn.

his jaw ever so slightly squeezed tighter when her eyes met his, wandering his piercing eyes to the tv. she shuffled in the chair, attempting to mend the discomfort she felt.

——————————————————————————

with about an hour left of the movie, jack stretched, yawning as he sat up from the couch, “i’m gonna go to bed, i’m exhausted, night everyone,”

everyone said goodnight back as he left, leaving just the three of them behind.

this time, luke was looking over at y/n, and when her glance met his, she saw him looking at the situation in front of him, seeing the idea formulate in his head.

y/n looked at him with a pleading face, begging for him not to put the pressure on her right then and there, but he ignored,

“you guys can finish the movie without me, i’m lowkey really tired too.”

“luke,” y/n began, slightly weary,

“goodnight,” he said quickly, jogging to his bedroom, as fast and as least suspicious as possible. she fell back in the plush chair gently, avoiding even looking in quinn’s direction.

they sat there, she was sure neither of them were even watching, and decided that it was enough,

“can i ask you something?” she breathed out, feeling like the air from her lungs came with her words.

quinn turned his head to look at her, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, not expecting her to say anything,

“what?”

“why do you not like me?”

the questioned lingered in the air for far longer than she felt okay with. feeling frustrated, she got up, cursing at herself internally for even asking him such a question,

“wait,”

she doesn’t, instead marches straight to her room, not stopping when she hears footsteps behind her.

she gets halfway down the hallway just at the staircase before a gasp leaves y/n’s breath when she feels herself be spun around and pinned onto the wall.

quinn pins her by the hips, eyes staring deep into her own, an unreadable expression on his face.

“you didn’t let me finish.”

“then finish.” she spat back, done with his antics and still embarrassed about leaving her hanging in the living room.

“i was going to say i don’t hate you, before you ran away like a scared little kid.”

she scoffed, not believing a word he said when he just had to throw in an insult in.

“you really expect me to believe that? you’ve done nothing but torn into me since the day we’ve met. i don’t get it, i’ve done nothing to you quinn. nothing.”

he let her words soak into him, taking in all of herself in front of him, admiring it internally.

“it’s not you as a person i hate.” he said, the placement on her hips unwavering,

“so you do hate me,” she kissed her teeth, “then what is it quinn? what do you hate about me that isn’t just me?”

his breathing was hard yet steady, thinking over his next words,

“for one,”

his grip tightened,

“i hate that you’re talking back to me right now,”

y/n’s heart rate picked up,

“i hate how fucking hot you look when you dance around in practically nothing all day,”

his hands moved up slightly,

“i hate how much lukey loves you, how you’re all his and-”

“-luke and i will never be that,” she stopped him, not wanting him, or anyone for that matter, to think her and luke were anything more than friends.

“not what i meant. he gets to spend all this time with you, here there everywhere, and it makes me hate you.”

she felt her heartbeat everywhere in her body, ears hot and arousal seeping through her with his words.

y/n swallowed, “why does that make you hate me?” she whispered, falling into this version of quinn right before her eyes.

“because i hate that i want you, you of all people,” he said lowly, face moving close enough to where their breaths could mingle, crossing territories neither of them have dared to even look at with each other.

“if you don’t like this, tell me. if it’s too much, tell me to stop,” his hands felt around her waist, a different kind of tensions between them now, with only air and opportunity separating them.

“don’t, don’t stop,” she let out, closing her eyes in anticipation for him. and boy, did it come.

quinn’s lips hooked on to hers, primal and eager to explore her mouth. his lips spoke louder than his voice ever could.

y/n’s hands worked their way up from his shirt covered abs to his face, holding it in her hands while he kissed her in a way that told her it wasn’t just her lips he was going to be tasting.

he savored every time his teeth sunk into her plump bottom lip, gently tugging and feeling himself grow harder with the soft noises she let out whenever he did so.

quinn walked them to the couch, and he pulled away to push her down softly, y/n looking at up at him, needy and wanting more. he wasted no time in diving down to kiss her again, his hand finding its way down her shorts.

he smiled devilishly when he was met with a damp spot in her underwear, knowing she was fully soaked underneath,

“already fucking dripping for me huh? m’sure you’ve wanted this,” he mumbled against her lips, feeling her moan on his when he started rubbing her clit through her clothed core.

he pulled away, wanting to see how she looked withering under his teases. y/n’s bottom lip was between her teeth, one of her hands gripping onto quinn’s tshirt,

“mm, quinn, need your hands inside me,”

he knew it too, craving for his fingers to fuck her pussy and make a mess on his hand.

he peeled off her shorts, mouth almost watering seeing her pussy drip through her panties. he moved them to the side, running his ring and middle fingers between her folds before plunging them into her.

y/n covered her mouth, knowing the guttural moan that was going to escape her lips was uncontrollable. her back arched as he curled his fingers, using his thumb to circle her clit at a pace soon to send her over the edge.

her grip on his shirt caused her knuckles to turn white, and he felt her clench around his fingers, close to her release,

“yeah that’s it… cum for me, y/n,”

she panted, legs shaking slightly as the tightness in her stomach loosed, her juices glistening all over his hand as he pumped into her through her high.

quinn brought his hands up to lick his fingers, cleaning her off of them,

“you taste so fucking good, god i need you,”

y/n grabbed the nape of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, drunken off quinn making her cum so quick.

“fuck me, quinn hughes. fuck me like you hate me.”

those words were enough for him, effortlessly he threw her over his shoulder, grabbing her shorts and carrying her up towards his room, the one place in the house she had never been.

he put her down on his bed, y/n taking in every part of quinn’s room, a sight she had yet to look at.

he was sure as hell neater than luke, little canucks things here and there as well as small things he’s collected over the years. it was cute to her to see the difference in how he acted vs his safe space, even a small teddy bear resting on his dresser.

her mind went back to reality when she heard the door click, quinn turning back to crawl on top of her on his bed.

he slightly pushed her legs apart, y/n hooking them around his waist instinctively, his mouth trailing hot kisses down her jaw and neck.

y/n felt her core growing burning hot, squeezing her legs tight around his waist, desperate for friction on her core.

“you needy huh? turn around.”

y/n obliged, but not before taking off her shirt, whilst facing quinn, seeing his adam’s apple shift when she was left in just a bra and underwear.

she turned around, sticking her ass high in the air for him, quinn admiring her arch pulled her panties down her legs, a bead of arousal following with.

he couldn’t wait any longer, he stripped off all his layers of clothing, pumping his stiff dick leaking with precum before aligning himself with her.

at first he pumped slowly, just to get himself fully inside, but after that he slammed into her, erotic noises emitting from the muffled sheets whilst he fucked her senseless.

quinn groaned at the feeling of y/n around his dick, squeezing it perfectly every time he pounded her in just the right spot.

she gripped his sheets hard, feeling herself come undone underneath him, whimpering into the bed with pleasure.

quinn snaked his around her neck, pulling her up by it and fucking her harder,

“you like it— shit, when i fuck you like this?”

“fuck oh my god, yes quinn, mm,”

he pushed her back into the bed, his thrusts become sloppy and untamed, dick twitching as he let go inside of her, warm release coating the inside of her pussy.

quinn flipped her back over, kissing her cheek before collapsing next to her on the bed, both still buzzing from sex.

“quinn?”

“yeah?” he replied, still trying to catch the rhythm in his lungs,

“i don’t think you hate me anymore,” y/n said, breathlessly laughing as she closed her eyes, also trying to regain herself.

he chuckled softly, handing her clothes back to her before putting on his own.

“as much as i’d like you to stay,” he said, running a hand through his now messed up hair, “you should go back to your room, wouldn’t want lukey having a heart attack seeing you come out of my room in the morning huh?”

she shuddered at just the thought of it, “absolutely not,” she stood up, shaky legs carrying her to his door, quinn right behind,

“but between us, you’ll be back in here tomorrow night.”

——————————————————————————

© missqhughes

xoxo, kaia

[shurisasthmaticgf]

calling my boyfriend my husband to see his reaction: lando norris x black fem social media influencer! reader

authors note: lets all pretend this trend isn't old now :) also feedback is highly appreciated and encouraged 🫶🏽

tw// anxiety mention, internet translated spanish

you looked into the lens of your vlogging camera and sighed deeply in frustration, bringing your hands to your head and smoothing your palms over your slicked back hair. nearly a year ago you'd made reservations to visit the Canary Islands with your best friend as a girls trip. when the two of you were younger you'd learned about the islands during a geography class and promised one another that you'd visit when you all were older. the reality of being an adult in your young 20s hit harder than a freight train and the two of you nearly gave up on the trip as a whole because it was so costly. however, when your social media career took off and the brand endorsements, monetization, partnerships, and other deals rolled in the ability to take the trip became a reality.

now, you were only a week away from flying into Gran Canaria and of course a problem came up with the reservation for your first hotel. you explained in a whisper to the camera in front of you, "so i've been trying to fix this problem with our reservations. basically, they've cancelled one of the rooms and i've been emailing back and forth for two days and it's not getting anywhere so i'm gonna go call on the phone and see if that works better." you held your phone in one hand and paced around your hotel room, adding and taking things out of your suitcase nervously.

you muted yourself and picked up your camera to move to another room instead. peeking from behind the door your spoke quietly, "well, while we wait for someone to answer i've been wanting to do this tiktok trend and lando isn't doing anything...oddly enough so i'm taking my chance." a smile crept onto your face as your rounded the corner and saw your boyfriend sitting on the sofa typing away on his laptop. you placed your vlogging camera down on the table in the middle of the room so it still showed you in the frame. then, you moved and sat on the other end of the sofa and stretched your legs out so your feet were just touching the side of his thigh. he lightly flicked your socked foot with one of his fingers and wrinkled his nose, "your feet stink." the eye roll you made made him laugh and you shot back, "you're just smelling your upper lip." he pulled one of the throw pillows from behind his back and tossed it lightly at your face, "no that's your feet, you muppet." you burst into a fit of laughter and pulled the pillow into your chest, squeezing it when you heard the hold music stop on your phone.

an older man on the other line answered, "hello miss?" you unmuted yourself and responded, "yes?" he quickly informed you, "all of our english speaking representatives are busy right now please continue to hold." before you could even respond he put you back on hold making you clench your fist and raise it to the phone. your boyfriend asked you, "what's going on?" you swallowed back your frustration and explained, "the reservations jada and I have for our first hotel were cancelled or something because they're not showing up in my email or anything and i've been trying to sort it out for two days over email and nothing worked so now i'm calling and they don't have any representatives available. i told them i can use a spanish speaker but they cut me off and i just don't have time for this. i'm freaking out because we get back to monaco in two days and the guest room isn't ready and jada is flying in right after we get back. and on top of it i didn't remember to book a hair appointment while we were here so i'm gonna have to go on vacation with my natural hair- i'm gonna have to wear a swim cap in the ocean-" the minute that last realization dawned on you tears began to well in your eyes. you felt your stomach drop and your chest tighten as you were reminded of the many things you had to get done in a short time span. a heavy feeling of panic coursed through your veins in the most nauseating and unsettling way possible.

before you could even spiral further into a full blown anxiety attack lando cut you off, "hey hey take a deep breath. relax for me okay? don't get yourself worked up, we can fix this, yeah?" he held one of your socked feet in his hand, his thumb and pointer finger pressing into a specific spot on your foot out of routine habit. he asked you, "do you remember i had to put two of the reservations under my name?" when your brows furrowed he reminded you, "they were telling you that there weren't any rooms available so we called back later and they found a room for you and under my name." suddenly you did in fact remember that small detail from a year ago that slipped your mind the minute after it was handled. a soft, "oh....y'know after you said that it's now starting to ring some bells." an awkward laugh fell past your lips and you wiped the tear that only made it halfway down your cheek.

lando let his thumb rub circular motions into the pressure point on your foot as he continued, "baby, don't worry about your hair, we can find a stylist to do it before we leave even if you have to stay an extra day and fly back without me. when we get home i'll help you pack your bags so it can get done faster, okay? the guest room is ready because i set it up before we left because i knew you'd worry. everything will be fine, angel." you sniffled and mumbled through a pout, "thank you..." you slowed your breathing, thanking the gods above that your boyfriend was literally perfect.

right as you were about to thank lando, the representative on the phone ended the hold music. quickly you picked up the phone and rushed out, "hello? hola?" a woman now spoke on the other line, "buenos días señora. me dijeron que creías que una de sus reservas había sido cancelada sin su aprobación, ¿es correcto?" you immediately switched from english and answered, "sí, me equivoqué. mi esposo colocó la reserva a su nombre en lugar del mío cuando hicimos la reserva el año pasado. " "Good morning ma'am. They told me that you believed one of their bookings had been cancelled without their approval, is that correct?" // "Yes, I was wrong. My husband placed the reservation in his name instead of mine when we made the reservation last year."

lando's head shot up from his laptop when he heard the word "esposo". although his spanish vocabulary was extremely limited, he recognized a few words, and he knew for a fact that you just called him your husband. you pretended not to notice him staring at you as the representative responded, "entiendo que esto sucede muy a menudo con nuestros huéspedes y sus cónyuges." you lightly chuckled and replied, "sí, ¡especialmente cuando la reserva se hizo hace tanto tiempo! pero, antes de colgar. ¿podrían confirmar la reserva si les digo el nombre de mi esposo?" I understand that this happens very often with our guests and their spouses. // yes, especially when the reservation was made so long ago! but, before hanging up. could you confirm the booking if I tell you my husband's name?

your boyfriend watched mesmerized as the foreign language fell effortlessly past your lips. studying in both high school and university left you with a high level of understanding to the point where you could speak well if you chose to...much to his dismay, you often refused because you were convinced you didn't "speak it right". in the back of your head you knew he'd remind you of this as a way to hear you speak spanish more often, even if he didn't understand much of it.

the representative asked in english, "what is the name?" you tried to hide the smug tone and grin as you responded clearly, "my husband's name is lando norris." your eyes remained glued on the pillow between your arms until you slowly dragged your gaze to meet his. that same look that made his whole body heat up with one simple stare, and if you hadn't lifted your head and smiled brightly things would have turned out much differently in that moment. the representative snapped him out of his thoughts when he happily confirmed that the reservation still stood before you hung up.

not even a second after your phone was off lando looked at you expectantly making you laugh. pretending not to notice anything you stood up and said, "i'm going to go call jada and tell her everything is fine." as you shuffled away lando stood up and looped his thumb gently through the strands of beads that sat between your waist and hips. you turned to face him and felt his warm hands against the small of your back, toying with the glass beads until he felt the one he claimed as his. you shyly asked, "why are you staring at me like that?"

your boyfriend asked, "your husband? you want to marry me?" you turned your head away to dodge his kisses and said playfully, "no i just said that so the guy would give me the information i wanted. it was a name drop and a tiktok trend, nothing more." lando slipped his hands from beneath your shirt and squeezed your side suddenly making you jump in surprise, "stop it that tickles!" he pushed you gently back to the sofa, not letting up and saying, "not until you admit that you actually love me." you tapped out on his back and caved not even ten seconds later, "fine! i love you now stop it i can't breathe!" instantly his hands were off of your stomach and grinned cheekily, "i love you too."

fans reactions to the vlog upload:

[whoreteen]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐘 ♥︎ - yoon jeonghan !

◟* ♡ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : not being able to wait until Jeonghan gets off the phone with Joshua, you decide it’d be a good idea to get yourself off on his thigh. He makes sure you pay for that.

◟* ♡ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : thigh riding, begging, oral (f receiving), breastplay, orgasm denial, dirty talk, manhandling, voyeurism, use of pet names, slight use of the words ‘slut’ and ‘daddy’, dom!jeonghan, innocence kink.

◟* ♡ 𝐀𝐔’𝐒 : established relationship, idol!au (ft Joshua)

◟* ♡ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 4,3K.

“Jeonghan,” you whined, a frown curving down to the corners of your lips as you stood in the doorway, subtly trying to push your boyfriend to hang up the phone.

Scratch that, you desperately needed him to give you what you wanted, to fuck you so hard until you couldn’t tell your right from your left, to be so close to you; but yet he wasn’t as close as you wanted. He never was and, to be fair, it wasn’t his fault at all. Between his schedule and your time at work, you never had time to hang out, let alone have sex, hence why you’d be damned if you didn’t spend at least some of today making up for lost time.

“Yeah?” he hummed.

You licked your lips, moving a step closer to him before purring seductively, “Can you please hang up? I need you.”

You hoped your statement would make your boyfriend hang up instantly but to your disappointment, he just shot you a smile, before laughing at something the person on the other end said.

So that didn’t get him…

Jeonghan: 1 - Y/N: 0

You groaned louder than intended, feeling yourself getting more turned on as the seconds went by. You watched the smile on his face widen as he continued to talk animatedly, joking about something that had happened at the end of yesterday’s performance. Your eyes darted down to glance at your boyfriend’s bare chest as you tried to stop yourself from drooling.

You were already soaking through your panties and he hasn’t even touched you yet and seeing him sitting there wearing a pair of well-fitting, perfectly worn jeans and no shirt did nothing to calm your libido.

Shaking off your thoughts, you tried your best to quickly compose yourself as you offered him a smile.

“Baby, come on,” you whine, struggling to get his attention for even a minute. “Wouldn’t you rather have sex?”

“You’re so needy,” he said through a smile. “Let me finish this conversation, and then I promise you’ll have my undivided attention.”

You rolled your eyes before looking at him with curious eyes. “Who’re you on the phone to anyway?” you asked.

“Joshua,” your boyfriend half-smiles before turning to put his phone on loud speaker. You offered him a nod before softly saying, “Hi, Shua.”

“Hey Y/N, I missed you,” he replied back, his response coming out in a low whisper.

You indulged in small talk before giving Jeonghan your best puppy eyes and pouty lips, hoping it would be enough to convince him to hang up. He took Joshua off loud speaker before mouthing, “Five more minutes, okay?”

You groaned before deciding to get up and go to the closet in the foyer, and it didn’t take long to find the shopping bag containing the new lingerie set you had bought a few days earlier. You had intended for it to be a birthday surprise for Jeonghan, but this seemed like an equally good time to use it.

Stripping off your clothes, you replaced it with the brand new lace and pink satin bralette and matching thong. Your tits were practically spilling out, and if that didn’t get his attention, then nothing would.

He had left one of his black dress shirts hanging in the closet, so you pulled it on over your lingerie, buttoning it enough of the way up to cover your panties, but keeping the top half open.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled, knowing that your boyfriend would go crazy upon seeing you like this. You knew him oh to well.

You walked back into the bedroom, where he was happily complementing Joshua’s improvement and hard work over the years. When he saw you standing there in the door frame in nothing but his shirt and very revealing lingerie, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

You could hear Joshua’s voice through the phone, but Jeonghan was too busy staring at your exposed chest to pay attention to that. It suddenly hit him how long it had been since he had last seen you naked, and his cock responded immediately to the sight in front of him, exactly how you expected him to react.

Y/N: 1 - Jeonghan: 1

“Hello? Are you there? Jeonghan?!?”

Only when Joshua practically yelled his name, he broke out of his trance.

“What-uhm…sorry, I-uh, I missed what you said,” he stuttered, his voice slightly hoarse and you couldn’t help but have a manic smile on plastered on your face, your eyes glazing over from some lust quirk.

After a brief pause to listen to Joshua’s (predictably inappropriate) comment, he responded again, this time with his voice under control, “Yeah, Y/N took off work today, and apparently she’s horny.”

You rolled your eyes, as his best friend no doubt cackled away on the other side.

Jeonghan snickered at his reply. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take care of her later,” he said, his brown eyes locked with yours. “She already knows nobody can fuck her like I can.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back as you let out a frustrated sigh.

Well, if he didn’t want to be involved, then you’d at least get yourself off.

Usually you would feel rude interrupting his phone call, but the last time you spoke to your parents, Jeonghan’s fingers had suddenly become very busy. After trying to cover your moans with coughing, your mum had called you every other day for a week to make sure you were drinking enough fluids and weren’t coming down with a cold, so this seemed like fitting revenge for having to go through that ordeal.

You took your time removing his shirt from your body, undoing the buttons slowly as you watched his eyes darken with every extra inch of skin that became visible.

Jeonghan couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight.

You dropped the shirt to the floor, doing a small twirl so that he could see your entire body.

“She’s pretty needy today,” he told Joshua as you walked up to him, climbing onto the bed so you were kneeling between his spread legs. You could tell he was intent on making him jealous, especially since he knew he had a crush on you. You, on the other hand, had no idea. “…but then again, that isn’t exactly unusual.”

Leaning forward so that your hands rested on the headboard on either side of his head, you bent your elbows so that you could brush your mouth over his, only briefly, before straddling his firm thigh.

“Hi, baby,” you purred, leaning in so close that your lips were almost touching. His breath hitched a little as he tried not to lose his mind, because you were so close.

He couldn’t help but look at you intensely. God, you were just the hottest person he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Hey,” he raised an eyebrow, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as his eyes fell to your lace-clad breasts, now perfectly at eye-level for him to shamelessly ogle. He could see your nipples through the very thin material and you could feel him twitch in his jeans.

More than anything, he wanted to disconnect the phone and take you right then and there, but he also couldn’t help being curious about how far he could go with this.

“She’s straddling my thigh right now,” he said into the speaker, his lips curving into a smirk. He almost immediately grabbed your hips before massaging the skin there, his brown eyes gazing at your exposed thighs. “My baby girl’s usually not this slutty, I don’t know what has gotten into her.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks as you bit your lip, not sure how to react to the new side of your boyfriend that you saw in front of you.

You couldn’t help but wonder what Joshua was thinking or saying, you heard a babble of noise from the phone, but couldn’t decipher any of it. The twinkle in Jeonghan’s eyes and the smirk on his face spoke volumes, though. Despite a part of you feeling embarrassed that his best friend knew what you were up to, there was no way that you were going to let your boyfriend win this battle of wills.

Ain’t no way in hell. Mama didn’t raise no bitch, you had to finish what you’ve started.

Setting a slow, rhythmic pace, you slid your hips forward before drawing back.

“Fuck,” you moaned when you pressed yourself down on his thigh and he bucked his hips up against your heat. You made small flicking movements to rub your clothed pussy against him. The pressure only increased your arousal and there was no way you were going to last long.

“Hannie, can you please hang up?” you pleaded, rolling your hips in a circle. You could feel the rush of wetness in your panties, and your skin felt flushed as you sped up your pace slightly.

His eyes travelled to where your cunt was rubbing against him, entranced by the sight of you using his body to pleasure yourself.

“You should see her like this, bro. Panting, begging, her tits bouncing with every move, and her panties fucking soaked. My jeans are going to be damp in a minute.”

A squeak of shock escaped your mouth, and you glanced towards the phone, trying to overhear what Joshua was saying. Your hips kept moving, though, as you grinded your clit against his thigh. You knew he was right, the light wash of his jeans was going to darken with your arousal if they hadn’t already.

“Hannie, please…” you whispered, craving his touch to bring you closer to the edge.

“What do you want, angel?” he quipped and you were ready to snort at him but you refrained, instead taking his free hand in yours and guiding it to your breast.

“Want me to touch you? Is that it?”

You hummed in response.

He squeezed the soft flesh, and even after you moved your hand to settle on his sturdy forearm, he kept you in his grasp. The rough pad of his thumb stroked your nipple through the thin fabric, and you arched your chest into his touch.

You were sure that Joshua could hear your loud noises of pleasure through the phone, but you were past the point of caring.

Jeonghan let out a small chuckle at whatever was said on the other side of the line. He gave your breast one last squeeze before trailing his hand down your body, moving it to grab your ass.

“She’s already left a wet spot on my jeans, I can feel it on my leg. I have no idea what’s got into her today. Maybe she needs two cocks, Shua, what do you think?”

You let out a loud moan, your body subconsciously reacting to his words.

You began riding his thigh harder, feeling your muscles tighten as you rubbed your clit against the rough fabric of his jeans. He adjusted his leg a little to increase the friction, as his hand tightened its grip on your body.

“I think she likes the sound of that,” he sighed into the phone. “I didn’t realize what a dirty girl she was.” He raised his eyebrows at you, a little impressed with the side of you that had come out today.

His hand released your ass for a second before coming back with a quick slap, causing your body to jolt forward as you emitted a small gasp.

“Oh yeah, she likes it rough,” he told him, massaging your ass as he licked his lips, his cock twitching thinking about the red mark he knew was decorating your skin.

Your met his eyes, and silently begged him to hang up the phone and finally give in to you, but he knew that the tide was turning in his favor.

He reached for the pink thong covering your heat before speaking, “Hmm, I think Shua is enjoying finding out just how slutty you can be, don’t you think that it’d be rude to hang up on him now?”

Balancing the phone against his shoulder to free up his second hand, he ripped the flimsy fabric of your panties and tugged them off your body.

Any other day, you would have berated him for destroying yet another pair of perfectly good underwear, but the friction of the rough denim against your bare pussy was the only thing on your mind.

His hand firmly grasped your hip and paused your movements for a second, which allowed him to run a finger across your exposed slit. Bringing it up to his mouth, he swirled his tongue around it, making sure Joshua would be able to hear exactly what he was doing.

“Do I taste good, daddy?” you quipped innocently, voice sickly sweet.

It was as if something snapped in him the second the word left your mouth, you could tell from how tight he was gripping your waist that it was taking all of his will power to not ram right into you and rail you until you couldn’t walk the next day.

“Like heaven,” he groaned. “She tastes so fucking delicious,” he informed his group member.

This time, you could literally hear Joshua’s loud groan through the line, and you knew he was jerking off. The thought made your heart skip a beat and you couldn’t help but let out a whimper.

You let your body grind down hard on your boyfriend’s muscular thigh, one hand wrapped around his bicep, and the other with a death grip on the headboard. “She’s close, Joshua, I can see it all over her face.” He then turned his focus back to you. “Do you want to come for us, baby?”

You vigorously nodded, rolling your hips even faster as your pussy throbbed.

Jeonghan’s cheeks were slightly flushed and you could see the outline of his hard cock straining against his jeans. The knowledge that he was as into this as you were only brought you closer to the edge.

“Shua wants to hear your response, slut,” he gently scolded.

“Yes, yes.. oh fuck, I’m so close,” you moaned out, circling your hips frantically. He landed another harsh slap to your ass, causing you to cry out.

“Can you hear her?” he asked, listening to his response. “Come for us, baby, let Joshua hear how beautiful you sound when you cum.”

With his words, you felt your orgasm rip through you, hard enough to make you see stars for a second. Your body shook with its release, and you were sure that not only Joshua, but probably the whole entire city, could hear you.

As you came down from the high, you slumped against your boyfriend’s chest, slowly catching your breath.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he finished, before ending the call and tossing his phone onto the bedside table. He tilted your chin up until you were face to face, pressing his lips to yours in a rough kiss.

You adjusted your position so that you were straddling both of his thighs. Your hands knotted into his fluffy hair as he pulled you in closer to his body until you were seated right on his still-covered cock.

Jeonghan let out a soft groan when you rolled your hips experimentally against him, causing his cock to twitch. He pulled away before catching your bottom lips between his teeth.

His hands moved from their place on your hips to quickly unhook your bra so that your breasts were exposed to his lustful gaze.

Moving his lips downwards, he took one nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking until you were putty in his hands. He shifted his attention to the other breast, loving the way your fingers ran through his hair, tugging gently whenever he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

“Fuck me,” you begged, desperately craving him inside you. “Please, daddy.”

“Since you’ve asked so nicely…” he trailed off, smirking at you before easily lifting you off of his body enough to slide out from underneath so that he could climb off the bed.

Your expression immediately switched from one of concern to one of pure desire when he tugged down his jeans and boxers.

When he didn’t immediately climb back into bed, you crawled over to the edge of the bed, reaching forward to gently stroke his long, hard cock and run your thumb over the prominent vein before reaching his tip, loving the way his breathing quickened.

“Don’t,” he growled through gritted teeth. Finally taking control, he gently pushed you backwards on the bed so that you were left fully exposed to him.

He knelt on the floor between your legs and draped your knees over his shoulders. As his breath hit your sex, you bucked your hips upwards, desperately seeking contact.

One of Jeonghan’s fingers traced your core, causing a shiver to run up and down your spine as he looked at you with obvious lust. You were already wide open for him, but his fingers spread you further, baring your clit.

Hooking both of his arms around each of your thighs, he dove straight in, knowing exactly what to do to turn you into a writhing, moaning mess.

You were too lost in pleasure at this point to notice your hips mindlessly rolling up against his face.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your skin as he continued to suck and lick your cunt. God, he was so fucking close and it drove you insane… You could feel his touch, his mouth everywhere.

“And you’re so good at this,” you cry out.

His mouth was already doing so much and he was only just starting. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

You craned your neck up slightly, admiring the way his head looked between your legs, his dark hair bouncing as he nuzzled and licked, sucked and licked.

It wasn’t long until Jeonghan could feel your thighs shaking, your body beginning to tense up. You were far too lost in current bliss to even notice how fast your hips were rutting against his face, you were too busy drooling and moaning like a whore to notice how close you already were.

But your boyfriend knew you too well.

Just before you could come, he pulled away from you, causing you to let out a plaintive whine.

“No no no, what the fuck,” you sobbed, sounding like a pathetic, cock-obsessed whore but you didn’t even care at this point. “Why did you stop?”

“This is what you get for distracting me during my phone call,” he smirked, licking your juices off his lips.

Standing up, he gripped your thigh in one hand, his cock in the other, notching the head of himself at your entrance. As he gently thrust forward, just the head slipped in.

You groaned in frustration, trying to rock your hips downwards, but Jeonghan moved his hands to your hips, holding you still.

“It’s my turn now, you already had your fun, remember?” he teased, but internally he was running through every breathing exercise his vocal coaches had ever taught him, trying to get his body to calm down enough to not come at the slightest feel of your warmth enveloping his cock.

He continued to tease you with a few shallow thrusts, as you wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to feel more of him inside you.

You began to whimper, desperately needing him to fuck you properly.

“I bet Joshua is thinking of you right now, don’t you? He’s probably getting off as we speak, to the thought of you like this, begging for a cock inside you,” he purred. With that, he thrusted forwards, loosening his grip on your waist until his cock was fully sheathed inside you.

“Hannie- ah, fuck!”

His deep groan echoed throughout your body, as he leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of your head and leaning down to kiss you deeply. Your moans against his mouth gave him incentive to thrust harder, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach as your tight cunt slowly pushed him closer to the edge.

“You like that thought, don’t you?”

His face now inches from yours, he continued his dirty talk, watching your eyes close as you visualized everything he said.

“You like the idea of Joshua with his hands around his cock while he thinks about fucking you? Would you like to have him here with us right now? With his head buried between your legs until you came? What about having two cocks inside you?” he whispered, loving the way your entire body reacted to the thought of you being shared with his friend.

You tried desperately to stifle your whimpers, but he knew you too well.

“You can’t lie to me, Y/N. I can feel the way your pussy clenches around me every time you think of having Shua here,” he punctuated his words with hard thrusts, bringing both of you closer to the brink of climax.

You let out a moan that would make even a porn star blush, and wrapped your arms around his lanky torso, digging your nails into his back.

“So wet and tight for me, Y/N. He has no idea what he’s missing,” he cooed, his voice dripping with desire. “You feel so fuckin’ good, princess.” He set a punishing pace, turning you into a barely coherent mess of groans and curses.

You tried to respond with your own dirty words, something about how big his cock felt inside you, but you couldn’t.

The angle at which he had you meant that the tip of his cock was consistently rubbing your g-spot, rendering you incapable of forming full sentences. The only noise coming from your mouth was a high pitched whimper, forced from you with every thrust.

Jeonghan, however, was talking enough for the both of you, continuing to murmur about what Joshua would be doing if he was here with you, enjoying the way your body belied your true feelings about those thoughts despite your best efforts to appear unaffected.

He hit that sweet spot inside you and you let out a loud gasp, “Oh my god, that feels so good. Fuck, right there, Hannie- just like that. Please.”

You we’re rambling, not able to control the words that fell from your lips. You didnt know if any of it was coherent, and to be fair, you didn’t care at all. All you could focus on was Jeonghan and the way you’ve never felt this good before.

“Yeah?” he rasps, his throaty tone sending a shiver down your spine. “Like this, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” you cried out as you fucked yourself on him. Jeonghan gulped at the sight and feeling. You were so damn fucking sexy and it was killing him. You were killing him.

“Fuck- I’m so full.”

He groaned loudly when he felt you clench around him before pushing deep into you and staying there. Your pussy felt so full, so stuffed that you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back when Jeonghan began moving his hips again. He slammed himself once again, causing you to jerk forward but your boyfriend quickly caught you. One thing was for certain, you definitely wouldn’t be able to walk after this.

“God, baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight, I- fuck,” he grunted, panting into your mouth, lips meeting in messy kiss but it was hard to kiss properly now.

“Need you to cum inside me, please, daddy. W-want you to fill me up,” you sobbed, feeling his thick cock twitch inside you. “Please.”

Jeonghan moved two fingers to your mouth and of course you eagerly accepted them. “You sound like a filthy little slut, do you know that?”

You nodded vigorously, eyes wide as your tongue swirled around his long fingers. You knew exactly what to say to turn him on and get him going.

“My filthy little slut, ain’t that right hmm? Show me how much of a desperate slut you are for me.”

You felt your brain get fuzzy as you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his fingers in your mouth. You looked up at him with doe eyes, knowing you looked pathetic as you drooled all over his fingers and eventually, it just felt so good that you couldn’t make any noise outside of muffled whimpers but Jeonghan still didn’t remove his fingers. You didn’t mind though, you loved it - the feeling of being stuffed full of him on both ends was almost enough to make you cum on the spot.

He added another finger in your mouth, stretching your lips wide. Your body arched as you clenched his full length in your walls, your eyes slipping closed and loud muffled cries resonating from your throat.

Jeonghan could tell you were about to cum, the way you were fucking yourself down onto his cock, meeting each of his thrusts.

Removing his wet fingers from your mouth between your bodies before they found your clit and began to make fast circles.

“Cum,” he commanded. “There you go, that’s my good girl, go ahead and let go for me.”

As soon as he felt the telltale signs of your orgasm, he increased the pressure, and you came hard, screaming his name, which you could barely hear over the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears.

Your body felt limp as he thrust once, twice more before coming with a “fuck” and a loud groan.

He rolled off of you, and the two of you lay there for a while, trying to catch your breath.

After a few moments of silence, you burst into a fit of laughter, turning onto your side to face your boyfriend.

“There’s no fucking way I can look Joshua in the eye ever again.”

Jeonghan snorted in amusement. “You sure you don’t want to come to the concert tomorrow? Stand right in the front row with a sign that says ‘Shua, will you marry me?’”

“Better idea: why don’t I just write ‘Joshua Hong, will you fuck me?’” you joked, winking at him.

With a cheeky grin, he responded, “Best idea: why don’t we spend the rest of today and tonight naked in this bed?” he raised his eyebrows suggestively, and your eyes instinctively darted to his cock, already beginning to get hard again at the suggestion of round two. “So how does that sound?”

“Sounds like the perfect day off.”

© hoshzone, all rights reserved.

[lua-magic]

Mercury and your buisness Mind .

This blog is for those specially who wants to get into business or are confused between job and buisness or what kind of business would suit them.

Mercury is our logical mind, we also call it our business mind.

Which ever house Mercury sits in your chart that house related work or buisness you can easily get into.

Mercury in ancendent.

Native is made for business, he/she can get into any business and be successful. Such native has got strong business mind

Mercury in second houses

Mercury is exalted here, it makes you great speaker here, however this house is of family, so native can get into family Buisness or run buisness with family.

This house is alsovforbfood, so if moon is exalted then native can go into food related or kitchen or cloud kitchen business as well.

Mercury in third House.

Native would be great in communication, media, tours and travel and commission related work or business. If Mars is exalted then native can work with his siblings as well.

Mercury here decreases your courage, so native would be unwilling to take initiative, but if Mercury is not afflicted then person could work with his friends and would get support from his friends as well.

Mercury in fourth house.

There are two placement of Mercury which is tricky, one is fourth and second is in ninth house.

Whenever Mercury sits with moon or in cancer, Mercury make native obsessive and disturbs the mental peace of native.

It gives native OCD, especially if moon is afflicted then it causes anxiety, fear and overthinking.

As Mercury is fast moving planet so it makes moon highly disturbed 😧.

Remedy.

Remedy is to actually, decrease the strength of Mercury, ie, Mercury is your friend and social circle, such native should sit in isolation and should have minimum friends, Quality over quantity.

For gains and Money this placement is excellent.

Well, such natives are good in real estate, and with land related work or business.

They can also go for home related buisness like home decoration, or selling home decoration, furniture, luxury furniture, especially if their Venus is also exalted.

Mercury fifth House.

Best placement for Mercury, native is fast learner and life long Lerner and teacher.

Native would be successful due to his own intelligence, and learning.

Native could be author and writer as well.

Native could also opt for teaching and counseling.

Native can also do books related buisness.

Native is great with children and could get into buisness that is for kids, like, children book, teaching, selling toys or even writing children novel.

Mercury in sixth house.

This is the only placement where Mercury is comfortable doing job as it loves to solve day today problems, it is great problem solver here

But, you can go into service related buisness like, food service, taxi services any buisness that provides service to its customers.

Mercury is seventh house.

Relationship wise this is problematic placement, as Mercury is asexual planet and also fast moving planet, so it creates problems in relationship but buisness wise it is an excellent placement.

Native can get into retail buisness, or go for branding, networking, even make themselves as big brand.

Mercury in eitgth House.

Native thinks alot about money and gains, and money wise it is good only when native is involved in eighth house related work like Bank, insurance, CA, occult, auditing, digital marketing , crypto currency such person could also become great detective, they can go into Research and development as well.

Native is great when it comes to dealing with other's money 🤑, they make good salesman as well.

Mercury ninth house

Here, placement is challenging as Mercury damages the Jupiter, Mercury is selfish, while Jupiter is divine and loves to give that is why Jupiter rules twelfth house which house is house of giving.

Jupiter also rules ninth house, which house of Dharma, religion and rules, and Mercury being prince doesn't like to follow rules

So, when you have this placement then it is better you get into business where religion is involved like selling religious books so, you can save your Jupiter and Mercury is also happy.

But, be careful never go against morality in business because you will block all your blessings.

Native can sell, religious ornaments, things or books.

Mercury in tenth house 🏠.

Such people are great sales person and excellent at marketing and PR, these are the person who would sell comb to a bald person.

So, they make great salesman and marketing.

Such native could also work with government,or collaborate with government like government tender and work with them.

Mercury in eleventh house.

Such natives are great with masses, friends and are good in dealing with large number of people.

They should get into work that involves large numbers of people like forming corporative society, NGO, even they make great speaker, counsellor and teachers. People love to follow them, hence, they make great influencers as well

Mercury in twelfth House.

This is not good placement for Mercury and Mercury is uncomfortable here, Piesces is deep ocean and Mercury being prince doesn't like to go in dark, Mercury is also selfish so it doesn't like the idea of unconditional giving and charity which is also twelfth house.

But, twelfth house is also of, foreign land, meditation, spirituality, yoga, charity, and investment.

So, person could either work outside their motherland or get into import and export business.

They can also do business related to meditation, yoga, and spirituality.

They can also go for investment.

Now, Mercury also your speaking skills, If Mercury is afflicted by malefics then person would be extremely rude with thier words and would hurt lot of people.

When Mercury is with Mars native can go for automobiles or even in technical line.

[fonaccgadgets]

FONACC FIRO Twins Bluetooth Speaker: Sounds like a Powerhouse

FONACC, renowned for pushing the boundaries of audio excellence, developed a portable powerhouse that challenges expectations and redefines the essence of portable sound.

[garmade]

Boost Your Outdoor Experience with JBL Bluetooth Speaker

Designed for the outdoors, the JBL waterproof Bluetooth speaker durable construction guarantees that it will survive shocks and drops; its waterproof design guarantees that it can manage unanticipated weather changes.

[papergirllife]

Lee Jeno (M)

fratboy!Jeno x reader

Synopsis:

Jeno has a past that holds him back from what life could potentially offer him, and one of those, he thinks, is you.

WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, FEEL FREE TO BLOCK ME IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE

warnings: minor character death (in the past), themes of grief and moving on, tooth-rotting fluff, Jeno being down bad but he was sort of an ass for a bit, crying during sx, sp@nking, mc's a masoch1st (kinda), body worship, unprotected sx, 0verstimulation, oral sx.

The music resonates the walls of the dingy frat house as Jeno makes his way through hordes of people on the dance floor, trying his best to squeeze through drunk college students to get to the kitchen, he's too goddamn sober to handle this amount of people as a self proclaimed, he checked his MBTI, obviously, introvert.

“Jeno! Finally made your way down from your room! Finally done studying?” Chenle asks on the top of his voice, clearly a little more than just tipsy, seeing how Jisung's the one making drinks right now, which the latter offers, but Jeno declines, he wants some alcohol to get him going, not blackout drunk, he still needs to get to his quiz in the afternoon tomorrow.

“I don't have much choice, not even the earplugs work against Johnny hyung’s speakers,” Jeno says with a sigh, looking out at the living area, this is going to be a long night, he thinks to himself.

“I told you to get the ones from that brand, they're only slightly pricier, you know,” Chenle chides, the irony, coming from the international student, but he knows his friend means well.

“They're out of my budget, it's fine, I started earlier just to get it done before this party anyways, I'll see you guys later, if you're not passed out by the pool that is,” Jeno jokes as he pours himself a mixture of whiskey and coke.

“Very funny, Lee, even if Mark leaves me out there in the cold, I know Jisung would save me, right bro?!”

Jeno doesn't hear what Jisung has to say, merely chuckling to himself as he makes his way through the crowd once more.

The worn out couch sinks as Jeno takes his seat, he watches as Jaemin talks about something animatedly with bombastic gestures and his tone pitched higher, he's going to be the perfect kindergarten teacher after he graduates being an education major and all, then there's Shotaro, watching wide eyed, engrossed in whatever tale Jaemin is telling, he's going to miss this, Jeno notes to himself, sighing at the fact that his sophomore year has begun and in a year's time he's going to say goodbye to all of this.

“Renjun said you'd be studying, didn't expect to see you tonight,” you say as you take the empty spot next to Jeno, Renjun on your side, you've always been his beloved little sister, Renjun is tiny, but for you? He'd pack a punch any time, his last victim was a 6 feet guy who was too handsy for his liking and dude ended up with a broken nose, he broke a finger too, but no one mentions that unless they want to end up in the same fatal tragedy.

“Finished studying, so I thought I'd come down here and join the rest of you,” and maybe because he wanted to see you too, not that he'd ever admit that, to himself or others, he has no right to delve into these emotions, it wouldn't be fair to you or her.

“Wow Jeno, no need to brag about your smarts like that, all of us know you're the top of the department,” you joke with a nudge of your shoulder, and with that slight movement, your thin cardigan slips down your smooth shoulder, revealing the strap of your tank top.

“Says the one that doesn't need to study and still passes,” Jeno retorts as he lets his eyes linger for a bit, before he decides to finally scoop up the collar section of your cardigan, covering your shoulder once again, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Renjun watching him.

“That's because I only aim to pass, unlike mister high achiever here, and I'm not cold, don't worry,” you say, but regardless, your body naturally inches closer to his, his warmth seeping through his bomber jacket has you hooked.

“Enough about me, what about you? What type of content are you shooting next?” Jeno asks, you're an almost full time influencer, the only reason you're still in college is because you want to get the degree as plan b, and Jeno, one of the few with a car, secondhand from his sister, always offers to drive you and sits through shootings with you, whether it be a trip to Olive Young or the newest cafe on the block.

“Probably gonna try doing those ‘a day in my life as a college student’ vlogs cuz some of my followers have been asking, but I'm not sure, it's a lot of work to film, might just end up going through my PR boxes instead or a review of this lip balm I've been looking for an excuse of getting,” you joke, knowing you, Jeno knows you're gonna get it and review it regardless, unless it's sold out, then he'd be one of the firsts to hear about your complaints.

“I could hold the camera if you want to,” Jeno offers, he always does, and you knew he would, it's why you asked in the first place.

“Thank you, my sweet assistant, knew I could always count on you,” you say before booping Jeno’s scrunched up nose, he always does that when you call him that, very textbook Taurus of him.

“Hey Jeno! Wanna play beer pong with us?” a girl comes up to him over the back of the sofa, tapping on his shoulder, probably his coursemate or something.

“Sure, I'll see you around, let me know when you wanna film, I'll see when I'm free,” Jeno says before giving you a little wave, following the girl to the beer pong area, and everyone knows she's going to end up inviting her to his bed, whether you like it or not.

“Since I'm not drinking tonight and I'm not a smoker, I'm craving Shin noodles, anyone want some?” you ask as you smooth down your skirt, you're gonna borrow your brother's apron, god knows you're one clumsy bitch and you love this mini skirt you searched high and low for, the things you do for a shushu tong dupe.

“Did someone say Shin noodles? I'm down,” is the first thing Mark says when he finally joins your friends’ little section, sex hair and a rumpled shirt triggering a few snickers.

“Sure, Markie, you should probably tidy your hair though,” you say before ruffling it up further, quickly making your way to the kitchen after, distantly, you hear Jaemin’s laughter ringing out even with the loud music playing still.

When you’re cooking the noodles, someone walks in, out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar mane of orange hair.

“Hi Yang Yang, want noodles?” you could probably look for another pot if he wants some, you're sure Renjun stocked up some extra pots here, and even if he didn't, you're sure Taeyong did.

“I'd be down for your noods, if you know what I mean,” he answers coyly, his hand resting at your waist as he attaches himself to your side, watching you separate the noodles to cook them faster.

“Very funny, I'm on day 6 still, so thanks but no thanks, bud,” you reply, patting him on the hand at your side before you turn off the heat.

“Damn, talk about bad timing, no wonder you're craving for noodles, I'll just have a bit of yours, who's sharing with us? I'll go out and call them in, you can take the bowls out and stuff ” Yang Yang offers.

“Mark, he's at the sitting area,” you say before you feel Yang Yang leave your side, you carefully move the pot before fetching the bowls and utensils, grabbing the big thongs and ladle, you quickly get yourself a small portion, almost moaning at the familiar spiciness that ignites your taste buds in the best way possible.

“Wow, thanks bro,” Mark says, eyes lighting up at the sight of food, quickly fetching his own portion.

The two boys start talking about the latest NBA match while you eat in peace, you love eating while chatting up with friends, but you cherish having one on one moments savouring the food you're eating, Jeno calls you weird for that, but maybe that's because he keeps having that dry chicken breast for meals.

“Oh, if you guys want to fuck, you need to hurry up cuz Renjun just left with this girl not too long ago, and you know how he is,” Mark informs,

Renjun’s very particular about sleeping conditions with his one night stands, one time he was willing to pay extra for hailing a cab at 2am because he was sick of the artificial vanilla scent of this girl's diffuser.

“Not tonight, crimson rain's still in season,” you joke before getting more noodles into your bowl, meanwhile Yang Yang's stopped eating, he was just craving for a little taste.

“Oop, that explains the noodles, too bad for you dude, maybe Yuta hyung would have more luck,” Mark jokes, he always liked joking about how you got a roster of boys lining up at your doorstep, when in reality you're always bouncing between Yuta and Yang Yang.

“He got her last time, I gotta make my move faster this time,” Yang Yang says with a groan, putting down his chopsticks, having had enough of his fill.

“l'll let you know when I'm done, how about that, you whiny baby,” you tease, pulling his ear playfully.

Yang Yang cheers from his seat before getting up to wash his bowl.

“See you when the sky's sunny, baby, and Mark, basketball tomorrow afternoon, right?” Yang Yang bids the two of you goodbye, probably off to find another girl or game with Hendery.

“He's not bad, you know, simple minded dude,” Mark suddenly suggests, scooping more noodles then soup into your bowl before you put your hand up to stop him, that's enough noodles for tonight.

“He's alright, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now,” both of you know you're lying through your teeth, but it's the answer that won't stir anything up, you enjoy the dynamic you share with the boys, you're not gonna risk it, not that your feelings would ever be reciprocated.

“What about Yuta then? Is he more your type than Yang Yang?” Mark asks, always looking out for your heart, more than you ever did for yourself at least, which is almost the same for all your friends.

“Maybe, but no, he's not looking for a relationship either,” you explain, this time, not a white lie.

“Yuta thinks you're cool, I'm sure he'd be down to try if you showed interest,” Mark tries his best to convince you.

“I don't think I can watch idly if he looks at a girl with some neon-coloured box dye hair a little longer, I'd be seething, I need someone who's 100% down bad,” you say, trying to deflect the topic at hand.

“Alright, alright, I'll let you be, I'll get back to you when I think of someone new,” Mark says, not giving up on playing matchmaker.

“Have fun playing cupid with that terrible aim, Markie,” you tease before saying goodnight to him, planning on spending the rest of the night alone rewatching this k drama you love.

You were about to text Yeri, your roommate and bestie who had came with you, but upon opening your chat room with her, you realise she has once again ditched you for a boy she found. Oh well, guess you're just gonna crash in your brother's room, Renjun’s room is slightly bigger than most of the rooms in the house because you had once stayed here for a brief period of time when you were in between rentals, so there's space to fit in one more super single in his room, albeit a slightly tight fit, but at least you get to steal your brother's skincare for the night.

On your way to Renjun’s room, you bumped into Yang Yang once more in the hallway.

“Hey! Wanna game with us for a bit? It's just me and Hendery, we're playing COD,” he offers with that bright smile of his which strangely enough, reminds you of Lightning Mcqueen from the Cars cartoon.

“I don't know, Yang, I kinda suck at it,” you would love to have a switch from mobile to Xbox, but not at the expense of potentially ruining someone's game night.

“Come on, we're chill, Hendery dies all the time anyways,” Yang Yang insists, a hand on your back, steering you to his shared room, “but don't tell Hendery I said that,” he whispers by your ear before Hendery turns around to greet you.

“Yo! Nice of you to join us, Ten ditched us for the night so it's nice to have three players again,” Hendery exclaims, enthusiastically passing you the remote.

“Why aren't you guys partying like the rest of the frat?” you ask while picking a character.

“Parties are here every week, this one's kinda boring so might as well game the night away,” Hendery explains before noting how you're an urban tracker girlie.

And after two matches with the boys, you have to agree with the sentiment.

Jeno throws on a simple sweater before leaving his room to go get some water for himself and the girl on his bed, but something catches his eye from the other end of the hallway, it's you and Yang Yang, cosying up outside his room, Jeno’s fist clenched up when he sees you following into his room, he knows you sleep around casually, but he rarely ever catches sight of it, and it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

The party is finally starting to phase out, most of the partygoers are either passed out on the couch, or the unfortunate ones, by the pool or at the lawn. The frat members themselves are mostly gone, either retreated into their own respective rooms or have gone back with someone, so Jeno hadn't expected himself to bump into anyone when he came in to fetch two bottles of water.

“Why do you look like you want to squeeze the life out of those bottles, dude? Was tonight's lay not good enough for you or something?” Haechan asks, car keys dangling from his hand, he must've come in through the backdoor instead of the front, he once had someone puke on his Nike shoes so he isn't taking any chances anymore.

“Nothing, go to sleep,” Jeno deflects, god knows he doesn't need Haechan nosing into his business, which he has a reputation of doing so.

“When you're this pissed off it's usually either you fucked up a test or… is it her?” Haechan didn't even need to emphasise on who's the her when Jeno threatens to throw his half full bottle at him before he was stopped by Jaemin who had come in to dispose of some of the trash he had cleaned up from the living area.

“Jaemin ah, Jeno’s bullying me again!” Haechan whines moving to hide behind Jaemin’s wide frame.

“Stop provoking him and you'd be fine, now go, you're lucky I'm here to take the trash out,” Jaemin says before he ushers his bratty friend out of their kitchen.

“As much as you don't want to hear this, Haechan does have a point,” Jaemin says as he sorts the trash into different recycle bins, “she's not going to be single forever, and I know you love Eunbi, but it's been years, she wouldn't want to see you like this,” Jaemin explains with his most motherly tone that he dishes out unconsciously at times.

Eunbi was Jaemin’s cousin sister and Jeno’s girlfriend from 15 to 17, she passed away suddenly due to a drunk driving accident, and from that day onwards, Jeno has never really been the same again, he swore off the possibility of loving someone again, until you came into his life, his restraint wavering bit by bit as you take up his heart, piece by piece.

Jeno’s hand rises to his chest to feel the familiar butterfly charm hanging on his necklace, Nabi, he used to call her, because she used to love butterflies and also because they rhyme with her name, this necklace is Jeno’s only significant remembrance of her, other than their shared memories.

“I don't have any feelings for anyone, so it doesn't matter,” Jeno brushes off the topic with ease, he's had a lot of practice, and quickly leaves the kitchen.

With a defeated sigh, Jaemin watches his best friend go, hoping that one day soon, he'd be able to finally move on from Eunbi.

Another week passes and the weekend rolls around quicker than expected, Yuta was in the kitchen pouring himself a drink, spiked punch of some sort that Taeyong whipped up, some people got too drunk for his liking last week, so now he’s doing it himself before Chenle or Jisung gets the chance to.

“Oh, Yuta-ah, can you go and play with the kids? You know how truth and dare gets, and I don’t trust Johnny to be responsible, he’s always been such an instigator,” Taeyong says with a shake of his head, as he measures the vodka down to the tiniest drop.

“And you think I’d be the perfect candidate to keep an eye on them?” Yuta asks in disbelief.

“I trust that you’d do as I say for once, Yuta, the others are all still studying for their finals, just this once?” Taeyong asks, and how could Yuta say no when his best friend pulls out the big boba eyes.

Yuta sighs when he sees the sight of Jisung putting a whole dollop of wasabi in his mouth, but he can’t help but laugh when the youngest rushes to the bathroom before he inserts himself in the circle in between you and Mark.

“You’re playing?” Shotaro asks, already perking up at the idea of his big giving away bits and pieces of himself, Yuta isn’t exactly an open book, so he's excited to learn more about him.

“Yup, Taeyong told me to keep an eye on you scoundrels,” Yuta says before he catches Johnny’s eyes, the latter barking out a laugh, Yuta also notes how Jeno was seated next to his friend, he must be here because you’re here, maybe Yuta won’t keep his promise after all.

Things go by uneventfully other than some truths being spilled and Jaemin being told to twerk in the middle of the circle, which he was more than happy to do, however, when he was done his eyes landed on you, and because you’ve been saying truth for a few turns now, you switch it up by saying dare, and honestly, he knows all the truths because all these boys ask are things in the bedroom, taking advantage of the fact that Renjun is absent tonight, so things weren’t all that interesting, but now, Yuta’s interest is piqued.

“I dare you to make out with the hottest person playing,” Xiao Jun suggests, which garnered some groans, Yuta snickers next to you, Yang Yang isn’t here, so things are very much predictable.

You smooth down your skirt before you circle the men around you, eyes lingering on Jeno for a bit too long, the ones that know watch intently, but when you stop in front of Johnny, gasps ring out around the circle, cheers started erupting when squat in front of Johnny, the surprise on his face was evident, cute even if you’re honest, you’re glad you chose to be chaotic tonight, the panic in his eyes had you giggling, breath hitched when you lean in place a chaste peck on his cheek, when you lean away, and did a quick turn back to facing Yuta, Johnny barks out a laugh, while the rest of them back to groaning, you catch a few of them saying that they knew you were just playing them.

Yuta extends his arms, a knowing smile on his face. His eyes take in your plump lips coated in his favourite cherry lip gloss.

“Someone’s been stirring trouble, haven’t you?” Yuta says before he feels your hands tangled in long hair, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeno glaring at him, Jaemin watching nervously where he’s seated.

“I’m always down for trouble when it’s you,” you retorted before you seal your lips with his, climbing into his lap, the familiar bulge of his belt buckle digging into your pelvic and the feeling of of his hands enveloping your thighs sends a shiver up your back, and you couldn’t help yourself, grinding into his crotch, the material of your skirt covering most of your movements, but Yuta could feel everything, smiling against your lips, before he pulls away from you, he could feel his cock twitching at the sight of your dazed eyes and swollen lips.

“Show’s over, I’m taking this one up,” Yuta announces, carrying you away from the shameless group of frat boys that were watching, it’s not their first time, but their curiosity never satiates.

“Damn it, now I need to be the chaperone,” Johnny says begrudgingly.

Jaemin’s silent as he watches his best friend fume in his spot, with a sigh, he cracks a bottle of soju he placed next to him before the game started, passing it to Jeno, the latter taking a huge swig, not long after, Jeno opts out of the game to look for a distraction for the night.

Your eyes flutter when you wake, the sun shining from Yuta’s opened blinds, his body warm under yours, his arm tossed over your waist which you remove to go wash up in his ensuite bathroom, the good thing about sleeping over at Yuta’s.

When you’re done, Yuta’s still sleeping away, you close his blinds for him, he’d probably want to sleep longer, he finished his finals not too long ago, he should be getting more rest.

So you put on your skirt from last night and stealing a sweater from his closet before you padded down to the kitchen, opening the fridge to fetch some ingredients for a basic omelette, spinach and eggs.

“There's still some leftover cranberry juice from last night,” Jeno says, startling you from stirring the omelette in your pan.

“Oh, nice, could you pour me a glass?” you ask, “if you want an omelette then you can fetch me more eggs and spinach, I'll make it,” you add on.

“Thank you,” Jeno says, handing you the ingredients after washing and chopping the spinach.

Soon after, the two of you are sat across each other on the island, joking about last night’s events, from the part where Haechan was dared to take off his shirt and go out for a quick run in the cold till the part where Jaemin had twerked in the circle and had accidentally shoved his ass at a very confused Jaehyun who had just finished a round of beer pong and wanted to see what was happening in the truth or dare circle, conversation was going smoothly and lighthearted until it wasn’t, by then the two of you have finished eating and Jeno’s washing the dishes.

“So you and Yuta…” Jeno trails off, his gaze absent, his fingers holding the fork rather tightly, knuckles white from the restricted blood flow.

“It’s nothing serious,” you brush off absently, you’re not lying, what you and Yuta have is strictly no strings attached, but if the lines were more blurred…you wouldn’t have minded if Jeno hadn’t holed up a place in your heart.

Jeno nods, unconvinced, or maybe he’s just blinded by jealous rage.

“Jeno?” your voice yanks Jeno away from the many images of you and Yuta holding hands and kissing, a scene cruller than what he had witnessed last night, but he bites his tongue from saying anything, not when he still has Eunbi’s necklace hanging on his neck, it wouldn’t be fair to any of you if he acts on his urges.

“Yeah?” Jeno grunts out, he didn’t mean to sound mean, but he can’t help it, just the thought of you and Yuta being something more just pisses him off, he isn’t even worried about Yang Yang, he knows you go to him for pure casual fun, you can never settle with a guy like that, he could tell you crave someone who has a natural leading aura, and that’s why he’s so down bad, the way your eyes light up when he helps you with something as simple as carrying your bag or ordering your food, every time he does something for you, he could feel his heartstrings tugging painfully.

“Jeno, if you have something to say, then say it,” you say, you don’t know why you’re feeling so confrontational today, but it’s been two years of running in circles around Jeno, and honestly, you’re tired, and maybe this would send your friend group into a catharsis, but you can’t keep tiptoeing your feelings around Jeno anymore, not when he obviously knows how you feel.

Jeno shuts the tap off before turning to face you, and something breaks inside him when he sees the conflicted look swimming in your pupils, and at that moment, he wants to wipe it away, and so he makes the mistake of pulling you close by the waist, sealing his lips with yours, and Jeno hasn’t felt this alive since a long time, he could feel all the nerves on his lips igniting like a dying flame miraculously being sparked till they’re a blazing wildfire, and the way his hands wrap around your waist, the warmth of your body rekindles a physical craving he’s never felt before with anyone else he used as a distraction of the loss of Eunbi. Eunbi, no-

Your heart shatters when Jeno pushes you away, searching his eyes for an explanation, but Jeno has his eyes closed, he looks too calm, taking a deep breath as if that kiss was merely a simple mistake, you’ve seen him act more emotional when he doesn’t receive his desired grade for a paper, are you nothing to him?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Jeno mutters through gritted teeth, eyes avoiding yours at all cost.

“Is that it? That’s all you have to say to me, Jeno? That our kiss was merely a mistake? Don’t tell me what you feel all this time is also some sort of fucking misjudgement, Jeno!” you lash out, venom in your tone as you throw out punches on his sturdy chest, and what made you angrier was that he let you hurt him, like he doesn’t even bother defending or protecting himself from your lethal accusation, you can’t even call him a coward, a coward wouldn't stand there and let you do as you please.

Fortunately for Jeno, Jaemin comes to his rescue, detaching your agitated figure away from his friend, trying his best to calm you down with sweet nothings, that you’re better off, that Jeno’s being an idiot, but the damage has been dealt, there’s nothing that can make you feel better, but you guess you expected this, you had too much faith in Jeno.

“I’m so disappointed in you, Jeno,” you say before you take your leave, casting one more disappointed look at Jeno, and at that moment, the man that you’ve always thought looked so broad in your eyes now looks like the smallest man who’s ever lived.

Jaemin sighs when he no longer sees you within sight, Jeno heaves out a shudder of breath, he could tell his friend was trying his best to hold himself up in front of you, how quintessential of Jeno, never letting anyone into the depths of his mind.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jeno,” Jaemin mutters as he checks for bruises under Jeno’s shirt, but Jeno brushes his hand away, rolling his sweater back down, even if you did bruise him, he deserved it for what he keeps putting you through, “Jeno, Eunbi wouldn’t have want to see you this way, she would’ve wanted to see you happy, not punishing yourself like this, she would’ve wanted you to move on, Jeno, you think she’d like seeing you wallowing in self loathing?” Jaemin says in a huff, he’s tried spelling this out in a kinder way to his best friend, but it doesn’t seem to get through that thick skull of his.

Jeno doesn’t answer, he just dodges his friend’s attempts of wanting to talk more, locking himself inside his room, wishing that the remorse, guilt, and heartbreak would just swallow him up. He hates himself for betraying Eunbi, even if it was just a mere kiss, contemplating on what Jaemin had said, could he really move on without feeling guilty as sin?

The cold wind prickles Jeno’s skin, his worn out padding not doing much to block the harshest of the weather, cursing to himself as he climbs down the stairs, not a single person in sight at this period and this hour, and then he sees it, the familiar tombstone, he sighs in relief as he takes in the sight of Eunbi’s tiny photo on the slab.

Fishing out a small cloth from his jean pocket, he wipes the photo of Eunbi before he wipes away the dust atop the tombstone and the dust on the slab of stone where he sits whenever he visits.

“I’ve missed you,” Jeno says as he places down a bouquet of roses, Eunbi loves roses, he calls it cliche, she says it’s because she loves how roses are one of the flowers that attract butterflies the most.

“I used to think I would get the opportunity to grow old with you, a house, a car, and maybe two kids, the cliche, but,” Jeno stops himself, swallowing the lump down his throat before he continues, “I guess those weren't in the cards for us in this lifetime,” Jeno says before exhaling a long sigh, “but sometimes I do think, would we have really gone on our entire lives? Would we have broken up along the road? Those 2 years of loving you, and spending my whole childhood with you by my side were beautiful, and every single day without you by my side was a living hell, but when I thought nothing could really bring me back to life, I met someone, and I feel so fucking guilty towards you, and I don't know if I'm supposed to feel what I'm feeling for her, I love you, and I always will, but I can't deny what I'm feeling for her either, so now I'm here, Eunbi-ah, please tell me what should I do, if you told me to wait till my dying days to reunite with you, I will, please just give me a sign,” Jeno pleads hopelessly, a hand caressing the tiny photo of Eunbi.

Just then, a tiny flutter of wings catches his eye, and a butterfly lands on the bouquet of roses in front of him.

‘Is this the sign I’m asking for?’ Jeno asks himself, but when he tries to sit closer for a clearer look, the butterfly flies away with a quick flutter of its wings, the bright yellow contrasting the cloudy sky.

“Are you telling me to move on too, Eunbi-ah?” Jeno says with a long sigh, next life, maybe things would be different then.

After watching the sunset with Eunbi, Jeno drove home and immediately stormed into Jaemin's room, his friend was busy watching cat videos when he interrupted him, not a surprising thing for him to do honestly.

“What’s up?” Jaemin asks, swivelling his gaming chair to face his friend who had made himself comfortable on his bed.

“I need advice,” Jeno said, which earned him one of his friend’s classic menace smiles which makes him look like the Grinch.

You have no plans today, you had just finished having pizza with Yeri, your roommate slash bestie announcing that you needed a self care day after the shit storm a certain someone put you through.

Suddenly, your doorbell rings, Yeri’s in the bathroom, so you get the door, assuming that she ordered dessert in advance without telling you, but to your shock, it was Jeno, and in his hands are supermarket flowers that he used to joke were overpriced for its minimal packaging.

“I’m sorry for everything, I was a coward and an emotionally constipated asshole, and I know I don’t deserve a second a chance, but if you’d give me the chance, I promise I’ll try my best not to fuck up, and if I do, I’ll promise I’ll make it up to you,” Jeno says, pleading his case with you, everyone often jokes about how Jeno looks like a samoyed, but right now, he looks like a puppy with the way his eyes are trained on you, analysing your every movement and flicker of expression, awaiting your verdict.

“You’re not an asshole for taking your time to mourn and move on from Eunbi, but Jeno, are you sure you’re ready to jump into a relationship? I know you still miss her dearly, and it was mean of me to ask so much from you, you don’t have to be with me if you’re doing this out of guilt, Jeno, I don’t want your pity,” you explain, you don’t want to see the sight of his guilty eyes whenever you’re with him, it would crush your soul to bits, to never have his heart entirely.

“No, I’m serious, I thought things through and realised that I can miss her and love the moments I had with her and still move on to the next chapter of my life, I used to think to love her means I shouldn’t allow anyone in my heart, but Jaemin’s right, she wouldn’t have wanted to see me like this, and I know you wouldn’t want to see me like this either, I want to give us a chance, I’m sorry I came to my senses so late, I hope it’s not too late,” Jeno says, his heart aches when he sees rivulets of tears stream down your face, he places the flowers on the bench next to him before he extends his arms to you, and he sighs in content when he feels your arms around him, your face buried in his chest, he reaches a hand up to pat your head, comforting you.

“Well, I just got a text from Joy that she wants to grab drinks, so I’m gonna head out, you two talk things out on your own, call me if you need anything,” Yeri says before she takes her leave, wanting to give the two of you privacy.

Jeno directs the two of you to the living room, plopping the two of your conjoined bodies onto the couch.

“Hey… don’t cry for me, I’m not worth it,” Jeno says, his hands wiping away your tears with the back of his hand. You choked up a laugh through your tears, swaying your head sideways.

“It’s not that, I’m just, I already accepted the idea of not having you, and now that you’re here… I’m just, surprised– but glad,” you confessed, god, you hate crying for a man, but at least the fool in this fable gets her happy ending after all.

“I’m glad too, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have been mad in the slightest if you said no, but thank you, thank you for giving me this chance,” Jeno says as he wraps you up in his arms, and he feels you sink into hold, and that’s how the two of you fall asleep on your bed that night.

‘Come earlier, I have a surprise for you ;)’

You smile to yourself when you see the text from Jeno, wondering if he got you the new grapes that are in season or something. When you got there a few hours earlier, the house was relatively empty, partygoers aren't here yet and only a few freshmen were setting up the place for the frat party. You let yourself in Jeno’s room, surprised to see that it’s empty, but soon you hear light footsteps pad into the room before your eyes are being covered by a familiar pair of hands.

“What grand surprise do you have for me, Jeno?” you ask, turning around, his hands drop from your face, but you keep your eyes closed, not wanting to spoil the surprise on his behalf.

“Wait, one sec, okay, now you can open your eyes,” Jeno says excitedly.

You peered your eyes open and a gasp left your lips.

“Oh my god, it’s blue!” you say, not believing your eyes, your hands reach out to touch his hair, not fried from the bleach dye, thankfully.

“Wanted to have something fresh to mark the start of our relationship, and seeing my hair on those filters you put on me gave me the idea of dyeing my hair,” Jeno explains, “do you like it?” he tapers off, a bit insecure because you look like you love it, but you haven’t said anything to confirm it yet.

“I love it,” you say as you turn his head from side to side to get a better look at the entire haircut with a giant smile on your face.

“Let me take a quick shower and get dressed then we can head down,” Jeno says with a quick peck before he retrieves his things and leave for the bathroom, leaving you to your devices, or moreso Jeno’s devices, you love watching concert videos on his screen, that expensive hunk of equipment is clearer than your vision.

However, halfway through watching old concert videos, you took notice of his drawer not being closed all the way, out of curiosity, you open it to see what it stores, and to your shock, a jewellery box is the first thing you see, the box design tells you that it isn’t anywhere near brand new.

Maybe you shouldn’t be snooping around, but you couldn’t help yourself, Jeno never gets mad at you, he even tells you his phone password, he has nothing to hide, and so you pry the box open with gentle hands.

The glint of the perfectly preserved crystals caught your eye, then you recognise the shape of the pendant, butterfly, Jeno used to wear this ever since Eunbi passed, why isn’t he wearing it anymore? Did he think you’d mind that he did? That wasn’t the impression you wanted to give off, there’s no point being jealous of someone who’s no longer here, that’s just absurd.

“Oh, you found her old necklace,” Jeno notes with no malice in his voice despite the fact that you feel yourself jumping slightly at the sound of his voice.

“I, I saw your drawer wasn’t closed all the way and just wanted to check it out, sorry,” you apologised, but Jeno quickly brushes off your apology with a reassuring smile, “why aren’t you wearing it anymore? It’s not like I’d get jealous,” you say, scared that the reason he felt like he was obliged to stop wearing it was because of your relationship.

“I know you won’t get jealous, and I didn’t take it off like right after you said yes, I just thought it was time a few days ago, to put some things to rest, I’ll look back on these things from time to time, but I think it’s time to put some distance for me to move forward,” Jeno explains as his hands are laid on your shoulders, the weight and the brush of his thumbs comforting you.

“I’m just worried you’re rushing things for me,” you reason.

“I’m not, so don’t worry,” Jeno assures once again, “how about we go down now?” Jeno suggests after hearing the music starting from below, you agree instantly, maybe you’re just too stressed about everything, a drink sounds amazing now.

“Look who just made their long awaited debut,” Jaemin said at the sight of the two of you making way to the usual spot your friend group usually sits at.

Jeno tenses up when Renjun meets his eyes, his best friend had given him a long talk when he had heard from you that Jeno finally came around, needless to say, Jeno would never want to get on his best friend’s bad side, he’s sure he would manage to beat him up despite being much shorter than him.

Distantly, Jeno could hear you tell Jaemin to shut up before there’s too much attention placed on you and Jeno, your skin is thick, but you know Jeno doesn’t like too much attention on him, hence with a little more teasing, your friends switch topics, and just like that things are back to normal, a bit too normal for your liking, because soon, a girl makes her way to Jeno to ask for a dance, but your boyfriend quickly declines and explains that he won’t be casually hooking up with anyone anymore.

Even though you were silent the entire interaction, Jeno could see the jealousy in your eyes and the way you immediately downed a shot of soju.

“Someone’s jealous?” Jeno asks, clearly amused by the sight in front of him, pulling you closer into his embrace, he doesn't want anyone eavesdropping on a conversation where you could possibly feel vulnerable.

“Nope, not at all,” you say briskly, clearly overcompensating, dodging his kiss, Jeno laughing at your antics.

“Okay, whatever you say,” Jeno says, letting you be.

Although unfortunately for Jeno, things get a twist of events when he sees Yang Yang waving to you from afar with a smile too friendly for his liking when the two of you were swaying to the beat on the dance floor, and you quickly see your samoyed of a boyfriend turn into a doberman right in front of your eyes, gone was the puppy eyes that are quickly replaced by the obvious glare in his eyes.

“Looks like someone's jealous,” you tease, playing with the freshly cut ends of his hair at his nape.

“Let's head up, party sucks today,” Jeno says, pulling you by your hand, leading you upstairs to his room, quick on his feet but not fast to the point where you can’t keep up in your heels.

When the door shuts behind you, Jeno quickly kicks off his own shoes before he squsts down to slip off your heels for you, then immediately he tosses you over his shoulder as if you weigh as much as a feather, tossing you on his bed with a bounce before he climbs on the bed himself, his moves slow and calculative as if he was predator stalking its prey, behind his eyes, you can see the gears behind moving as he thinks of what to do with you, but when you reach up to touch his cheek, you see his eyes softening around the edges, the control you have over him sends a shudder down your spine, Jeno smiles at that realisation when he comes to the conclusion that if you asked, he’d relinquish all control over his life to you if you asked, he’s willing to give you all of him at your request, now that he knows life is fragile not to love wholeheartedly, but he knows what you want, and for now, at this moment, you want Jeno to guide you, but what he asks you catches you off guard.

“What’s your average kill in a match on codm?” he asks as he hovers over you, arms caging your body.

“What? I don’t know, like 15 if you’re asking about multiplayer,” you answer in a tone of disbelief.

Jeno has that familiar cunning mirth on his face when he reaches for your phone that you had previously placed on his nightstand so as to not get in the way when things get heated.

“You think you can reach your average while I eat you out?” Jeno asks as he passes you your phone.

You feel heat crawl up your face when you register his words, can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he sounds, but you’ll indulge him.

“I’ll try my best, just for you,” you agree, but you know there’s more to his proposition.

“Before you say yes, there’s a catch, if you don’t get 15 kills, for every kill you lack is one spank,” Jeno says with a quirked brow, his eyes challenging you.

You don’t consider yourself competitive, but when it comes to a game you know you’re good at, it ignites the dormant competitiveness in you that you swear you outgrew as a teenager.

“Deal,” you agree, you’re gonna win either way, if you fail awfully at the game, you still get to get your back blown out regardless, and in Jeno’s words, you've always been a masochist, maybe just a little bit. There must be some truth to it since you were sleeping with Yuta of all people.

“Let me know when you start,” Jeno says as you open the app, telling him when the countdown begins, and quickly he takes off your skirt and panties to toss it to the side of his bed.

Jeno starts off slow, his index finger tracing your slit, starting from the bottom, it piques your interest, but it doesn’t take away your focus entirely, until his fingertip hits the bundle of your nerves, your breath hitches, but you still manage to get your third kill of the game.

You look so hot like this, all concentrated on your phone screen, not so different from how you usually game, other than the fact that you now have your bottom lip between your teeth to ground yourself, Jeno hears another three more kills when he decides to go in for the actual kill, leaning down to capture your clit between his lips, hollowing his lips as his fingers enters you, so fucking wet, god, Jeno, groans to himself, he can’t wait to be inside you, your cursing distracts Jeno from his train of filthy thoughts.

“Died?” Jeno asks before he dives back to his feast between your legs, he distantly hears you cursing at a sniper before he feels your legs twitching when he finally finds your sensitive spot, fingers curling upward, knowing that you usually cave in and ask him to fuck you at this point when you’re having regular foreplay.

You curse silently when you realise you lost count of how many kills you managed to secure, you haven’t gotten a single headshot in this match, and when the score limit reaches its end, you can feel the knot in your abdomen threatening to snap, and so you quickly toss your phone aside to grind back on Jeno’s face, his nose has always been such a good placeholder for your clit to hump on, and Jeno loves it, loves how debauched you are, he could just watch you use him to chase your orgasm all night if he wanted to, and when you finally reach your high, a whine of Jeno’s name reaches his ears as he feels your sexy legs wrap around his head and your juices burst in his mouth and the excess dripping down his forearm.

When you finally come back to your senses after ascending to heaven, you check your score on your screen, you breathe a sigh of relief, 11 kills, you proudly show Jeno your score.

“So four spanks, you want to sit through your punishment or would you prefer if I do it in between rearranging your guts?” Jeno offers, since you did so well for him.

You ponder over the suggestion, but the thought of needing to wait longer to get filled has you choosing the latter.

“I think I’d like to be surprised today,” you say before you strip off the rest of your clothing, Jeno’s eyes following every movement you make, licking his lips when he sees the slight jiggle of your tits as you move about, that is until you settle on all four, presenting yourself to him, and a beast claws at Jeno’s belly for a need to just take you.

It’s like you read his mind, because you tell him to just put it in, that you’re loose enough from the foreplay, you say as you spread your cheeks for him, the sight of your wet pussy has him losing all control, who is he to deny you when you’re presented so prettily for him like this? He’s no god, any man would crack under your ministrations.

So he doesn’t hold back, grasping his cock in one hand while he parts your folds with the other, cursing when he finally slips in your warm and wet hole, slowly sliding in till the hilt, he loves this process, loves the way you shudder when you feel him intrude your walls inch by inch, your lips parted as your head rests on his pillow.

When you’ve adjusted to his size, you whimper out a singular word, move, before you feel your whole world fizzle away as pleasure clouds your head at the first thrust, always rough when you need him to be, rough and fast, that’s Jeno’s preferred pace, quickly locating your sensitive spot with the thick tip of his cock that has you screaming into his pillow, but no matter how hard you try to muffle your voice, the headboard banging against the walls is dead giveaway of how you’re having your back broken by Jeno, but you throw all caution to the wind if it means you get feel the feeling of such ecstasy flowing through your whole body, you swear every time he drills his cock inside you, the more pleasure you feel, and the dumber you get, when all thoughts of sanity get replaced by the primal need to chase your high, your train of thoughts, or lack thereof since all you were thinking were the word ‘cock’ on repeat, gets broken by a harsh smack on your butt, it came out of nowhere, catching you off guard, and it shows by how your walls clench tightly on Jeno’s dick, your release coating his length.

“Fuck, you’re such a fucking pain slut, aren’t you? One smack has you cumming on my dick like some virgin,” Jeno spats out as he keeps fucking you, knowing that you’re extra sensitive after two orgasms upping his motivation to drive you absolutely mad.

Jeno quickly finds your clit, the poor thing swollen with the treatment Jeno previously put it through, rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves roughly, which has you bucking before he sends two smacks its way.

“Fuck,” you curse to yourself as you feel tears prickling the corner of your eyes, trying so hard not to cum from the pain, and in doing so, you clench around Jeno so hard that has him stop mid thrust to anchor himself, he still wants to get at least one more out of you before he cums.

He resumes after having a bit fun with fondling your tits, thanking gravity with the way he could feel the weight of them in his palm, he’s gonna have to suck on them after he’s done with this, he thinks to himself before he goes back to chasing his high, planting one of his feet on the ground to fuck you faster, and soon you could feel yourself cumming at any second, whispering how you’re close to Jeno, before you feel another spank being sent to your clit, the pain and the oversensitivity pushing you over the edge with a scream of Jeno’s name and a fist forming with the sheets on his bed.

“Fuck, love it when you squirt for me,” you hear Jeno distantly, not really registering his words until you feel your thighs being slicked with your release, which Jeno promptly cleans up with his pack of wet tissue he’s kept in his room by the dozen ever since he found out you’re squirter.

When the three towels are stripped from under you and into the hamper, Jeno finally joins you under his fluffy blanket, holding you close.

“I didn’t go too far right?” Jeno asks, he trusts that you will use your safeword if he ever goes over the limit, but he always does a final check in after you settle, just in case you drop into a vulnerable state where you need extra care and attention.

“No, of course not, I feel more than fine, but thank you for asking,” you say before pecking his lips sweetly.

“You hungry? Craving anything? I could check if the guys are getting delivery, see if you want anything,” Jeno offers, but you shake your head.

“Just want some cuddles and sleep, I’ll let you know what I’m craving for brunch tomorrow, but now, I need to recharge,” you say as you snuggle closer to Jeno, practically attached at the hip, but Jeno lets you, combing through your hair for you as you drift off to sleep.

Jeno was first to wake, quickly climbing out of bed to shut his blinds, knowing that you absolutely despise being blinded by the sun rays first thing in the morning, you’ve always been a night owl after all.

After washing up in the bathroom, he makes his way back to you, still sleeping, cuddled under his blankets, just like how he’s tucked you in before he left his room, you don’t move much in your sleep, Jeno notices as he climbs back in bed, it’s no wonder why you always remain in his arms the whole night.

Jeno looked over to his alarm clock to see that it’s almost 10am, he knows this is the time you prefer waking up, and when Jeno sees his blanket slipping off your shoulder to reveal your smooth skin, Jeno has the best idea on how to wake you up, and maybe, even the whole house if he does well enough, and well, unfortunately for the other people sleeping right now, Jeno’s always been a top scorer for anything he puts his mind to, Jeno chuckles to himself at the thought of being a menace as he makes his way under the blankets.

You’ve never had everyone giving you the stink eye before, well, at least not in this frat house, and the one who looks most annoyed is none other than Haechan, whose room is next door to Jeno’s.

“I swear to god, hearing them made my hangover even worse,” Haechan mutters, but loud enough for everyone at the breakfast table to hear, Johnny was the first one to laugh, Johnny had left the party early for a hookup hence the lack of a hangover, he had just got back in time for this comedy show.

“You’re laughing?! My head is still pounding from last night’s drinking and worsened by their shenanigans and you’re laughing?! God, why did Renjun have to get lucky last night, they always pull shit like this when he’s gone,” Haechan complains, or moreso whining, if you asked Jeno.

“Come on, Haechan-ah, it couldn’t have been that bad, I didn’t even hear a thing,” Sungchan says, coming to Jeno’s defence quickly, they’re coursemates after all, and Jeno is always a big help to him, he loves Haechan, but he’s doing this for his own good.

“Your room is on the other side of the house, of course you barely heard anything, she literally sounded like she was getting mauled by a wild animal, listen, let me try and recreate-

Two taps on Jeno’s lap has your boyfriend springing up from his seat with a deadly gaze and Haechan goes silent before he screams bloody murder, running for Jaemin or Mark, whoever he finds first, Sungchan sighs to himself while Johnny and Jungwoo laugh at the comedic scene in front of them, and you can’t help but laugh along with them too, Haechan might have tried making fun of you, but you know Jeno would always be there to silence him for you, and honestly, you could get used to this life you share with Jeno.

The end.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

The Elevator - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 1741>

You had just gotten into the elevator of your apartment building, eyes glued to your phone as you texted a few friends. You knew there was someone else in there, but you didn't pay them much notice. 

As the elevator started to ascend, the lights above you started blinking. The elevator rattled, before grinding to a stiff halt. "Shit," you mumbled, unsure of what to do. The stranger stepped forward to see if he could find the 'open doors' button on the control panel, but he just looked downright confused.

You finally got a good look at him, and he was handsome, to say the least. His dark brown hair was slightly overgrown and his green eyes glowed under the emergency lights of the elevator. "Normally the door button works," he mumbled, pressing the button a few times.

"I think you should probably press the 'get help' button," you explained, looking at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea," he lightly smiled, pressing the button with no more back-lighting. "And now, we wait," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

"These guys take a while to fix this thing, so we're going to be here for a while," you said, knowing how long the maintenance people took to get to the elevator and find out the problems with it. "You live here?" he asked, trying to make conversation so that it wouldn't be awkward.

"Yeah, I've been here for about a year now, and I have taken the stairs every time apart from today," you said, causing the stranger to chuckle along with you. "What about you? I've never seen you around here before,"

"I'm just here visiting a friend, but I don't think I'll be seeing him anytime soon," he nodded, sighing. Silence settled over the two of you, and there was some sort of tension in the air. Both of you wanted to say something, but neither of you knew what to say.

"So, what's your name?" You asked, his attention averting back to you. 

"I'm Charles, what about you?" he asked back, glad you were getting acquainted.

 "I'm Y/N, it's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," you said, holding your hand out to him for him to shake. You had never done that before, so you were mentally asking yourself why you were being like that. Normally you just smiled or hugged someone, not shook their hand. 

But, Charles was cordial and extended his hand out to you,  shaking it. "The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," he said, something in his eye sparkling as he looked at you.

"So guys, we think the problem is something to do with the wiring, but we'll need to get a team down the elevator shaft to be sure. The minimum time we're going to be able to do that is an hour, the maximum... I don't know. It is a Saturday after all. The cameras aren't working, so if you two want to find a way to entertain yourselves, be my guest. I'll give you a five minute warning," the voice of someone rang out over the speakers.

You and Charles were both visibly creeped out by his suggestion, and you had a feeling that the cameras were in fact working and he was probably just being creepy. "I am perfectly entertained, thank you," you said, as if he could still hear you.

Charles chuckled at your comment, knowing it wouldn't come to that. Probably. 

"We've got an hour, so there's time for a movie or something?" Charles asked, getting his phone out of his pocket. "You don't happen to have any popcorn, do you?" You smiled, taking a seat next to him as he also sat down. 

"No, I don't, but I do have Netflix," he smiled, shuffling up closer to you. 

"It's a good job I have bad habits when it comes to leaving the house," you said, producing a bag of popcorn out of your bag. "Every time I go out, I have to get some from the store around the corner. It's an own-brand, and it is the best," you explained, opening the bag and placing it in-between you. 

"What kind of movies do you like?" Charles asked, taking some popcorn and popping it in his mouth, "This is really good, by the way,"

"I like comedies, or a nice romance. Or even better yet, a rom-com," you told him, taking some of the popcorn yourself, "But whatever you like is fine, I'm not too fussy,"

"Action comedy?" he asked, scrolling through his phone to try and find a movie. 

"Sounds good to me," you nodded, taking your jacket off and making a pillow for yourself out of it. It was a lot better than sitting on the cold floor. "Now that is a good idea," he said, shrugging his jacket off as well. "Can you hold this?" he said, handing you his phone. 

You took it and immediately scrolled to his 'continue watching' section. "You've got good taste here, Charles," you said, looking through what he had. "You've got some classics, The Office, Friends, Drive to Survive? What's that? And why have you only watched like, two random episodes?" 

"Because they're the best ones, they have this guy called Charles Leclerc in them. He's great," he smiled, knowing full well you didn't know who he was. "We have the same first name, it's pretty cool," he smugly smirked, taking his phone back off you. 

"How's Murder Mystery with Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston sounding?" he asked.

"Pretty good," you nodded as he clicked play. You both sat there, laughing along to the movie and he had made a pretty good choice. 

"Hello lovebirds! This is your five minute warning. I know the phrase is 'don't come knocking when the elevators' rocking', but we have to do what we have to do," the maintenance guy said over the speaker.

"This guy is so strange," you said to Charles, and he nodded in agreement with a laugh. 

"And very horny," he said, causing a blush to creep up onto your cheeks.

"You got that right," you said, wanting to resume the movie. You stood up to put your jacket back on, since the temperature in there had dropped significantly. You decided you were just going to deal with having a sore behind.

Even with your jacket on, it still wasn't warming you up like you thought it would. You tried not to physically shiver, and Charles noticed. "You alright?" he asked, turning to the side to look at you. "Yeah, just a bit cold,"

"Here, take this," he said, pulling his jacket out from underneath him and draping it over your shoulders. "Are you not cold?"

"No, I'm fine," he said. Sure, it was a bit cold in there, but you looked like you needed it more. You were shivering.

After a bit, you heard some banging and crashing going on above you. "It's either help is here, or the sky is falling down," Charles said, pausing the movie so you didn't get interrupted anymore. 

"Thankfully, or maybe not so thankfully for you two, the issue is nearly resolved and you can be on your merry way in around five minutes," the weird speaker guy said. 

"Does your friend still want you to go over?" you asked.

"Yeah, he said he's made dinner for us," he nodded, as the elevator sprung back into life and whirred into action. It started ascending the apartment block again, and stopped at the floor you had been waiting to go to for hours. 

The doors opened with a ding, and the pair of you stood up from the cold floor. When Charles looked away for a second, you slipped a small piece of folded paper into his jacket pocket. "After you," he said, standing beside the door. 

"Thanks," you said, stepping out and glad to stretch your legs. "You going left or right?" You asked as you stood in the corridor. "I'm going to 118, so that is...?"

"Left. Wait, 118? I live in 116," you said, smiling. 

"You must know my friend, then,"

"I sure do, he's a nice guy," you said, leading the way and walking down the hall. "This is us," you said, standing outside of your apartment door. "Well, I enjoyed spending the world's longest elevator ride with you, Y/N," Charles smiled, standing in front of you. 

"I enjoyed it too, Charles," you said. Charles didn't move, he just stood there with you. 

"Hey, Charles, Y/N," your neighbour said, opening the door to his apartment. 

"Hey, I'll see you later, Charles. I'll let you get to dinner," you smiled, unlocking the door. Charles reluctantly walked away, stepping into the next apartment along. As you took your multiple jackets off, you realised you still had Charles'.

Quickly running out of the door, you knocked on the next door and Charles opened it since he was still in the entrance hall. "Hey, your jacket," you said, handing it to him. "Thanks for that, I needed it," you smiled, turning away.

"Have a nice night, Y/N," Charles said, poking his head out of the door. 

"You too," you chirped, closing your door. 

When Charles went home that night, after taking the stairs, he rummaged around in his pockets to try and find his keys. As he pulled them out, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up, and unfolded it when he went inside. 

'We should go and get fresh popcorn next time - Y/N,' it said, with your number scrawled on the bottom. He smiled, opening his phone and immediately punching your number into his contacts. He didn't message for a while, but his curiosity got the better of him. 

"Hey Y/N, it's Charles. You free on Sunday? There's a carnival in town and my friend said they make popcorn with any topping you want, would love to go with you," he said, rewriting the message over and over before plucking up the courage and sending it. 

You were about to close your eyes for the night when your phone beeped, and you saw a text from an unknown number. A huge smile spread across your face as you saw who it was from. "Hey Charles, I'd love to go to the carnival. We could walk from mine? Saves you driving all the way," you replied.

Charles was itching with excitement when he saw your text, and was immensely glad to have been in that elevator. Taking the stairs was overrated anyway. 

A/N - Do we want to see Charles and Y/N go to the carnival in town and have popcorn?

|masterlist|

[froggibus]

Beach Day - Overwatch Women

Includes: D.VA, Mercy, Widowmaker, Mei, Kiriko, Brigitte & Junker Queen

Genre: fluff, some crack

Summary: spend a day at the beach w your favorite overwatch lady

CW: lots of sunscreen, mention of skin cancer (Mercy), some suggestive parts but nothing nsfw, drinking & alcohol, mentions of sharks, Kiriko is a brat (affectionate), rare Mitzi appearance

This is part of my Summer Suntacular event, come check it out!

D.Va:

beach gremlin

she has a giant collection of bathing suits & sunglasses that she never wears from doing brand deals

brings a portable speaker so she can blast her favorite summer tunes (much to the dismay of nearby groups)

you best believe she’s asking you to play mermaids

it is near impossible to get her out of the water or to reapply sunscreen

however PLEASE force her to apply sunscreen or else she’s going to turn into a lobster 

wants to have a contest for EVERYTHING

diving, swimming, sandcastles—everything is a challenge

the kids on the beach love her though & ask for a million pictures

she has a dork ass 2D pool floatie of Tokki that she refuses to swim without

you’ll have to bribe her with ice cream to get her out when it’s time to go

it WILL be a three scoop monstrosity of the weirdest flavour combos—like bubblebum, mint chocolate chip & orange 

she’ll want to have a beach themed movie marathon after but fall asleep twenty minutes into the first movie 

Mercy:

she is the beach volleyball PRO

always says she won’t get sucked into playing but ends up in some tournament (and WINS)

total stickler for sun protection—everyone is reapplying their sunscreen every 90 minutes

“I already put some on, I don’t need it”

“Skin cancer does not care.”

you could swear you’ve heard Baptiste say the same thing…

she’ll apply it for you in all the places you can’t reach though & expects you to do the same 

she has a super cute bikini BUT it’s hidden under board shorts and a rashguard (that she totally pulls off)

packs tons of yummy homemade snacks, sandwiches and enough water bottles for a small family

makes friends with the lifeguards on duty and offers them her water

mostly spends time reading on the towel but if you ask her, she’ll come into the water with you to cool off

longingly sighs and looks at those lounge beach floaties like it’s her long lost lover (please bring one for her next time)

she hates sand getting in her house so you’ll have to shower off as soon as you get back (but don’t worry, she’ll shower with you to make sure you’re extra clean)

Widowmaker:

she’ll only go if it’s a private beach, or somewhere more lowkey

she has a total soft spot for tropical cocktails served in plastic cups with swirly straws

somehow her cup is always full even when you swear it was empty a second ago

she mostly wants to lay on the sand and sunbathe, maybe listen to some music

she’s not brash enough to bring a speaker so she just listens to it with her headphones

only goes in the water to cool off, or if you ask her to

get her a pool floatie with a cupholder and you could keep her in the water all day

she’s the one on the lounge float that Mercy wanted

somehow her hair and makeup look perfect even when she’s been swimming

talks constantly about Ĉote D’Azur and the gorgeous beaches there

if you splash her at all (not recommended) she WILL retaliate to her fullest extent 

she’d never admit it but she secretly has fun playing in the water with you

promises to take you to the French Riviera next time you have a beach day

Mei:

nobody deserves a beach day more than her

she’s dragging you down there as soon as the sun rises and not leaving until way past sunset

has a HUGE pouch of different kinds of reef and eco friendly sunscreens that she forces you to apply

brings a book to read while she lounges in the sand and offers to share it with you if you’re bored

has a cute flamingo floatie with a cupholder so she can just drift along the coastline

brings you one of her spare floaties and ties the two of them together so you can float with her

she swears she left Snowball at home but as soon as her soda runs out he shows up with another one

he actually makes a pretty good waiter

even long after the sun goes down, she wants to float with you and relax

“It’s been so long since I’ve been to the beach…thank you.”

Kiriko:

no matter how many times you ask her or she promises not to

she WILL pretend to be a shark and almost get the beach closed and you guys kicked off

loves playing in the sand with the kids and helps them build a HUGE sandcastle

gives one (1) kid a piggyback ride through the water and has to spend the next hour giving piggyback rides

she has a cute donut floatie that looks like a bite is missing that she sprawls across

forces you to wear a hat in the sun, which ends up being an extra one of hers

so you’re walking around all day with a fox eared baseball cap on

oh and she’s also pounding back mudslides the whole day, so good luck with that

this mf is so lazy that when she wants another drink she just teleports there and scares everybody around to death

“you’re gonna give someone a heart attack doing that”

“good thing I’m a medic then”

you’re all doomed

Brigitte:

INSISTS on bringing Mitzi 

“babe he’s a cat. they don’t like water.”

“yeah but he can just hang out!”

you somehow win the argument by pointing out he doesn’t have swim goggles (however he does have a swimsuit for some reason…)

builds a structurally sound sandcastle that’s over four feet tall with a moat and working sand traps

everyone who walks by is completely awed by her sand guillotine 

accidentally squashes some poor kids sand castle and is DEVASTATED over it

spends an hour with them trying to help them rebuild and buys them ice cream to make up for it

lets you wrap your arms around her neck so she can tow you around through the water

probably makes corny engine noises too

brings sunscreen and a hat but forgets about both of them and burns 

takes you to the shops along the coast and buys you the cutest souvenirs

and of course something for Mitzi

insists on buying the two of you dinner after at some nice restaurant with AC and good seafood

Junkerqueen:

are there even beaches in junkertown/junk city?

crazy good at beach volleyball

hanging out at the beach is not really her thing though—she’d much rather wakeboard or rent a jetski (with your credit card lmfao)

however if that’s not your thing, then she’ll suck it up to spend some time with you

probably swims in her jorts

spends her time swimming laps underwater and trying to scare you by brushing up against your legs

challenges every couple that comes near you guys to a game of chicken

you guys win every single time 

breaks at least 2 sandcastles and doesn’t even notice

brings you food and drinks periodically without you needing to ask

refuses to use sunscreen but somehow doesn’t even burn??

steals borrows someones floatie so she can tow you around on it through the water

“Faster, faster”

“Oh, you’re in for it now”

flips over the floatie with you still on it when she gets bored

but she buys you ice cream to make up for it

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Overwatch Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)