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@bluedbliss 💗 tysm! i hope u like this one! Jaehyun’s will be out soon dw ☺️ xoxo
You’d been in love with Jeno for years.
It wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t fleeting.
It was something that rooted itself so deep inside you, even you didn’t notice it blooming until it was too late.
And Jeno?
Jeno was the rising Twitch superstar.
The face of esports, the hilarious, charming, handsome streamer who could break the internet with a smile and get a hundred thousand viewers just breathing into his mic.
Everyone loved him.
And you?
You were just the best friend. Always had been.
You told yourself it was enough.
But sometimes, being close to someone you love hurts worse than being apart.
It was just another night in voice chat.
You weren’t even gaming—just talking while Jeno aimlessly clicked around on a puzzle game and you scrolled social media in bed.
Your voice was soft in the quiet.
“You ever think about what life would be like if we didn’t meet?”
Jeno paused. “Uh, yeah. I’d probably be way more boring.”
You smiled faintly. “You’d still be famous though.”
“Maybe. But I wouldn’t have someone sending me memes at 3 a.m. or reminding me to eat.”
You chuckled.
“So I’m your meme provider and personal health coach now?”
“Exactly. And moral support. And emotional damage controller.”
You hesitated, voice turning quieter.
“I’d still choose to meet you… even if I knew you’d break my heart someday.”
He didn’t respond right away.
You heard him shift in his seat, clicking something aimlessly.
“You’re weird tonight,” he mumbled, like he didn’t catch the weight of your words.
You just laughed it off.
You told yourself it was enough.
But it kept happening—these little moments that chipped away at your resolve.
Then came the night everything changed.
You’d always suspected that one of Jeno’s fellow streamers, a popular female gamer named Karina, had a thing for him.
The flirty remarks, the way she laughed at every word he said—even the ones that weren’t funny—yeah, you noticed.
You never said anything. It wasn’t your place.
But it stung.
Especially when their fans shipped them hard online.
Edits, fanart, clips—everywhere you looked, it was “Jeno x Karina”.
That night, you were just hanging out off-camera, curled up on his couch while he streamed a group collab. You weren’t supposed to be part of the stream. Just quietly scrolling on your phone, handing him a drink now and then, and keeping him company like you always did.
“Jeno,” Karina giggled over voice chat, “if we win this round, you have to go on a date with me.”
Chat exploded instantly.
OMG DID SHE JUST—
👀 👀 👀
OMGOMGOGMGOGM
U GO GIRL LMAO
Jenrina CONFIRMED???!
You tensed, glancing over at Jeno.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Nah,” he said casually. “I’m already taken.”
That alone was enough to make the chat go feral.
But then he looked over at you, grinned, and with one arm, pulled you right into the camera frame.
“Guys, this is Y/N,” he said, as if it was no big deal.
“My girlfriend. We’ve been together for a while.”
Your eyes went wide. “Jeno—”
He cut you off with a smile.
“I know we kept it lowkey, but... I figured it’s about time. She’s the love of my life, and I’m way too lucky to keep pretending she’s just my friend.”
The stream exploded.
WHATTTT??!!
NO WAY YOU KEPT THIS A SECRET—
SHE’S GORG WTF
JENO?? MY HEART 💔💔
WTF HE’S SO GONE
IM CRYING WE LOST HIM
Karina laughed awkwardly in her cam window.
“Wow, uh, okay! Didn’t expect that. Congrats, you two.”
But the flash of embarrassment on her face was hard to miss. Especially with nearly a million live viewers watching it all unfold.
Jeno didn’t even blink. He was still looking at you, eyes soft.
Then he read a chat message out loud: “Bro, she’s so pretty. You lucky AF.”
He smirked at the screen and pulled you closer, your cheek pressed against his.
“She’s all mine,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“And I’m not sharing.”
Your face burned, and you tried to hide it, but the chat was already blowing up again.
By the time the stream ended, both your names were trending worldwide.
And despite the chaos, the teasing, the panic in your chest...
You’d never felt more seen.
But then again, it was all a lie anyway.
Then came that movie night. Just you, him, and a film that left both of you a little too quiet.
Halfway through the romantic drama, you noticed him wiping at his face.
“Wait… are you crying?” you asked, trying not to smile.
“N-no, this is sweat,” he said quickly.
“My eyes are just sweating.”
You softened. “It’s okay. I cry at this scene too.”
Jeno glanced at you, voice unexpectedly quiet.
“Do you think that kind of love is real? The forever kind?”
You shrugged. “Yeah. But it’s rare. Most people are too scared to say how they really feel.”
He stared at the screen for a long second.
“That’s dumb. If you love someone, you should just tell them.”
“Exactly,” you said. “Unless they don’t love you back.”
Neither of you said anything after that. The silence spoke loud enough.
So finally, during one of your usual late-night hangouts, you cracked.
“Maybe I like you more than a friend.”
It slipped out.
Jeno froze.
You waited.
And he said nothing. Just blinked, glanced away, and mumbled something about getting more chips.
So you ghosted him.
“Still no reply?” Chenle asked, glancing at the group chat. “Dude, he’s been MIA for almost a week.”
“I called six times,” said Hendery. “Nothing. Straight to voicemail.”
Yangyang sighed, chin in hand. “He didn’t even tweet a ‘taking a break’ message. His fans are freaking out.”
“He left me on read,” Haechan added dramatically. “Me. That’s betrayal.”
Jisung frowned. “What if something happened to him?”
Taeyong tried to stay positive. “He’s fine. Probably just... I don’t know. Figuring something out?”
Chenle stared at the group chat, almost tipping over in his seat when he noticed Jeno’s icon blinking with ‘typing’.
“HE’S TYPING!!!” he yelled. The guys quickly opened the chat and waited anxiously for Jeno’s message.
And finally, he replied.
“Sorry guys. I’m fine... physically anyway. Just have something to figure out. Ttyl”
Jeno did. He finally did.
Sitting in his dark room, lights off, half-eaten ramen forgotten beside his keyboard, Jeno stared at the ceiling.
You said you liked him more than a friend.
And he didn’t say anything.
He started pacing, mind spiraling.
Why did he always reply to your texts within seconds and answer your calls before the third ring, when with others it took him at least 2 business days to respond—or sometimes he just forgot altogether?
Why did he drop everything, even mid-stream, when you needed help?
Why did it bother him so much whenever you were with other guys?
Why was he suddenly willing to leave his house just to hang out with you, when everyone knew he barely ever went out before?
Why did he spend so much effort choosing random gifts for you?
Why were his tears reserved just for movie nights with you, and never anyone else?
Why was he quick to dismiss anyone trying to flirt with him?
Why did you make him feel like home?
“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.
“I’ve been in love with her all along.”
He grabbed his hoodie and ran out into the rain.
You weren’t expecting anyone, especially not him—soaked to the bone, hoodie heavy with rain, sneakers squelching against your doormat.
“Y/N,” he said, out of breath. “Please open the door.”
You froze. Then unlocked it, heart racing.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“You’re—Jeno, you’re soaking wet!”
“I don’t care.”
Then he kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, aching, like he was trying to make up for every second he hadn’t realized he loved you.
You stood frozen until you pushed him back, wide-eyed and breathless.
“What the hell was that?!”
Jeno exhaled sharply.
“I love you.”
You blinked at him, stunned. “What?”
“I’m serious.” His voice cracked.
“I didn’t realize it until you stopped talking to me. Until you disappeared. And then I started thinking about all the times I dropped everything for you, and how I hated seeing you with other guys, and how you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe… like home.”
He laughed, dry and bitter. “I’m academically smart, but I’m so goddamn clueless. I didn’t get it...”
You blinked away tears. “You ignored me when I confessed.”
“I didn’t mean to. I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid I’d lose you. But then I lost you anyway, didn’t I?”
He stepped forward slowly.
“I couldn’t stream. I couldn’t eat. Every time I looked at my phone and saw no messages from you, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“You made me feel like a fool,” you whispered. “Do you know how hard it was to say that to you?”
“I know.” He swallowed. “I know now. And I’m sorry… for making you feel like your feelings weren’t important. They are. You are.”
You looked at him, your idiot of a best friend, soaked from head to toe because he just realized he loved you.
“Why are you like this?” you said, voice shaking.
“Why do you only figure things out when it’s almost too late?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because I’ve never had to fight for something I wanted… not until you.”
Your heart cracked open.
You threw your arms around him, not caring that he was dripping wet. He tried to pull back, worried.
“You’re gonna get sick,” he murmured.
You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his.
“I don’t care. I missed you so much, you stupid idiot.”
He finally smiled, eyes glassy.
“Can I kiss you again?”
You leaned in and kissed him softly. This time with no fear, no confusion, just pure, quiet relief.
Later, inside, wrapped in a blanket, you teased, “So... are you finally going to tell your chat why you’ve been MIA?”
Jeno smirked. “Yeah. I’ll say, ‘Sorry I disappeared. I was too busy realizing I’ve been in love with my best friend for like, 6 years and only figured it out when she ghosted me’.”
You burst out laughing. “They’re gonna roast you.”
°˖➴jeno had been trying to quit smoking, he really had been but did it even count if it came from someone else's mouth?
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ fuck boy, rude !jeno x shy! reader
𓏵 vaping, kissing, unestablished relationships, boners, its short n snappy, blunt and straight to the point, big dick! jeno, lowercase intended
🎧ྀི♪⋆.✮ now playing FOCUS by NCT 127 WC: 1k> -- m.list
jeno had been trying to quit vaping for a solid two weeks now, but it was impossible when everywhere he looked his eyes fell upon one of those precious nicotine sticks.
everyone vaped, even you - the innocent, shy girl who refused to meet anyone at the eye.
so, if he really thought about it, vaping wasn't that bad if everyone did it.
vaping wasn't bad if everyone did it, and did it even count if he just shot gunned someone else? jeno tried to pitch the idea to his friends as a joke, a joke of kissing him so he could have the sweet release of nicotine seeping into his veins but no one fell for it.
jeno had to take things into his own hands; he had to stoop lower.
"let me have a hit of your vape,"
your eyes dart around the room, unsure of who would even be speaking to you until you meet his eyes.
pupils blown, hands twitching at his sides, his left eyelid twitching like he was fighting a zombie infection.
"w-what?"
"you heard me." jeno closes the space between you; you take a step back to try and escape his broad shoulders and harsh glare. "give me a hit of your vape."
you swallow nervously, clutching your vape at your side. "better yet, just shot gun me sweetheart"
your cheeks flush red at the pet name, "cmon baby girl, help a pretty boy out," jeno tilts his head down slightly, his hand wrapping around your wrist to bring the vape to your lips, coaxing you to take a hit.
you nervously follow his instructions, taking a shallow hit of your bar before jeno is smashing his lips against yours in a kiss thats far more hungrier than what you were expecting. you mewl, hands balling into fists at your side as you exhale the smoke into his mouth.
jeno grunts, large hands gripping at your hips as he swallows down every wisp of the sweet vapour. "fuck," he grunts into the kiss, the tip of his nose bumping against yours as he deepens the kiss.
you giggle as jeno presses his front into yours, feeling the obvious bulge in his pants. "are-are you hard?"
"just take another hit and kiss me."
@tomorrowbytogayther (lwk dk who else is into nct)
an: unfortunately mark leaving nct has really boosted my creativity 😭 i remembered these fansign pics and my brain locked in 🫡 nct mark you’ll be dearly missed ❤️🩹
mdni banner by @cafekitsune
“And I’m happy to say that my beautiful wife is onboard.” A small sense of pride fills your heart as you hear Mark’s voice over the loudspeaker. “After this flight we’ll be going on our honeymoon.”
The round of applause from your fellow passengers is a little embarrassing, but it soon dies down as your new husband continues with announcements before take off.
Out of all the careers in the world, you never would have guessed Mark was a pilot when you first met him. But the more you got to know him, the more it made sense.
Mark is a perfectionist. He’s a person who takes in every fine detail and he’s also been blessed with great instincts. All things that make him highly skilled to soar the skies.
Whilst it’s your first time flying as husband and wife, it’s not the first time Mark’s flown you around. In fact, one of your first dates was in a two seater aircraft.
You were understandably nervous at first, but Mark earned your trust by explaining all of the steps as he went. He even let you fly the plane for a few minutes. That’s when you knew he was deserving of your trust.
Knowing you’re in good hands, it’s easy to play some music on your headphones and fall asleep in your first class seat. By the time you wake up, the plane’s already landed.
After waiting for passengers, then crew to deboard, you leisurely make your way towards the cockpit. The door is opened by Mark’s copilot Haechan, who lets you in. He’s the last person to leave the passenger plane. Well, apart from you two.
Mark looks stunningly handsome. The way he rocks navy blue is something that should be studied. You’ve seen him in his uniform before but surrounded by dials and instruments, he’s really in his element.
“Baby.” Turning around in the grey padded swivel chair, Mark welcomes you with open arms.
Settling into his lap and warming to his embrace, you hold his face in your palms to pepper it with kisses, acting like this is a reunion after 6 months not less than 6 hours.
Mark’s uniform is clean cut in contrast to what you’re wearing. You’re draped in a baggy red hoodie of his and black leggings since you wanted to be comfy.
“How was your flight?” He laughs at your question, thinking about it for a few seconds.
“Pretty standard, but nice knowing you were here.” He grins as he rubs your back.
Cozy in his embrace, you enjoy being in his arms until the sound of static turns your attention.
“So what does this do?” You point at a blinking gadget that catches your eye.
“Well…” Mark drawls.
You stay seated in his lap as he explains. But his answers just seem to lead to more questions.
Even with Mark’s detailed explanations, you’re lucky if you’re talking in half of what he’s saying. This is stuff that takes years of study and practice to master after all. But you appreciate the effort.
Soon, your mind begins to wander. Of course you’re biased being his wife and all, but Mark is really hot when he’s in his element. Is it the steady timber of his voice, the quiet confidence of someone who takes his job so seriously, or is it that hat?
Whatever it is, you can’t hold back much longer. “You’re so attractive when you’re like this.”
He pauses his explanation to double take cartoonishly, shooting you a confused look. “Doing my job?”
“Well.” You turn around to face him again, giving him a soft kiss. “You’re so good at it.”
The confusion slowly leaves Mark’s face as your kisses continue. His hands instinctively move to your back and you can’t help but sigh into his mouth at his touch.
A faint beeping sound breaks you from your trance and you remember where you are.“Can we do this here?”
Oddly enough, your responsible new husband is the one that eggs you on. “We can if we’re quick.”
Mark pulls you closer still, his hands lowering to your waist. He starts the kiss this time, moving much deeper as his tongue delves into your mouth. A small smile forms on your face as you feel him grow hard underneath you in his slacks.
You try to ignore the needy look on your husband’s face when you break away from his lips to stand up. His expression soon changes as he watches you pull down your leggings and panties in one move, returning to straddle him once more.
“How’d I get so lucky?” He says, looking up at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes. His attempt to continue kissing you is interrupted by his cap slipping down to his face.
You both laugh and Mark reaches to take it off before you stop him. “No, keep it on.” You readjust the hat back to its original position.
This time, Mark is successful in reuniting his lips with yours. Kissing you with a newfound hunger, you whine as his hand slips under your hoodie to feel your body, moving over your ribcage then up to your bare chest.
“No bra?” He palms at the fat of your breast, casually running his thumb over your nipple.
“It was a long flight.” You pant.
A keen smile settles on his face as he introduces his other hand to continue playing with your body. You melt into his touch, very vocally, until you counter. Leaning forward to undo his tie and a few buttons, you expose part of his chest.
This gives you more access to kiss Mark from his jaw to his neck to his chest. It’s only fair you make him fall apart a little too.
He lets you lick and kiss his most sensitive spots before moving you away. Mark pushes you back slightly with ease, then lifts his hoodie above your chest like he’s unwrapping a gift.
Before you can complain about the change in temperature Mark attaches his mouth to your breast. You gasp. Frenzied kisses to the area soon lead to his tongue swirling around your nipple. It teeters on overstimulation before he starts alternating his attention between both your boobs.
This sensation is far from the only thing affecting you as even through multiple layers of fabric, his dick being fully hard and pressed against your folds is too much to ignore.
Pulling away from him, a lewd pop leaving his mouth, your fingers start fumbling with the button, zipper and silver buckle on his lower half. Once unlocked, you reach your hand underneath into his boxers. Mark moans when he feels you hold him.
You only get a couple of strokes in before his hands grip your hips, much tighter this time. Your fervour and the noticeable wet patch you’ve left on his trousers are all the signs he needs to know you’re ready for what’s next.
Getting you lined up is a team effort and his reward is watching you slowly sink down on his cock. Even with your whines tempting him from above, Mark doesn’t take his eyes off until he witnesses you swallow him completely.
The sense of urgency fades away for a few minutes. It’s just the two of you looking at each other. Mark attentively watches the way you catch your breath like he’s not the cause.
A little breathless laugh is the only warning you give him before beginning to move your hips slowly. But you don’t get very far with your teasing.
There’s a slight out of body experience after Mark starts rolling his hips into you. You fall into him, arms around his neck, a long string of sounds leaving your mouth as it’s pressed into his shoulder.
“Fuck!” He’s sweating, a garbled mess of moans with a few yeses leave his mouth, but he barely has to think about it. His hips are moving with the right amount of force, trying his best not to cum too fast with the way you’re squeezing him.
You feel the little divots his fingers are leaving in your sides, like you’ll float away if he doesn’t hold you as tight as your walls are holding him.
One particularly hard thrust makes his hat slide down his face again. And somehow, even with the mess he’s making of you, enthusiastically turning your brain to mush, you find it in you to readjust the cap back on once more.
Seeing the way your eyes are glazed over and the drool leaving your lips, he lets go of your hip with one hand to bring his thumb to your clit.
A few lazy circles is all the double stimulation you need to finish with a drawn out whine. Those final, strong squeezes as you call his name are all Mark needs to empty into you soon after.
Sitting attached and sticky, when Mark gently moves you off him, he watches the strings of the mix of your fluids pull away. He wipes you down with a handkerchief that he shoves in his back pocket before you find your bottoms.
You both hurriedly get dressed as you remember where you are. There’d better not be any hot mics or security cameras for everyone’s sake.
Ever the gentleman (and being fully aware that your legs are mush), after leaving the cockpit Mark takes care of your suitcase. Then the two of you deboard.
In the airport, you take a little break in the lounge before you’re ready to leave. Walking through the terminal, you hang off Mark’s arm with one hand and drag your suitcase with the other. You’re both smiling, strolling around with a glow that most people will think is newlywed bliss and not a failed mile high club attempt.
“You will let me try on the hat right?” You turn to your husband, eyeing the top of his head.
Genre: s m u t , friends to lovers 😽, kinda fluffy too
WC: 5.7K
Warnings: 18+ content (pls don't be reading shit ur not old enough to be doing :), this is pretty soft core tbh, unprotected seggs (be safe out there y'all)
Synopsis: You and Mark have always been friends. You've never considered being anything more, until feelings, realizations, and the desire to be wanted leads to something special.
You don’t mean to stay this late.
You never really do. It just…happens.
By the time you’re aware of the clock, it’s already close to midnight. The city outside Mark’s apartment hums in that oddly soothing way it does at night—distant traffic like ocean waves, the sharp wail of a siren somewhere blocks away, a thump of bass from a neighbor’s questionable music taste filtering through the walls.
Inside, it’s warm. Soft. Safe.
Mark’s place isn’t big, but it’s cozy in a way that feels almost unfair. A couple of mismatched lamps cast a honey-colored glow across the living room, catching on the framed prints he swore he’d hang straight one day and the books stacked in uneven piles near the coffee table. The couch is a little too old and a little too soft, but it’s perfect for sinking into after long days, which is exactly what you’re both doing.
You’re curled up against one end, socked feet half-buried under a blanket. Mark is beside you, one knee up, arm slung along the back of the couch in that easy, thoughtless way he always does when it’s just you. His hoodie hangs loose on your frame, sleeves covering your hands, the faint scent of his laundry detergent and something undeniably him clinging to the fabric.
The TV plays some random show you started twenty minutes ago and promptly stopped paying attention to.
This isn’t unusual.
Your spare toothbrush lives in his bathroom. One of your old sweatshirts is draped over the back of his desk chair. There’s a half-empty bottle of your favorite sauce in his fridge because he remembered you said you liked it once. The edges of your lives have been blurring for a while now, your things quietly migrating into his space like they belong here.
Mark notices all of it.
He notices the way your shoulders drop as soon as you step through his door, like you left the whole world in the hallway. The way you tuck your feet under his thigh for warmth. How his hoodie dwarfs you, the sleeves slipping over your fingers. How right it looks—your body, your laughter, your scent—tucked into the little corners of his apartment.
He tells himself it’s normal. Friends get comfortable with each other. Friends share hoodies. Friends leave toothbrushes. Friends know exactly which crack in the ceiling the other person stares at when they can’t sleep.
Still, his gaze lingers.
On the curve of your cheek as the TV light flickers across your skin. On the way your lips twitch when something almost makes you laugh. On the soft line of your throat when you tilt your head back against the couch.
You shift closer, your shoulder bumping his. The contact is casual, familiar, the kind that’s been happening for so long that neither of you really registers when it started. Once upon a time, you would have been hyperaware of something this intimate.
Now? It’s just…how you are.
Your feet end up in his lap like they always do, ankles crossed, blanket draped sloppily over both of you. He doesn’t think before resting his hands lightly on your calves, thumbs tracing idle patterns over the fabric of your sweats.
You sigh. It’s a little sound, small and content.
His chest tightens.
On-screen, some character is crying about heartbreak, about being tired of trying with people who never see them. You’re only half-listening, the dialogue washing over you, but a line cuts through the haze:
“I’m just so tired of being everyone’s almost.”
Your breathing goes quiet beside him. He feels, more than sees, the way you still.
Without meaning to, you and Mark both turn toward the TV at the same time. You catch each other in your peripheral vision and your gazes snag—just for a heartbeat. Long enough for something to flash between you, quick and indefinable.
You look away first. He does, too, pretending to focus on the screen again. The show continues, laugh track blaring at something neither of you find that funny.
The unspoken thing settles between you like a third presence on the couch.
It’s a weeknight. That’s the excuse.
Most of your mutual friends are busy, working late or out with other people. You had tentative plans to go out earlier—maybe hit that bar downtown, maybe grab dessert somewhere—but when the time came, you were both somehow too tired, too worn around the edges.
“Your place?” you texted.
“Always,” Mark replied, before he had time to talk himself out of how much he meant it.
Then the rain started.
Now, outside his windows, it streaks down in silver sheets, tapping against the glass and making the city feel smaller, quieter. The world shrinks to the glow of his lamps, the low murmur of the TV, the warmth under the shared blanket.
It feels like being in a cocoon. Like the rest of your life is on pause.
You’re tired. The weight of the day has your body heavy and boneless, your thoughts soft at the edges. At some point, you shift again, pulling your feet from his lap to stretch out along the couch. There’s not enough room for both of you to lie down fully, but that’s never stopped you.
“Move,” you mumble, nudging at his side.
He huffs a laugh. “You move.”
You kick his thigh, no real force behind it. “I’m exhausted, Mark. I’m claiming horizontal rights.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically, but he shifts anyway, twisting so he’s sitting more upright, knees bent to make space. You scoot, rearrange, and somehow you end up with your head sliding into his lap, the side of your face pillowed against his thigh.
You’ve done this before. Late nights. Early mornings. After parties when the room tilted a little too much.
But tonight, it feels different.
His breath stutters when your cheek settles on him, warm and familiar. Your hair fans out over his legs, a few strands tickling his fingers where they hover, uncertain, above you.
You notice the hesitation.
“Comfortable?” you ask without looking up, voice blurred with exhaustion.
Mark wets his lips. “Yeah.” He clears his throat when it comes out rougher than expected. “Yeah, you’re good.”
He lets his hand drop.
His fingers find your hair like they always do. It’s easy, absentminded at first—just smoothing a flyaway here, gently combing through the strands there. Your body relaxes even more, a soft hum of appreciation escaping you.
His fingertips trace the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. It’s innocent. It’s always been innocent. Just touch, just grounding, just comfort.
Tonight, it burns.
He doesn’t know what changed. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
Conversation drifts the way it often does at this hour.
You talk about work. About that coworker who chews too loudly in meetings. About the neighbor in your building who insists on doing laundry at 2 a.m. You complain about the app that keeps crashing on your phone and the podcast you’re trying to get into but can’t.
Eventually, inevitably, it circles back to the same topic it always does when the night gets late and the rain gets heavy:
Dating.
“Tell me again about your latest Hinge tragedy,” you mumble, eyes half-closed.
Mark snorts. “Tragedy is a strong word.”
“You literally texted me ‘this is a tragedy’ last week.”
“Well, okay, that one was bad,” he concedes. “In my defense, she told me her favorite hobby was waking up at five a.m. to ‘optimize her productivity cadence.’”
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “People like that are why I don’t go outside.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if I had better standards—”
“Your standards are fine,” you cut in. “Your taste is just…questionable.”
He gives your hair a little tug at that. You yelp, swatting vaguely at his knee.
“Ow. Rude.”
“You were rude first,” he says mildly, but there’s a smile in his voice.
You fall quiet for a moment, the air between you thickening with the weight of things unsaid. The show continues to play in the background, a meaningless noise you’re both using as cover.
You speak again, but your tone is different this time—softer, more raw.
“Honestly?” you sigh. “I’m just tired.”
“Tired of what?”
You stare at the television without seeing a single frame. “All of it. Swiping, small talk, pretending to be interesting to people who clearly don’t care. It’s like…no one really sees you, you know? They see whatever they want to project, and then the second you’re a real person with real baggage and weird habits, they’re out.”
His fingers pause in your hair.
You keep going, the words spilling out now that you’ve started.
“I don’t even need some big epic thing,” you murmur. “I just…miss being wanted. Like, really wanted. Not ‘you’re convenient’ or ‘you’re fun for now,’ but—”
You falter, searching for the right words.
“Like someone looks at you and thinks, ‘That. I want that. I want you,’ and they actually mean it.”
Your voice dips, quiet and fragile.
“I just…miss feeling like someone wants me.”
Mark goes very, very still.
His hand rests against your temple, fingers threaded gently in your hair. He stares at the TV without seeing it, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ache.
He wants to say, I do.
I’ve wanted you for so long I don’t remember what it’s like not to.
The words swell in his chest, a pressure that has nowhere to go.
He doesn’t say them.
“Yeah,” he manages instead, his voice low. “I get that.”
You huff a humorless little laugh. “Do you? Because you actually get matches. People want you.”
He glances down at you, at the side of your face pressed against his thigh. “People want…some version of me,” he says. “The easygoing guy. The one who makes decent playlists and shows them new food spots. But that’s not the same as…you know. Wanting someone.”
You swallow. “Yeah. Exactly.”
Silence settles over you again, but it’s not empty.
It’s thick. Charged.
You think about all the almosts you’ve had. The dates that were fine, but not enough. The people who liked your jokes but flinched away from your bad days. The ones who called you “too much” or “not enough,” never pausing to consider you might be exactly right for someone else.
Beside you, Mark thinks about every time he’s swallowed back something he wanted to say around you. Every time he’s stopped himself from reaching out, from pulling you closer, from pressing his mouth to your forehead when you fell asleep on his couch.
He thinks about the night, months ago, when you’d both stumbled back here after a party, laughter bubbling between you, your hand in his. How you’d stopped in his doorway, faces inches apart, your breath warm against his lips.
He remembers the way your gaze dropped to his mouth.
He remembers the way his heart stuttered, the way every cell in his body leaned forward.
He remembers the phone ringing—some drunken friend asking where you were, if you’d gotten home safe—and how the moment snapped like a rubber band.
He remembers pretending that was nothing, too.
The TV is still going, but neither of you is watching.
Your eyes have slipped closed, but you’re not asleep. Just floating in that strange space where your mind is both sharp and soft, more honest than it would be in daylight.
Mark’s touch changes.
It’s subtle at first. His fingers move slower, less like idle habit and more like intention.
He traces the shell of your ear, the curve of your jaw. The pads of his fingers linger at the corner of your mouth, just long enough to make you catch your breath. He drags a thumb lightly along the side of your throat, feeling your pulse skitter under your skin.
Your heart thumps faster.
You don’t open your eyes, but you tilt your head the tiniest bit into the contact. Just enough to say, I feel this. Just enough to say, I’m not pulling away.
He notices.
He’s always noticed you.
“Mark?” you murmur.
“Yeah?” His voice comes out rough.
You hesitate. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth.
“Do you ever think,” you start, then stop.
He waits.
You swallow. “Do you ever think maybe we’re just…meant to be lonely together? You, me, your terrible Netflix recommendations.”
He huffs a small laugh, but the sound is unsteady. “My Netflix recommendations are elite, actually.”
“Debatable,” you mumble. “But really. Sometimes it feels like…maybe this is it. Maybe it’s just us. And that’s not…bad. It’s actually kind of…nice.”
You don’t see it, but your words hit him like a blow.
You don’t count, you mean.
When you talk about being alone, about not being wanted, about people not choosing you—you don’t mean him.
Because you’ve always had him. You always will.
He’s your constant.
Something in his chest twists, painfully tight and painfully sweet.
“You don’t count,” you add quietly, like you’re reading his mind. “You’re just…you.”
His hand stills in your hair.
You. Like a category of one. Like an exception to every rule.
He exerts every ounce of willpower he has not to say something that would change everything.
“Hey,” you say after a beat, your tone dipping, almost shy. “Can I ask you something kind of…dumb?”
He forces his lungs to work. “You can ask me anything.”
You bite your lip, gathering courage.
“Why do you…put up with me?” you ask softly. “Like, all of this. My late-night freakouts, my rants, my existential crises about snack choices. You always…show up. You always make space for me. Why?”
His throat goes dry.
“Because I care about you,” he says. It’s the simplest, safest truth he can offer.
“You care about a lot of people,” you murmur.
“Not like this,” he says before he can stop himself.
The words hang in the air, heavy.
Your eyes open.
For the first time in a while, you tilt your head back enough to really look up at him. His face is bathed in the dim gold from the lamp, shadows cutting across his cheekbones, his mouth pressed into a thin line like he’s holding something back.
“Mark,” you say quietly.
His gaze flicks down to meet yours, then away, then back again. He swallows hard.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he says, voice low, almost hoarse.
Your breath catches.
He doesn’t quite look at you when he says it. His gaze hovers somewhere over your head, like if he meets your eyes fully, he’ll give himself away.
Your heart is beating too fast now, each thud echoing in your ears.
“Anything?” you ask, half-teasing, half desperately serious.
He lets out a soft, unsteady laugh. “You have no idea,” he says under his breath.
Something in you clicks.
Pieces slide into place—little moments you brushed off or didn’t let yourself examine too closely. The way his hand always finds the small of your back in crowded places. The way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like you’re answering a question he didn’t know he’d asked.
You shift, rolling carefully from your side so you’re half-turned in his lap, your body twisted to face him. The movement brings you closer, your faces a breath apart.
The TV is just noise now. The rain is just a blanket around the city.
Here, in this small, warm pocket of the world, it’s just the two of you.
You can feel his breath on your lips.
His gaze keeps dropping to your mouth, then back to your eyes, like he’s fighting himself. His fingers flex in your hair, the slightest tremor betraying how hard he’s trying to stay in control.
“Mark,” you whisper.
“Yeah?”
“If this is…nothing,” you say slowly, “you’re doing a terrible job pretending.”
His lips part.
He laughs once, a quiet, broken sound. When he speaks, it’s barely more than air.
“You have no idea,” he repeats.
Your chest tightens, nerves lighting up like a live wire.
“Then don’t pretend,” you say.
The words leave your mouth before you can second-guess them.
For a split second, everything stops.
His eyes search yours, frantic, disbelieving, hopeful, scared. Like he’s waiting for you to laugh, to say you’re joking, to snatch the floor out from under him.
You don’t.
You stay right where you are, your hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest. You feel his heart slam against your palm, wild and stuttering.
He inhales sharply.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
His hand slides from your hair to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, touch reverent. He leans in, slow enough to give you every chance to pull away.
“Mark,” you breathe.
“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, voice barely there now, his forehead dipping to rest against yours.
You don’t say stop.
You lift your chin just a fraction instead.
It’s all he needs.
The first brush of his mouth against yours is almost nothing.
A ghost of a kiss. A question.
Your eyes flutter shut. Your fingers curl into his hoodie, knuckles pressing against his chest. He tastes like the soda you shared earlier and something warm and familiar that’s just him.
He pulls back a millimeter, just enough to look at you. Your breaths mingle in the narrow space, your noses almost touching.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You nod, the movement tiny, shaky. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Are you?”
He huffs a silent laugh that trembles. “Not even a little,” he admits. “But I don’t want to stop.”
“Then don’t,” you murmur.
This time, when he kisses you, it’s not quite so timid.
It’s still soft at first—careful, almost reverent. His lips move against yours like he’s memorizing the shape, the texture, the way you breathe out a tiny sound whenever he changes the angle.
Then something gives.
Maybe it’s the way your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. Maybe it’s the little sigh that escapes you when his thumb strokes a slow line along your jaw. Maybe it’s simply the weight of every moment you’ve both spent wanting this without admitting it.
Whatever it is, the kiss deepens.
It turns urgent. Messy.
Your mouth parts under his, and his response is immediate, like he’s been waiting for years for that one small invitation. His other arm wraps around your waist, hauling you closer, somehow impossibly closer, until you’re half in his lap, the blanket slipping to the floor unnoticed.
You gasp quietly against his lips as your bodies press together, every inch of you alive and humming.
He breaks away just long enough to drag in a sharp breath, his forehead dropping to yours again.
“We’re supposed to be friends,” you whisper.
“We are,” he says, voice rough. “We still are.”
His thumb strokes your cheek, his eyes flicking between yours. “But I’ve…” He swallows hard. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I tried to be okay with just—this. With just being your friend. But every time you walk through that door, I—”
He cuts himself off, like he’s afraid if he keeps talking, he’ll say too much.
Your heart aches in a way that’s both terrifying and perfect.
“How long?” you ask quietly.
He lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Long enough that I don’t remember when it started. Long enough that I can tell you exactly how you take your coffee and which movie you put on when you can’t sleep and the exact sound you make when you’re trying not to cry in front of people.”
Your throat tightens.
“If you don’t want this,” he says, his voice suddenly trembling, “if this is just—tonight, or because you’re lonely, or because I’m here—tell me now. Please. I’ll stop. I’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll—”
“Mark.”
You cut him off by leaning in and kissing him again.
The answer is in the way you press your mouth to his, in the way you sigh into him like your body finally found something it didn’t know it was searching for.
He makes a small, helpless sound, his hand tightening at your waist.
The kiss turns slower again, then deeper, then slow again, ebbing and flowing with all the things you’re both too overwhelmed to say.
You don’t remember when your hands slide under his hoodie, palms flattening against the warm skin of his back. You don’t remember when he shifts you fully into his lap, one arm firm around you, the other cradling your face like you’re something precious, breakable, irreplaceable.
Time blurs.
The world narrows to the drag of his lips, the rush of his breath, the way he whispers your name like a promise between kisses.
“I’ve thought about this,” he confesses against your mouth, words punctuated by soft, breathless kisses. “Every time you’re here, I—”
“Yeah?” you murmur, your forehead resting against his, your fingers curling in the fabric at his shoulders.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, voice low and raw.
Heat flares in your chest, in your cheeks, everywhere.
You don’t need the details. You don’t need the graphic edges. The intensity in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly where they hold you, tells you everything.
His care is threaded through every movement.
“Is this okay?” he asks when his lips wander to your jaw, your throat. He presses slow, lingering kisses there, each one a question as much as a declaration.
“Yeah,” you whisper, your head tipping back in silent invitation. “More than okay.”
He exhales shakily, relief and want tangling together.
“Tell me if anything’s too much,” he murmurs. “If you want to slow down—”
“Mark,” you say softly, pulling back just enough to look at him.
His eyes search your face, pupils blown wide, vulnerability stark and open.
“I trust you,” you say simply.
Something in his expression crumples, then rebuilds itself into something even more tender.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”
The night stretches out.
Everything stays close, intimate. The couch. The low lamplight. Your bodies pressed together like you’re both afraid the other might vanish if you let any space open up between you.
His touch is reverent. Patient. Like every inch of you is something he’s been waiting a long time to trace, to memorize.
Your kisses break again and again—because you’re laughing softly against his mouth at some half-whispered joke, because you’re both breathing too hard, because he keeps pulling back to check your eyes, to make sure you’re still there with him.
You are.
You’re more here than you’ve been in a long time.
At some point, the couch becomes too small, too cramped. You don’t remember who suggests moving, or if it’s just a wordless agreement when he stands and you cling, your legs wrapped around his waist, his arms secure beneath you.
The bedroom is dim, the citylight leaking in through the curtains painting soft stripes across the bed he drops you on.
The feeling of Mark’s mouth, hot and wet on your skin, leaves your mind unravelling in spirals. You feel light, delicate and sensitive, unsure of the journey your bodies will take as they get lost in exploration of one another, but you’re eager and curious.
Almost effortlessly, his hoodie gets lifted off your body, leaving you bare and exposed. Under the scrutiny of his eyes, you feel shy, aware that he’s taking in a sight of you that’s never been revealed to him before.
A breath catches in your throat when his mouth connects with your chest. His tongue moves over your skin in a slow and controlled trail, wanting to savor every inch of you. He’s squeezing your waist, jaw fighting against biting down on your breasts. Your back curves instinctively, your body giving into him completely. You feel drunk on the warmth that courses through your nerves, all in response to him.
He moves lower, bringing a familiar pulse alive between your legs. The only thought circling your mind is that you want him like you’ve never wanted anything more. An almost greedy groan escapes him when your fingers meet his by the waistband of your sweats, helping him push them off and away.
His name is but a whisper on your tongue as his mouth finds the sweetest spot of you. Your brows furrow, the ache he had spurred within you dissipating the second he covets your taste. Wetness rushes through you, and he drinks it all up.
You tug on his hair as he makes you cry out for him. Somewhere in your daze, your eyes meet, telling him everything he needs to know. His fingers replace his mouth while he sits up, the tent in his pants a hint at what’s to come next.
Like any distance at all is unbearable, you reach for him, and he’s right there, fitting his mouth over yours once again. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a sensation that’s foreign yet so inviting. Under your palm, his jaw feels strong. His ears are hot to the touch, his entire body buzzing with a fervent energy that matches yours.
He spreads your legs and dips his hips to meet yours, his pants bunched carelessly by his knees, too impatient to take them off completely. His cock is heavy and throbbing against your cunt as he rubs between your folds. Then, finally, he pushes himself inside you.
Lips parted, shared gasps, eyes shut, the sensation makes you crumble underneath him. Gripping your waist in place, he buries his face in your neck, jerking his hips forward. Quiet curses fill your ear as he begins thrusting into you, his movements precise and deliberate.
You throw your head back, calling his name to give you more.
Everything that follows is slow and careful, threaded with breathy laughter and whispered names and the constant hum of, Is this okay? Are you okay? and your steady, gasped yes, yes, I’m okay, I’m with you.
It doesn’t feel filthy. It doesn’t feel wrong.
It feels like finally.
Like coming home to a place you didn’t know you’d been walking toward the entire time.
He flips you around, taking the time to completely undress himself now. Breathless, you wait for him, watching his every move from over your shoulder. His hand slips around you, holding you as close as he can as he enters you once more, pressing himself deep against the curve of your ass.
You reach for his cheek as his mouth splays wet kisses all over your shoulder. The intimacy of it all, the way he’s so gentle and passionate, it drives you crazy. He’s giving you so much and yet, you can’t get enough of it.
And neither can he.
The sudden rouse of his hips tells you all you need to know, and you’re there with him.
He lifts himself just slightly, skin slapping against yours in desperate vigor. Your moans spur him on, guiding him to the peak of ecstasy. He pulls out of you on instinct, fingers quick to wrap around his pulsing member as he releases onto your back, whining weakly.
Then, without missing a beat, he raises your hips in the air and pulls your body back to his mouth, tongue circling your clit until you’re squirming in a way that confirms the knot of pleasure that’s been tightening within you has finally snapped.
When he rises, you fall back into the mattress, the weight of your body finally registering in your mind. You feel him shift off the bed, only to be back moments later with a warm towel in tow, cleaning the traces of himself off of you.
You turn around lazily, breaking into a breathless grin when your eyes meet his. His gaze is full of endearment, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling stiffly.
“Mark…”
“Yeah?”
The words feel zealous coming from you, “That was perfect.”
He trades you a laugh in his usual embarrassed but agreeable way, handing you his hoodie that had fallen to the floor somewhere in all the chaos. You slip it on, carefully observing as he clothes himself partially and returns to your embrace.
The world eventually knits itself back together.
The rain has gentled to a soft patter outside. The sounds of the city have dulled to a distant murmur. The TV in the living room is still on, long forgotten, casting mute light across an empty couch and a discarded blanket.
In Mark’s bed, you lie tangled in the sheets, skin warm and a little damp, breaths slowly steadying.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
You’re on your side, facing him. The room is dim, but there’s enough light to see the details—the way his hair is mussed, the flush still lingering on his cheeks, the softness around his eyes.
You share a pillow, noses almost brushing.
He looks…young, suddenly. Unshielded. Like the Mark you see when he’s half-asleep on lazy weekend mornings, not the Mark the rest of the world gets.
His hand finds your waist under the sheet, fingers spreading over your skin with an unconscious possessiveness that makes your chest ache.
You let your own hand settle over his, threading your fingers between his.
He exhales, a small, disbelieving sound.
“You okay?” you ask quietly, echoing his earlier question.
He smiles, crooked and a little dazed. “Yeah,” he says. “Just…trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is real and not something I made up in my head at three a.m.”
Your heart stutters.
“How many three a.m.s have you spent thinking about this?” you ask gently.
He hums, pretending to consider. “Enough that if I told you the number, you’d bully me forever.”
You snort softly. “Rude of you to assume I’m not already going to bully you forever.”
His smile widens, the tension in his shoulders easing further.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I can live with that.”
He shifts closer, if that’s even possible, his forehead pressing to yours. You can feel the steady beat of his heart where your chests touch, solid and reassuring.
A quiet settles over you again, but it’s different now.
Not tense. Not filled with sharp, unspoken almosts.
It’s soft. Heavy with warmth.
“I don’t know what this means,” you admit after a while, voice barely above a whisper. “Like…for us. For everything. I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to lose you.”
His hand tightens around yours.
“You’re not going to lose me,” he says immediately, fiercely. “Hey. Look at me.”
You do.
His gaze is steady, even in the dim light.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he says, echoing the thought that’s been hovering in the back of your own mind.
There’s something about the way he says we—like it’s a promise. Like it’s a given.
“Tomorrow?” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he says. “We can…talk. Decide what we want this to be. Or try to, anyway. I’m probably going to be an idiot about it and you’re going to make fun of me and it’ll be a whole thing.”
You huff a soft laugh against his mouth. “Probably.”
“But…” He trails his thumb along the back of your hand. “You’re here. I’m here. You’re wearing my hoodie in my bed, and I can feel your heartbeat under my hand, and I’m not…imagining this.”
He lifts your joined hands to his lips and presses a slow kiss to your knuckles.
“For tonight,” he says quietly, “can it just be this? You and me? No labels, no panic. Just…this.”
You feel your eyes sting.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I want that.”
His shoulders drop, some final thread of anxiety unwinding.
“Okay,” he says again, more to himself this time.
He moves in closer, tucking you against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. One arm wraps around your waist, firm but gentle, hand resting at your hip. The other slips under the pillow, his fingers brushing your neck.
He holds you like he has no intention of letting go.
He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until you make a small, pleased sound and burrow in even further.
“Comfortable?” he asks, voice already going soft with impending sleep.
“Yes,” you mumble into his skin. “You’re warm.”
“So are you,” he replies, pressing a lazy kiss into your hair.
You feel him shift again a few minutes later. He slips away just long enough to grab a bottle of water from his nightstand and offers it to you.
“Here,” he says. “Drink.”
You take a few sips, hand trembling with leftover adrenaline and something like wonder. He watches you with that same soft, aching look in his eyes, like you’re something he’s not quite sure he deserves but can’t stop reaching for.
When you’re done, he sets the bottle aside and wipes a thumb gently under your eye, even though there’s nothing there.
“You’re staring,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he says, unbothered. “I know.”
You smile, small and full.
Minutes pass.
Your breaths start to sync up. The city outside keeps moving—cars passing, lights flickering, people living entire lives beyond these walls.
Inside, the world has shrunk down to the warmth of his chest under your cheek, the slow circles his thumb rubs against your hip, the steady beat of his heart.
You’re almost asleep when you feel his lips brush your temple.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into your hair, so quiet you might have missed it if you weren’t pressed right against him.
You don’t know if he means tonight or tomorrow or every day after.
You decide to believe it’s all of them.
Your last coherent thought before sleep pulls you under is that for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like an almost.
You feel wanted.
Chosen.
Held.
The city lights leak in through the curtains, painting you both in soft silver. Outside, the world keeps humming. Inside, in the small, warm space of Mark’s apartment, you lie tangled together, his arms around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he loosens his grip.
Tomorrow will come. Questions, complications, conversations.
But tonight, there is only this:
You. Mark. The quiet between you, no longer empty but full.
And him holding you like he finally has what he’s been reaching for all along—and he has no intention of letting go.
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Genre: s m u t , friends to lovers 😽, kinda fluffy too
WC: 5.7K
Warnings: 18+ content (pls don't be reading shit ur not old enough to be doing :), this is pretty soft core tbh, unprotected seggs (be safe out there y'all)
Synopsis: You and Mark have always been friends. You've never considered being anything more, until feelings, realizations, and the desire to be wanted leads to something special.
You don’t mean to stay this late.
You never really do. It just…happens.
By the time you’re aware of the clock, it’s already close to midnight. The city outside Mark’s apartment hums in that oddly soothing way it does at night—distant traffic like ocean waves, the sharp wail of a siren somewhere blocks away, a thump of bass from a neighbor’s questionable music taste filtering through the walls.
Inside, it’s warm. Soft. Safe.
Mark’s place isn’t big, but it’s cozy in a way that feels almost unfair. A couple of mismatched lamps cast a honey-colored glow across the living room, catching on the framed prints he swore he’d hang straight one day and the books stacked in uneven piles near the coffee table. The couch is a little too old and a little too soft, but it’s perfect for sinking into after long days, which is exactly what you’re both doing.
You’re curled up against one end, socked feet half-buried under a blanket. Mark is beside you, one knee up, arm slung along the back of the couch in that easy, thoughtless way he always does when it’s just you. His hoodie hangs loose on your frame, sleeves covering your hands, the faint scent of his laundry detergent and something undeniably him clinging to the fabric.
The TV plays some random show you started twenty minutes ago and promptly stopped paying attention to.
This isn’t unusual.
Your spare toothbrush lives in his bathroom. One of your old sweatshirts is draped over the back of his desk chair. There’s a half-empty bottle of your favorite sauce in his fridge because he remembered you said you liked it once. The edges of your lives have been blurring for a while now, your things quietly migrating into his space like they belong here.
Mark notices all of it.
He notices the way your shoulders drop as soon as you step through his door, like you left the whole world in the hallway. The way you tuck your feet under his thigh for warmth. How his hoodie dwarfs you, the sleeves slipping over your fingers. How right it looks—your body, your laughter, your scent—tucked into the little corners of his apartment.
He tells himself it’s normal. Friends get comfortable with each other. Friends share hoodies. Friends leave toothbrushes. Friends know exactly which crack in the ceiling the other person stares at when they can’t sleep.
Still, his gaze lingers.
On the curve of your cheek as the TV light flickers across your skin. On the way your lips twitch when something almost makes you laugh. On the soft line of your throat when you tilt your head back against the couch.
You shift closer, your shoulder bumping his. The contact is casual, familiar, the kind that’s been happening for so long that neither of you really registers when it started. Once upon a time, you would have been hyperaware of something this intimate.
Now? It’s just…how you are.
Your feet end up in his lap like they always do, ankles crossed, blanket draped sloppily over both of you. He doesn’t think before resting his hands lightly on your calves, thumbs tracing idle patterns over the fabric of your sweats.
You sigh. It’s a little sound, small and content.
His chest tightens.
On-screen, some character is crying about heartbreak, about being tired of trying with people who never see them. You’re only half-listening, the dialogue washing over you, but a line cuts through the haze:
“I’m just so tired of being everyone’s almost.”
Your breathing goes quiet beside him. He feels, more than sees, the way you still.
Without meaning to, you and Mark both turn toward the TV at the same time. You catch each other in your peripheral vision and your gazes snag—just for a heartbeat. Long enough for something to flash between you, quick and indefinable.
You look away first. He does, too, pretending to focus on the screen again. The show continues, laugh track blaring at something neither of you find that funny.
The unspoken thing settles between you like a third presence on the couch.
It’s a weeknight. That’s the excuse.
Most of your mutual friends are busy, working late or out with other people. You had tentative plans to go out earlier—maybe hit that bar downtown, maybe grab dessert somewhere—but when the time came, you were both somehow too tired, too worn around the edges.
“Your place?” you texted.
“Always,” Mark replied, before he had time to talk himself out of how much he meant it.
Then the rain started.
Now, outside his windows, it streaks down in silver sheets, tapping against the glass and making the city feel smaller, quieter. The world shrinks to the glow of his lamps, the low murmur of the TV, the warmth under the shared blanket.
It feels like being in a cocoon. Like the rest of your life is on pause.
You’re tired. The weight of the day has your body heavy and boneless, your thoughts soft at the edges. At some point, you shift again, pulling your feet from his lap to stretch out along the couch. There’s not enough room for both of you to lie down fully, but that’s never stopped you.
“Move,” you mumble, nudging at his side.
He huffs a laugh. “You move.”
You kick his thigh, no real force behind it. “I’m exhausted, Mark. I’m claiming horizontal rights.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically, but he shifts anyway, twisting so he’s sitting more upright, knees bent to make space. You scoot, rearrange, and somehow you end up with your head sliding into his lap, the side of your face pillowed against his thigh.
You’ve done this before. Late nights. Early mornings. After parties when the room tilted a little too much.
But tonight, it feels different.
His breath stutters when your cheek settles on him, warm and familiar. Your hair fans out over his legs, a few strands tickling his fingers where they hover, uncertain, above you.
You notice the hesitation.
“Comfortable?” you ask without looking up, voice blurred with exhaustion.
Mark wets his lips. “Yeah.” He clears his throat when it comes out rougher than expected. “Yeah, you’re good.”
He lets his hand drop.
His fingers find your hair like they always do. It’s easy, absentminded at first—just smoothing a flyaway here, gently combing through the strands there. Your body relaxes even more, a soft hum of appreciation escaping you.
His fingertips trace the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. It’s innocent. It’s always been innocent. Just touch, just grounding, just comfort.
Tonight, it burns.
He doesn’t know what changed. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
Conversation drifts the way it often does at this hour.
You talk about work. About that coworker who chews too loudly in meetings. About the neighbor in your building who insists on doing laundry at 2 a.m. You complain about the app that keeps crashing on your phone and the podcast you’re trying to get into but can’t.
Eventually, inevitably, it circles back to the same topic it always does when the night gets late and the rain gets heavy:
Dating.
“Tell me again about your latest Hinge tragedy,” you mumble, eyes half-closed.
Mark snorts. “Tragedy is a strong word.”
“You literally texted me ‘this is a tragedy’ last week.”
“Well, okay, that one was bad,” he concedes. “In my defense, she told me her favorite hobby was waking up at five a.m. to ‘optimize her productivity cadence.’”
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “People like that are why I don’t go outside.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if I had better standards—”
“Your standards are fine,” you cut in. “Your taste is just…questionable.”
He gives your hair a little tug at that. You yelp, swatting vaguely at his knee.
“Ow. Rude.”
“You were rude first,” he says mildly, but there’s a smile in his voice.
You fall quiet for a moment, the air between you thickening with the weight of things unsaid. The show continues to play in the background, a meaningless noise you’re both using as cover.
You speak again, but your tone is different this time—softer, more raw.
“Honestly?” you sigh. “I’m just tired.”
“Tired of what?”
You stare at the television without seeing a single frame. “All of it. Swiping, small talk, pretending to be interesting to people who clearly don’t care. It’s like…no one really sees you, you know? They see whatever they want to project, and then the second you’re a real person with real baggage and weird habits, they’re out.”
His fingers pause in your hair.
You keep going, the words spilling out now that you’ve started.
“I don’t even need some big epic thing,” you murmur. “I just…miss being wanted. Like, really wanted. Not ‘you’re convenient’ or ‘you’re fun for now,’ but—”
You falter, searching for the right words.
“Like someone looks at you and thinks, ‘That. I want that. I want you,’ and they actually mean it.”
Your voice dips, quiet and fragile.
“I just…miss feeling like someone wants me.”
Mark goes very, very still.
His hand rests against your temple, fingers threaded gently in your hair. He stares at the TV without seeing it, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ache.
He wants to say, I do.
I’ve wanted you for so long I don’t remember what it’s like not to.
The words swell in his chest, a pressure that has nowhere to go.
He doesn’t say them.
“Yeah,” he manages instead, his voice low. “I get that.”
You huff a humorless little laugh. “Do you? Because you actually get matches. People want you.”
He glances down at you, at the side of your face pressed against his thigh. “People want…some version of me,” he says. “The easygoing guy. The one who makes decent playlists and shows them new food spots. But that’s not the same as…you know. Wanting someone.”
You swallow. “Yeah. Exactly.”
Silence settles over you again, but it’s not empty.
It’s thick. Charged.
You think about all the almosts you’ve had. The dates that were fine, but not enough. The people who liked your jokes but flinched away from your bad days. The ones who called you “too much” or “not enough,” never pausing to consider you might be exactly right for someone else.
Beside you, Mark thinks about every time he’s swallowed back something he wanted to say around you. Every time he’s stopped himself from reaching out, from pulling you closer, from pressing his mouth to your forehead when you fell asleep on his couch.
He thinks about the night, months ago, when you’d both stumbled back here after a party, laughter bubbling between you, your hand in his. How you’d stopped in his doorway, faces inches apart, your breath warm against his lips.
He remembers the way your gaze dropped to his mouth.
He remembers the way his heart stuttered, the way every cell in his body leaned forward.
He remembers the phone ringing—some drunken friend asking where you were, if you’d gotten home safe—and how the moment snapped like a rubber band.
He remembers pretending that was nothing, too.
The TV is still going, but neither of you is watching.
Your eyes have slipped closed, but you’re not asleep. Just floating in that strange space where your mind is both sharp and soft, more honest than it would be in daylight.
Mark’s touch changes.
It’s subtle at first. His fingers move slower, less like idle habit and more like intention.
He traces the shell of your ear, the curve of your jaw. The pads of his fingers linger at the corner of your mouth, just long enough to make you catch your breath. He drags a thumb lightly along the side of your throat, feeling your pulse skitter under your skin.
Your heart thumps faster.
You don’t open your eyes, but you tilt your head the tiniest bit into the contact. Just enough to say, I feel this. Just enough to say, I’m not pulling away.
He notices.
He’s always noticed you.
“Mark?” you murmur.
“Yeah?” His voice comes out rough.
You hesitate. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth.
“Do you ever think,” you start, then stop.
He waits.
You swallow. “Do you ever think maybe we’re just…meant to be lonely together? You, me, your terrible Netflix recommendations.”
He huffs a small laugh, but the sound is unsteady. “My Netflix recommendations are elite, actually.”
“Debatable,” you mumble. “But really. Sometimes it feels like…maybe this is it. Maybe it’s just us. And that’s not…bad. It’s actually kind of…nice.”
You don’t see it, but your words hit him like a blow.
You don’t count, you mean.
When you talk about being alone, about not being wanted, about people not choosing you—you don’t mean him.
Because you’ve always had him. You always will.
He’s your constant.
Something in his chest twists, painfully tight and painfully sweet.
“You don’t count,” you add quietly, like you’re reading his mind. “You’re just…you.”
His hand stills in your hair.
You. Like a category of one. Like an exception to every rule.
He exerts every ounce of willpower he has not to say something that would change everything.
“Hey,” you say after a beat, your tone dipping, almost shy. “Can I ask you something kind of…dumb?”
He forces his lungs to work. “You can ask me anything.”
You bite your lip, gathering courage.
“Why do you…put up with me?” you ask softly. “Like, all of this. My late-night freakouts, my rants, my existential crises about snack choices. You always…show up. You always make space for me. Why?”
His throat goes dry.
“Because I care about you,” he says. It’s the simplest, safest truth he can offer.
“You care about a lot of people,” you murmur.
“Not like this,” he says before he can stop himself.
The words hang in the air, heavy.
Your eyes open.
For the first time in a while, you tilt your head back enough to really look up at him. His face is bathed in the dim gold from the lamp, shadows cutting across his cheekbones, his mouth pressed into a thin line like he’s holding something back.
“Mark,” you say quietly.
His gaze flicks down to meet yours, then away, then back again. He swallows hard.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he says, voice low, almost hoarse.
Your breath catches.
He doesn’t quite look at you when he says it. His gaze hovers somewhere over your head, like if he meets your eyes fully, he’ll give himself away.
Your heart is beating too fast now, each thud echoing in your ears.
“Anything?” you ask, half-teasing, half desperately serious.
He lets out a soft, unsteady laugh. “You have no idea,” he says under his breath.
Something in you clicks.
Pieces slide into place—little moments you brushed off or didn’t let yourself examine too closely. The way his hand always finds the small of your back in crowded places. The way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like you’re answering a question he didn’t know he’d asked.
You shift, rolling carefully from your side so you’re half-turned in his lap, your body twisted to face him. The movement brings you closer, your faces a breath apart.
The TV is just noise now. The rain is just a blanket around the city.
Here, in this small, warm pocket of the world, it’s just the two of you.
You can feel his breath on your lips.
His gaze keeps dropping to your mouth, then back to your eyes, like he’s fighting himself. His fingers flex in your hair, the slightest tremor betraying how hard he’s trying to stay in control.
“Mark,” you whisper.
“Yeah?”
“If this is…nothing,” you say slowly, “you’re doing a terrible job pretending.”
His lips part.
He laughs once, a quiet, broken sound. When he speaks, it’s barely more than air.
“You have no idea,” he repeats.
Your chest tightens, nerves lighting up like a live wire.
“Then don’t pretend,” you say.
The words leave your mouth before you can second-guess them.
For a split second, everything stops.
His eyes search yours, frantic, disbelieving, hopeful, scared. Like he’s waiting for you to laugh, to say you’re joking, to snatch the floor out from under him.
You don’t.
You stay right where you are, your hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest. You feel his heart slam against your palm, wild and stuttering.
He inhales sharply.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
His hand slides from your hair to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, touch reverent. He leans in, slow enough to give you every chance to pull away.
“Mark,” you breathe.
“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, voice barely there now, his forehead dipping to rest against yours.
You don’t say stop.
You lift your chin just a fraction instead.
It’s all he needs.
The first brush of his mouth against yours is almost nothing.
A ghost of a kiss. A question.
Your eyes flutter shut. Your fingers curl into his hoodie, knuckles pressing against his chest. He tastes like the soda you shared earlier and something warm and familiar that’s just him.
He pulls back a millimeter, just enough to look at you. Your breaths mingle in the narrow space, your noses almost touching.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You nod, the movement tiny, shaky. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Are you?”
He huffs a silent laugh that trembles. “Not even a little,” he admits. “But I don’t want to stop.”
“Then don’t,” you murmur.
This time, when he kisses you, it’s not quite so timid.
It’s still soft at first—careful, almost reverent. His lips move against yours like he’s memorizing the shape, the texture, the way you breathe out a tiny sound whenever he changes the angle.
Then something gives.
Maybe it’s the way your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. Maybe it’s the little sigh that escapes you when his thumb strokes a slow line along your jaw. Maybe it’s simply the weight of every moment you’ve both spent wanting this without admitting it.
Whatever it is, the kiss deepens.
It turns urgent. Messy.
Your mouth parts under his, and his response is immediate, like he’s been waiting for years for that one small invitation. His other arm wraps around your waist, hauling you closer, somehow impossibly closer, until you’re half in his lap, the blanket slipping to the floor unnoticed.
You gasp quietly against his lips as your bodies press together, every inch of you alive and humming.
He breaks away just long enough to drag in a sharp breath, his forehead dropping to yours again.
“We’re supposed to be friends,” you whisper.
“We are,” he says, voice rough. “We still are.”
His thumb strokes your cheek, his eyes flicking between yours. “But I’ve…” He swallows hard. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I tried to be okay with just—this. With just being your friend. But every time you walk through that door, I—”
He cuts himself off, like he’s afraid if he keeps talking, he’ll say too much.
Your heart aches in a way that’s both terrifying and perfect.
“How long?” you ask quietly.
He lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Long enough that I don’t remember when it started. Long enough that I can tell you exactly how you take your coffee and which movie you put on when you can’t sleep and the exact sound you make when you’re trying not to cry in front of people.”
Your throat tightens.
“If you don’t want this,” he says, his voice suddenly trembling, “if this is just—tonight, or because you’re lonely, or because I’m here—tell me now. Please. I’ll stop. I’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll—”
“Mark.”
You cut him off by leaning in and kissing him again.
The answer is in the way you press your mouth to his, in the way you sigh into him like your body finally found something it didn’t know it was searching for.
He makes a small, helpless sound, his hand tightening at your waist.
The kiss turns slower again, then deeper, then slow again, ebbing and flowing with all the things you’re both too overwhelmed to say.
You don’t remember when your hands slide under his hoodie, palms flattening against the warm skin of his back. You don’t remember when he shifts you fully into his lap, one arm firm around you, the other cradling your face like you’re something precious, breakable, irreplaceable.
Time blurs.
The world narrows to the drag of his lips, the rush of his breath, the way he whispers your name like a promise between kisses.
“I’ve thought about this,” he confesses against your mouth, words punctuated by soft, breathless kisses. “Every time you’re here, I—”
“Yeah?” you murmur, your forehead resting against his, your fingers curling in the fabric at his shoulders.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, voice low and raw.
Heat flares in your chest, in your cheeks, everywhere.
You don’t need the details. You don’t need the graphic edges. The intensity in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly where they hold you, tells you everything.
His care is threaded through every movement.
“Is this okay?” he asks when his lips wander to your jaw, your throat. He presses slow, lingering kisses there, each one a question as much as a declaration.
“Yeah,” you whisper, your head tipping back in silent invitation. “More than okay.”
He exhales shakily, relief and want tangling together.
“Tell me if anything’s too much,” he murmurs. “If you want to slow down—”
“Mark,” you say softly, pulling back just enough to look at him.
His eyes search your face, pupils blown wide, vulnerability stark and open.
“I trust you,” you say simply.
Something in his expression crumples, then rebuilds itself into something even more tender.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”
The night stretches out.
Everything stays close, intimate. The couch. The low lamplight. Your bodies pressed together like you’re both afraid the other might vanish if you let any space open up between you.
His touch is reverent. Patient. Like every inch of you is something he’s been waiting a long time to trace, to memorize.
Your kisses break again and again—because you’re laughing softly against his mouth at some half-whispered joke, because you’re both breathing too hard, because he keeps pulling back to check your eyes, to make sure you’re still there with him.
You are.
You’re more here than you’ve been in a long time.
At some point, the couch becomes too small, too cramped. You don’t remember who suggests moving, or if it’s just a wordless agreement when he stands and you cling, your legs wrapped around his waist, his arms secure beneath you.
The bedroom is dim, the citylight leaking in through the curtains painting soft stripes across the bed he drops you on.
The feeling of Mark’s mouth, hot and wet on your skin, leaves your mind unravelling in spirals. You feel light, delicate and sensitive, unsure of the journey your bodies will take as they get lost in exploration of one another, but you’re eager and curious.
Almost effortlessly, his hoodie gets lifted off your body, leaving you bare and exposed. Under the scrutiny of his eyes, you feel shy, aware that he’s taking in a sight of you that’s never been revealed to him before.
A breath catches in your throat when his mouth connects with your chest. His tongue moves over your skin in a slow and controlled trail, wanting to savor every inch of you. He’s squeezing your waist, jaw fighting against biting down on your breasts. Your back curves instinctively, your body giving into him completely. You feel drunk on the warmth that courses through your nerves, all in response to him.
He moves lower, bringing a familiar pulse alive between your legs. The only thought circling your mind is that you want him like you’ve never wanted anything more. An almost greedy groan escapes him when your fingers meet his by the waistband of your sweats, helping him push them off and away.
His name is but a whisper on your tongue as his mouth finds the sweetest spot of you. Your brows furrow, the ache he had spurred within you dissipating the second he covets your taste. Wetness rushes through you, and he drinks it all up.
You tug on his hair as he makes you cry out for him. Somewhere in your daze, your eyes meet, telling him everything he needs to know. His fingers replace his mouth while he sits up, the tent in his pants a hint at what’s to come next.
Like any distance at all is unbearable, you reach for him, and he’s right there, fitting his mouth over yours once again. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a sensation that’s foreign yet so inviting. Under your palm, his jaw feels strong. His ears are hot to the touch, his entire body buzzing with a fervent energy that matches yours.
He spreads your legs and dips his hips to meet yours, his pants bunched carelessly by his knees, too impatient to take them off completely. His cock is heavy and throbbing against your cunt as he rubs between your folds. Then, finally, he pushes himself inside you.
Lips parted, shared gasps, eyes shut, the sensation makes you crumble underneath him. Gripping your waist in place, he buries his face in your neck, jerking his hips forward. Quiet curses fill your ear as he begins thrusting into you, his movements precise and deliberate.
You throw your head back, calling his name to give you more.
Everything that follows is slow and careful, threaded with breathy laughter and whispered names and the constant hum of, Is this okay? Are you okay? and your steady, gasped yes, yes, I’m okay, I’m with you.
It doesn’t feel filthy. It doesn’t feel wrong.
It feels like finally.
Like coming home to a place you didn’t know you’d been walking toward the entire time.
He flips you around, taking the time to completely undress himself now. Breathless, you wait for him, watching his every move from over your shoulder. His hand slips around you, holding you as close as he can as he enters you once more, pressing himself deep against the curve of your ass.
You reach for his cheek as his mouth splays wet kisses all over your shoulder. The intimacy of it all, the way he’s so gentle and passionate, it drives you crazy. He’s giving you so much and yet, you can’t get enough of it.
And neither can he.
The sudden rouse of his hips tells you all you need to know, and you’re there with him.
He lifts himself just slightly, skin slapping against yours in desperate vigor. Your moans spur him on, guiding him to the peak of ecstasy. He pulls out of you on instinct, fingers quick to wrap around his pulsing member as he releases onto your back, whining weakly.
Then, without missing a beat, he raises your hips in the air and pulls your body back to his mouth, tongue circling your clit until you’re squirming in a way that confirms the knot of pleasure that’s been tightening within you has finally snapped.
When he rises, you fall back into the mattress, the weight of your body finally registering in your mind. You feel him shift off the bed, only to be back moments later with a warm towel in tow, cleaning the traces of himself off of you.
You turn around lazily, breaking into a breathless grin when your eyes meet his. His gaze is full of endearment, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling stiffly.
“Mark…”
“Yeah?”
The words feel zealous coming from you, “That was perfect.”
He trades you a laugh in his usual embarrassed but agreeable way, handing you his hoodie that had fallen to the floor somewhere in all the chaos. You slip it on, carefully observing as he clothes himself partially and returns to your embrace.
The world eventually knits itself back together.
The rain has gentled to a soft patter outside. The sounds of the city have dulled to a distant murmur. The TV in the living room is still on, long forgotten, casting mute light across an empty couch and a discarded blanket.
In Mark’s bed, you lie tangled in the sheets, skin warm and a little damp, breaths slowly steadying.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
You’re on your side, facing him. The room is dim, but there’s enough light to see the details—the way his hair is mussed, the flush still lingering on his cheeks, the softness around his eyes.
You share a pillow, noses almost brushing.
He looks…young, suddenly. Unshielded. Like the Mark you see when he’s half-asleep on lazy weekend mornings, not the Mark the rest of the world gets.
His hand finds your waist under the sheet, fingers spreading over your skin with an unconscious possessiveness that makes your chest ache.
You let your own hand settle over his, threading your fingers between his.
He exhales, a small, disbelieving sound.
“You okay?” you ask quietly, echoing his earlier question.
He smiles, crooked and a little dazed. “Yeah,” he says. “Just…trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is real and not something I made up in my head at three a.m.”
Your heart stutters.
“How many three a.m.s have you spent thinking about this?” you ask gently.
He hums, pretending to consider. “Enough that if I told you the number, you’d bully me forever.”
You snort softly. “Rude of you to assume I’m not already going to bully you forever.”
His smile widens, the tension in his shoulders easing further.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I can live with that.”
He shifts closer, if that’s even possible, his forehead pressing to yours. You can feel the steady beat of his heart where your chests touch, solid and reassuring.
A quiet settles over you again, but it’s different now.
Not tense. Not filled with sharp, unspoken almosts.
It’s soft. Heavy with warmth.
“I don’t know what this means,” you admit after a while, voice barely above a whisper. “Like…for us. For everything. I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to lose you.”
His hand tightens around yours.
“You’re not going to lose me,” he says immediately, fiercely. “Hey. Look at me.”
You do.
His gaze is steady, even in the dim light.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he says, echoing the thought that’s been hovering in the back of your own mind.
There’s something about the way he says we—like it’s a promise. Like it’s a given.
“Tomorrow?” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he says. “We can…talk. Decide what we want this to be. Or try to, anyway. I’m probably going to be an idiot about it and you’re going to make fun of me and it’ll be a whole thing.”
You huff a soft laugh against his mouth. “Probably.”
“But…” He trails his thumb along the back of your hand. “You’re here. I’m here. You’re wearing my hoodie in my bed, and I can feel your heartbeat under my hand, and I’m not…imagining this.”
He lifts your joined hands to his lips and presses a slow kiss to your knuckles.
“For tonight,” he says quietly, “can it just be this? You and me? No labels, no panic. Just…this.”
You feel your eyes sting.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I want that.”
His shoulders drop, some final thread of anxiety unwinding.
“Okay,” he says again, more to himself this time.
He moves in closer, tucking you against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. One arm wraps around your waist, firm but gentle, hand resting at your hip. The other slips under the pillow, his fingers brushing your neck.
He holds you like he has no intention of letting go.
He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until you make a small, pleased sound and burrow in even further.
“Comfortable?” he asks, voice already going soft with impending sleep.
“Yes,” you mumble into his skin. “You’re warm.”
“So are you,” he replies, pressing a lazy kiss into your hair.
You feel him shift again a few minutes later. He slips away just long enough to grab a bottle of water from his nightstand and offers it to you.
“Here,” he says. “Drink.”
You take a few sips, hand trembling with leftover adrenaline and something like wonder. He watches you with that same soft, aching look in his eyes, like you’re something he’s not quite sure he deserves but can’t stop reaching for.
When you’re done, he sets the bottle aside and wipes a thumb gently under your eye, even though there’s nothing there.
“You’re staring,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he says, unbothered. “I know.”
You smile, small and full.
Minutes pass.
Your breaths start to sync up. The city outside keeps moving—cars passing, lights flickering, people living entire lives beyond these walls.
Inside, the world has shrunk down to the warmth of his chest under your cheek, the slow circles his thumb rubs against your hip, the steady beat of his heart.
You’re almost asleep when you feel his lips brush your temple.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into your hair, so quiet you might have missed it if you weren’t pressed right against him.
You don’t know if he means tonight or tomorrow or every day after.
You decide to believe it’s all of them.
Your last coherent thought before sleep pulls you under is that for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like an almost.
You feel wanted.
Chosen.
Held.
The city lights leak in through the curtains, painting you both in soft silver. Outside, the world keeps humming. Inside, in the small, warm space of Mark’s apartment, you lie tangled together, his arms around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he loosens his grip.
Tomorrow will come. Questions, complications, conversations.
But tonight, there is only this:
You. Mark. The quiet between you, no longer empty but full.
And him holding you like he finally has what he’s been reaching for all along—and he has no intention of letting go.
Summary: It's your first date with single dad Jeno. You're hoping to get lucky. Jeno's nervous, because he hasn't had sex in a while - but he's eager to please.
Genre: Smut, single dad (DILF)!Jeno
Word count: 2k
“Well… this is me.”
You and Jeno were standing outside your apartment building. Your breaths condensed in the cold night air.
Your fingers longed to touch him, to feel the firm muscle under his dark trench coat.
Jeno scratched the back of his head.
“I- uh… had a really nice time tonight.”
You smiled. You weren’t ready to let this night come to an end.
“Would you like to come inside?”
Jeno’s brows shot up.
Oh no. Had you gone too far? Your eagerness had scared off men in the past, but you thought Jeno was different.
You rushed to fill the silence.
“I know it’s only our first date, but we got on so well, and you really are so handsome. I thought that we could- never mind, forget I said anything.”
Jeno shook his head.
“No. It’s not that! I just-” Jeno let out a long sigh, his broad shoulders slumping. “I should have told you this before, but I uh… have a daughter.”
“Oh.”
Diapers. Snotty noses. Looking after someone other than yourself. These were not things you were used to.
Jeno’s lips stretched into an awkward smile.
“I should have told you earlier. I understand if you don’t want to-”
“I still want to.”
The truth was, after a long string of disappointing dates, Jeno was the first man in a while who actually made you feel excited.
You gestured for your door. “Shall we…”
Jeno shook his head. “I’ve got go home and dismiss the baby sitter.”
You sighed. “Oh, right. Silly me.”
“But… I only live a few streets down. Maybe you could come with me?”
His dark eyes crinkled into half moons. You swear you saw his cheeks flush.
You smiled. “Lead the way.”
—
Jeno’s bedroom was impeccably neat and organised. All of the bedding and decor was various shades of grey and black. The only thing that stood out was one bright pink strawberry plushie in the middle of the bed.
You absentmindedly squished the plushie as you waited for Jeno to pay the babysitter.
You felt like your heart was beating out of your chest, which was strange, because this wasn’t the first time you’d slept with someone on the first date.
You weren’t quite sure what you should do. Should you strip and wait for him naked, like they did in the movies? You decided that was too much, so you just sat there.
The door opened, and Jeno walked in.
“Thanks for waiting. Miyu took a while to settle down.”
The mattress dipped as he sat down beside you. His smell, clear and citrus, filled your senses.
“I take it this is hers?”
You held out the strawberry plushie.
Jeno chuckled and gently took it from your hands.
“You know… six year olds and their passions.”
He rolled the plushie into the corner of the room, and then turned back to face you.
You sucked in a breath.
The only light in the room came from an orange lamp on the nightstand. It cast a warm glow on Jeno’s face, and stretched his lashes into long shadows.
He was looking at you with deep, unreadable eyes. It made you feel naked despite you being fully clothed. He stayed absolutely still.
You touched his hand.
“Is everything alright?”
“Y/n. It’s been a long time since I… with someone… I mean I- I’m not-”
You leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, quietening him.
“Is this okay?”
Jeno didn’t answer. Instead, he placed a hand behind your head and pulled your mouth onto him. His lips were hesitant at first, but soon, he matched your pace, kissing you deeply. Every time his tongue brushed yours, you felt a sparkle in your core.
You kissed down his neck, running your tongue across his prominent collarbones. Jeno moaned.
“Take this off,” you said, tugging at his grey woollen jumper.
Jeno leant back slightly and pulled the jumper over his head.
When you got a look at his body, your mouth dropped open.
Jeno’s broad shoulders and long chest tapered into a deliciously narrow waist. His skin was impossibly smooth, and each ridge of muscle looked like it had been carved out of marble. You imagined what it would be like to kiss him all the way down.
“Oh my god, Jeno. Your body is insane. I had no idea you were hiding all of,” you gestured at his muscles, “that under there.”
A red, splotchy blush rose up Jeno’s neck.
“I guess I work out,” he said, peeking at you through his lashes.
You ran your fingers down the firm plane of his chest. When you brushed his nipple, a low sound escaped his throat. He grabbed your wrist on instinct, but didn't tell you to stop.
You grinned. “Understatement of the century.”
You reached forwards and wrapped your hands around Jeno, desperate to feel him. You pressed your body against his, your hands sliding down his warm back. His heart was rapid, thumping against your chest.
You were acutely aware that you were fully clothed and he was naked.
Jeno reached round to the back of your dress, his fingers fumbling with the zip. After a few tries, he managed to get the zip all the way down. You shrugged the dress off your shoulders and let it slide down your body.
Jeno’s eyes went wide when he saw you weren’t wearing a bra underneath.
“You’re so… hot,” he whispered, looking at your breasts.
He leant forwards and sucked one nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled around your nipple. He cupped your other breast with his hand, kneading it gently.
You felt yourself grow wet.
Instinctively you reached your hand into his lap, squeezing the stiff bulge beneath his jeans.
Jeno gasped and pulled away from you.
“If you do that, I’m going to-” His black glassy eyes met yours. “It really has been so long since I even thought about sex. Having Miyu around means that all I think about is pick up and homework and when her next shots are due-”
You put a finger over his lips.
“Can you not talk about your daughter right now?”
Jeno nodded. “Right. Yes, you’re right. Sorry, did I ruin the moment?’
He let out a shaky breath. His fingers twitched, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“You didn’t ruin anything. Why don’t you go and get a condom?”
“That I can do.”
Whilst Jeno left the room, you shimmied out of your panties, and lay down on the bed. You reached between your legs, and were not surprised to feel that you were soaking wet.
Jeno came back into the room, groaning when he saw you playing with yourself.
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows and watched whilst he undressed. Jeno pulled down his jeans, and then his boxers.
Your gaze ran up his muscled thighs and over his lean hips. His cock, wide and flushed, was stiffening under your gaze. You were dazed at the sight of him.
“I’m not sure that’s going to fit.” It was hard to keep the excitement out of your voice.
Jeno’s hand slipped down to his cock. He stroked himself, the veins in his forearms bulging with the effort.
You shuffled so that you were sitting on the edge of the bed. Jeno stood between your spread legs, brows furrowed in concentration.
His fingers were too shaky to rip open the foil of the condom wrapper, so you did it for him. You rolled the condom onto him, hearing him hiss when your hands came into contact with his cock.
“Fuck,” he cursed.
Jeno slid his cock across your wet lips, sliding over your clit and making you jolt. He rubbed himself up and down over you, gathering your wetness.
He jerked his hips forwards. You felt the tip of his cock, heavy and warm, squeeze against your pussy.
He pushed it in, just an inch.
You felt a pleasurable burn as his cock slowly entered you. He inched forwards, with a slow but constant force. The uncomfortable stretch slowly turned into a delicious friction.
“More,” you whispered.
Jeno pushed all the way into you with one long, slow thrust. You both let out a groan.
You looked at Jeno’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his mouth hung half open.
Jeno began to thrust properly, his sharp hips slapping against yours at a rapid pace. One of his large hands came down to caress the curve of your ass as he fucked into you.
Each thrust knocked the air out of your lungs. You had never felt so full.
“I won’t last long,” Jeno said, his head dipping down to your neck. He kissed your sensitive skin.
You reached your hand between your legs and started to rub tight circles around your clit, desperate to reach your climax at the same time as him.
Jeno’s thrusts turned sloppy.
“Y/n, I’m going to-”
He pushed himself in, deep, deeper than he’d been before, and then stilled. He let out a long, low groan, and slumped onto you.
The weight of him on top of you surprised you. You were completely trapped between his muscled body and the bed, his cock still buried to the brim in your pussy.
You squeezed his arm.
“Jeno- too heavy!”
He rolled to the side, groaning as he pulled himself out of you. He quickly removed the condom and lay down beside you.
“Did you finish?” His dark eyes watched you curiously.
You smiled. “Almost.”
Jeno’s gaze followed your fingers as they skirted down your stomach and hips, and dipped down to your pussy.
You felt a flood of wetness as you rubbed yourself. Goosebumps rippled over your body. It was so hot to be watched.
Jeno was watching you intently, like he was memorising your every move. You let your eyes fall shut as your instincts took over.
You pushed two fingers deep into your pussy. The second you did, your orgasm washed over you. It was so strong that you started to shake.
You opened your eyes , sighing. You looked down to see that Jeno was growing hard again.
“You’re so amazing,” he said.
You felt your cheeks warm, suddenly shy.
“So… wanna go on a second date?”
Jeno laughed. He grasped you by your waist and pulled you on top of him.
“Fuck yes.”
—
Jeno Masterlist ⭐️
MAIN MASTERLIST
Let me know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋
pairing: jeno x fem bodied reader | established relationship
plot: you saw a tiktok about how big noses are great to sit on and jeno decides to test out that theory
word count: approx. 1.08k
warnings: oral sex (female receiving), face-riding
requested - yes | hihi wdyt about sexy time with jeno since he's singing about treating his nose like a slide - he asked we just finding means to deliver
a/n: we been on that jeno nose propaganda since the dawn of time
masterlist
the day had started innocently enough, but ever since scrolling through tiktok during lunch, your mind hadn't been able to shake the video. it was some cheeky clip about how guys with big noses were a hidden gem in bed, perfect for sitting on, the kind of thing that promised intense friction against your clit without even trying. and there you were, dating jeno, whose prominent nose had always caught your eye, but now it felt like a revelation. you spent the afternoon stealing glances at him while he lounged on the couch, playing video games, oblivious at first to your fixation.
by evening, as you both prepped dinner in the kitchen, he finally noticed. you were chopping vegetables, but your gaze kept drifting to the strong bridge of his nose, imagining the feel of it sliding between your folds. jeno set down his knife, turning to you with a concerned frown. "baby, you okay? you've been zoning out all day. like, staring right through me."
your cheeks heated up, knife pausing mid-slice. "oh, nothing. just... tired, i guess." you forced a smile, but he wasn't buying it. he stepped closer, wiping his hands on a towel before tilting your chin up with gentle fingers, his dark eyes searching yours.
"nah, spill it. what's got you so distracted?" his voice was soft but insistent, that boyfriend intuition kicking in.
you bit your lip, hesitating. how do you even bring this up? "fine, it's stupid. i saw this tiktok today about... how big noses are great because you can, um, sit on them. like, for... you know, pleasure." the words tumbled out in a rush, your face burning as you avoided his gaze.
jeno blinked, processing, then a slow grin spread across his face. he touched his own nose self-consciously but playfully. "this one? should we test the theory, then? see if it's all hype?" his tone was teasing, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
you laughed it off, waving him away nervously. "what? no, that's ridiculous. forget i said anything." heart racing, you turned back to the counter, dismissing the idea before it could take root. the conversation shifted to dinner plans, but you could feel his lingering look, that spark of interest not quite extinguished.
over the next few days, it simmered in the background. jeno didn't push at first, but you caught him glancing at you differently, like he was mulling it over. by the third night, as you cuddled on the bed watching a movie, he couldn't hold back anymore. his hand traced lazy circles on your thigh under the blanket, inching higher until you squirmed.
"babe," he murmured, pausing the film and rolling to face you, his expression earnest and a little desperate. "i've been thinking about that tiktok thing nonstop. it's stuck in my head. please? let me try it. i want you to sit on my nose, ride it like a slide. i promise it'll feel good. i need to feel you grinding on me." his voice dropped low, husky with want, free hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in, lips brushing yours. he sees your hesitation but nonetheless tried his best to convince you. "i'm begging you baby. for me?"
the vulnerability in his plea, mixed with the heat in his eyes, cracked your resistance. you'd been curious too, the idea nagging at you despite the nerves. "okay," you whispered, a thrill zipping through you. "but only if you're sure."
jeno's face lit up, and he kissed you fiercely, tongues sliding together as he tugged at your clothes. shirts came off first, then pants, until you were both naked on the bed. he lay back against the pillows, head propped up, that big nose prominent as he patted his chest. "come here princess. straddle my face."
you climbed over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his head, your pussy already slick from the anticipation. hovering above him, you felt exposed, vulnerable, but his hands gripped your hips reassuringly, pulling you down gently. the tip of his nose brushed your clit first—a firm, cool press that made you gasp. it was broader than you'd imagined, the ridge catching just right against your swollen folds.
"slow at first," he encouraged, voice muffled slightly as you lowered more. you rocked forward experimentally, sliding your pussy along the bridge of his nose. the hard line dragged over your clit with perfect pressure, sending a jolt of pleasure straight up your spine. "oh, jen.." you feel your arousal kicking in. "fuck, yes," jeno groaned, his breath hot against your inner thighs, hands squeezing your ass to guide your movements.
emboldened, you ground down harder, the friction building as your juices coated his skin, making each slide smoother, slicker. his nose nudged your entrance with every backward rock, the tip dipping just inside before you pushed forward again, humping the ridge relentlessly. it felt incredible—the unyielding shape massaging your clit without mercy, no give, just pure, targeted stimulation.
jeno's tongue joined in, flicking out to lick your dripping slit whenever you slid back. he lapped at your pussy lips, sucking your clit into his mouth briefly before you rode forward, chasing the nose again. 'god, you taste so good baby,' he rasped between strokes, his own arousal evident in the way his cock twitched against his stomach below, hard and leaking precum. but he stayed focused, desperate to make you cum like this.
your hands braced on the headboard, thighs trembling as you picked up the pace. the room filled with wet sounds with your pussy gliding over his nose, his tongue slurping at your folds. pressure coiled tight in your core, every nerve ending firing as the bridge rubbed your clit raw in the best way. "jeno... i'm close," you moaned, bucking wildly now, nose buried deep in your slick heat.
'cum for me, baby. soak my face,' he urged, voice vibrating against you. one hand slipped between your legs from behind, finger circling your entrance before pushing inside, curling to hit that spot while you rode his nose.
it pushed you over. your orgasm ripping through you like fire, pussy clenching around his finger as waves of pleasure pulsed. you cried out, grinding down hard, clit throbbing against the slick ridge until you couldn't take it anymore. juices flooded out, dripping down his chin, but he licked and hummed through it all, holding you steady as you shuddered.
finally, you collapsed forward, panting, and he eased you down beside him, kissing your forehead tenderly. "told you it'd be worth it," he whispered, pulling you close, both of you spent and grinning.
mark lee knew that not every story begins with a prologue, much less a memorable one.
but it had never occurred to him that his own story would start with a rushed morning, an empty hallway, and a single voice.
────── .✦ ݁˖ ──────
“i didn’t fall for you all at once. it was quieter than that, like something slowly settling into place. like i had been falling for a while without even realizing it.
but i didn’t care how long the fall lasted, because it was your arms i was falling into.”
────── .✦ ݁˖ ──────
pairings: student mark lee x student fem reader.
genre: non idol au, college/university setting, fluff, pining, domestic moments, yearning, strangers/classmates to lovers.
a/n: helloo! this is my first fic ever, so still getting the hang of it and kinda nervous... hoping that whoever is reading this likes it! hearts and reblogs are always appreciated! 🫶 thank you for being here, and happy reading 💌
chapters: links given below :)
๋ ࣭ ⭑ 1 - still haven't seen your face, but we're not far apart.
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you are on your last day of exams before christmas break, and you’ve been so caught up with studying and finishing all your assignments just so they wouldn’t burden you later—clearly neglecting your boyfriend, jeno.
which you didn’t even realize.
you guys haven’t talked for two days straight, and since he wasn’t texting or talking to you first, you assumed he also wanted to focus on studying for exams.
but you were wrong.
finally, the last exam of the semester is done! you’ve given your all, and honestly—you don’t give a shit anymore whether you get good grades or not. you’re already too stressed to even care about your school’s bullshit.
you’re definitely ready to enjoy some healing and relaxation time.
just the thought sleep makes your mood better.
well, you and your friends have been planning this villa trip together. and the ones coming are minjeong, ningning, aeri, jimin, hyuck, renjun, jaemin, jeno, and you.
the crew is set, and you guys are ready to go.
you guys decided to rent a van, leaving at noon so you'd arrive at the villa in the evening.
you sat next to jeno the whole ride, but he was very quiet, not talking to you at all. he had his airpods on and was reading a novel he borrowed from you a week ago, so you left him alone, happy enough that he was actually reading something you recommended to him.
you’re honestly so terrible at reading jeno’s mood, especially when he's angry/sulking, cause he’s not the type to show those kinds of emotions blatantly. so you don't actually know if something is bothering him.
you ended up sleeping the entire car ride, not realizing your head was resting on jeno’s shoulder the whole time. he stayed completely still, letting you rest on him because he knew how tired you were.
once you arrived, jeno gently woke you up.
“y/n, we’ve arrived. the others already went in,” he said, softly caressing your cheek.
“hmm? we’re here?” you mumbled, voice raspy, still half asleep.
“mhm.”
seeing how cute you looked, jeno couldn’t help but press a small kiss to your cheek.
“m’kay…”
you both got out of the car and brought your bags inside. everyone had already picked their rooms—the girls shared one, and the guys shared another.
after unpacking, jaemin, renjun, and hyuck were busy playing games.
you thought jeno was with them too, but he was nowhere to be found.
“hyuck, have you seen jeno?” you asked.
“JAEM—THERE’S SOMEONE ON MY LEFT! DEFEND ME, FOR GOD’S SAKE—what?” hyuck yelled before turning to you.
“have any of you seen jeno? he’s nowhere to be found.”
“haven’t seen him since we unpacked,” jaemin said, shrugging.
“same,” hyuck added.
“i think he went outside to swim? i saw him wearing his swimming trunks,” renjun said.
i know it's very cruel of me to post this a couple of day's after mark's departure from sm and all nct units, but this jeno drabble has been sitting in my draft for so longgggg, so i decided to post it.
wishing mark nothing but the best moving forward. i truly hope this decision brings him happiness and comes from a place that feels right for him. <3
thank you guys for reading this, and I hope you all enjoyed it !
"are you kidding? 'm never taking these off." your boyfriend, lee jeno, reassures as he reaches for you, pulling you into his lap so your chest is against his own. he brings his now decorated vape up between you both so you can see all the stickers — stars and hearts and little smiley faces in various shades of pink, perfectly contrasting the turquoise color of his device.
"look how pretty. my pretty girl decorated it for me." he adds, before taking another hit and turning your face up toward him; he shotguns the sweet vapor into your mouth, slowly. "everything's better when you touch it," he murmurs against your lips, his free hand sliding up under your shirt, that belongs to him in the same way you do, to rest warm on your stomach.
you can feel him getting hard beneath you and he makes no attempt to hide it, as he holds you closer, his nose buried in your hair while his thumb rubs lazy circles on your skin. "i love you," he says quietly, setting his sticker-covered vape aside so both hands are free to touch you as he pleases.
but you don't have enough time to repeat his words back to him before he guides one of your hands down onto the warm bulge in his sweats, begging you to touch him and make him feel better.
ngl need jeno to finger me so bad on a kitchen counter 🤪
Jeno stood at the stove with one hand on the pan, the other braced on the counter as he stirred. The kitchen smelled warm and rich, garlic and butter rising in the air. He was shirtless except for the apron tied around his waist, the thin strings pulling tight across his back. When the door opened and he glanced over his shoulder, the movement made him pause completely.
For a second he just stared at you.
“…Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, turning back to the stove like he needed to gather himself. But he couldn’t help looking again, slower this time, his eyes dragging over you from head to toe. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth.
“You look good, baby.”
You leaned against the counter and drop your bag beside you. Your expression was calm, but there was a small smile playing at the corner of your mouth. Jeno noticed it immediately.
“Hello to you too,” you said.
He shook his head, letting out a quiet breath as he went back to the pan. The oil hissed when he added the last few ingredients, stirring them in. Still, his eyes kept flicking back to you every few seconds.
“You can’t just walk in looking like that while I’m cooking,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow. “Looking like what?”
“Like that,” he repeated, gesturing vaguely with the spoon before setting it down. His attention slipped again as he looked you over, the faintest hint of a grin returning. “You know exactly what I mean.”
You shrugged one shoulder, leaning more comfortably against the counter. The movement made his eyes narrow slightly in amusement. He reached over and turned the heat down, letting the pan settle into a slow simmer.
“I just got home from work,” you said.
“Yeah, well,” he replied, wiping his hands on a towel, “it’s very distracting.”
You let out a soft laugh and tilted your head. “You’re the one staring.”
“Because you keep standing there.”
“It’s my kitchen.”
Jeno huffed quietly through his nose, clearly trying not to smile. For a moment he stayed where he was, hands resting on the counter as he looked at you across the small space.
“Unbelievable,” he murmured.
Then he pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen in two long steps.
Before you could react, his hands landed on the counter on either side of you, boxing you in. The movement was quick and confident, leaving almost no space between you. The warmth from the stove followed him, along with the smell of whatever he’d been cooking.
“See?” he murmured.
“Distracting.”
You blinked up at him, trying to keep your composure. “You walked over here.”
“Yeah,” he said easily, leaning a little closer. His voice dropped lower, softer now. “Because you wouldn’t stop looking at me.”
“I was watching you cook.”
“You were not watching the cooking.”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he leaned closer to your ear. His voice brushed against it when he spoke, quiet and teasing. The closeness made your breath catch before you could stop it.
“Do you have any idea,” he said slowly, “how hard it is to focus when you're wearing the tiniest skirt i've ever seen?”
You tried to sound unimpressed, even if your voice came out a little softer than intended. “You’re exaggerating.”
Jeno let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
“Oh yeah?”
He shifted slightly closer, just enough that you could feel the heat of him. The teasing look in his eyes deepened as he watched your reaction. He didn’t miss the way your breathing had changed.
“Listen to you,” he murmured.
You frowned slightly. “I sound fine.”
“Mm,” he replied, tilting his head as if considering that. “Not really.”
His gaze flicked briefly to your mouth, then back to your eyes again. Behind him, the pan on the stove continued to simmer quietly.
Jeno’s smile returned, slow and amused.
“Getting a little shaky there, baby.”
“I am not,” you insisted.
“You are.”
He leaned in again, close enough that his voice was barely more than a whisper now. “Look at you.”
You swallowed, trying very hard not to react.
Jeno noticed immediately. He paused for a second before letting out a soft, satisfied chuckle.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s what I thought. Now hop up on the counter and spread your legs for me baby.”
please please please please do like a jeno writing based on the song juno from sabrina carpenter🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 its been on my mind for so long and I think youre the only one who can make it absolutely perfect
゛JUNO ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆
── .✦ i don't know if i used blubbering in the correct way it's the only word that came to my brain but um hopefully this was good! i haven't written for jeno in a minute. also probably strayed from the song but i just took some lyrics and wrote this lol & thank you for the compliment!! hopefully i was able to fulfill your request <3
"cute." he compliments the pink cuffs you've locked around his wrist. he's got one wrist cuffed to the headboard and the other left to roam free. "was there a budget though?" he waves his free hand, teasing smile on his face.
"shut up," you playfully smack his chest, sitting back on his thighs after making sure the cuffs were secure. "still want you to touch me." you pout grabbing onto his hand to bring it to your hip.
"is that so, baby?" he smiles, leaning forward the best he can to reach your lips. you decide to meet him the rest of the way, lips pressing together. you shift closer on his lap so your clothed cunt is right on his bulge. you sigh at the feeling, moving your hips in slow circles.
having enough of your underwear in the way, you lift yourself off to rid yourselves of the material. and you've fucked many times, yes, but you still can't help but gape at the sight of his cock. pretty and lengthy. you both moan when you lower yourself down, cunt swallowing him up. you take a moment to just sit, unintentionally clenching. "love being full of you." you slowly start to bounce, the pace making it feel delicious.
"yeah?" he breathes, squeezing your hip. he's watching the way his cock slides in and out, lip in between his teeth. "fuck, so good." he whispers. eventually you start to speed up, hands coming forward to rest on his chest.
"oh." your toes curl, your nails dig into his chest, your body's starting to feel hot, the pace you've set is starting to make you feel breathless, heart pounding in your chest. "oh my god." you look over your shoulder to watch the way your ass bouncing, the view and the feeling bringing you closer. and the closer you get to your release, the blubbering starts, your brain having turned to mush because you're fucked out of your mind.
"fuck fuck want you to fill me up," your arms give out and he catches you, arms wrapping around your waist. he decides to fuck up into you taking the initiative to finish you both off. "want you to fuck a baby into me, jeno. please." you whine.
"yeah? you want my baby in you?" his hands slide down to your ass, squeezing. "take it all." he groans as he fills you up. "fuck take all my cum, baby. just for you."
It's one of the most important meetings in your career. Meeting your ex-university rival Lee Jeno wasn't on the list for it, though. Unexpectedly, he backs you up in the conference, suggesting a big collaboration between your brand and his. What you don't expect is how friendly he seems to be with you afterwards. In the end, one thing leads to another, and you find yourself tangled in the sheets of his hotel room.
pairing: Ceo!Lee Jeno x femCeo!reader
genre: smut, porn with plot, a hint of past rivals
warnings: business talk (I am sorry, I have no idea how the business world works, so don´t behead me for being unrealistic), oral (fem receiving), fingering, penetration, no condom (y´all pls use protection. idk why my characters never do), some edging if you squint, a hint of exhibitionism maybe, only halfway proofread bc I´m too lazy (sry)
wc: ~7.5 k
an: So, I finally finished this. It´s been sitting in my drafts for a few months now...😅 which is mostly because writing smut isn´t as easy for me as other things. I also wouldn´t consider smut to be my strongest type of work. I am so sorry if it´s disappointing. I tried my best🙏, I swear. Anyway, I think smut may not be that regular on my blog. At least not until I finally feel less cringey about it because...omg the amount of times I crashed out over this because writing it was just so... bizarre? Like, I kept crashing out about the wording. Reading smut is so damn easy. But writing it? Help, how do y´all do it??? Anyway, I hope you like it. Likes and reblogs are appreciated💕
Happy belated Valentine's Day, I guess? I know I missed it by one day, but I´m even glad I finished this 🫣
Your heels echo in the hallway as you come close to the door to the meeting room. With a swift push, you enter the room. Five pairs of eyes immediately land on your figure as you stride over to your designated place at the table. You don´t spare them a glance until you are seated.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” your voice sounds, a calm demeanor evident in its tone.
The men at the table nod, greeting you shortly. When you look over them, your breath slightly hitches as your eyes land on the man to your right. Mr. Kim, Mr. Park, Mr. Byun, and Mr. Cha — all familiar faces that you have seen countless times at other business meetings you´ve attended. But to your right sits a familiar face. One you´ve seen a lot as a student at university. There he is, your former rival, Lee Jeno, CEO of his own brand. One of the rising faces in the industry, alongside yours.
You collect yourself, your face staying neutral as you take out a folder from your bag. “As you all know, I am interested in expanding my brand into other branches of the market. I specifically proposed the idea to your businesses, thinking that you fit my concept the best.” You open the conversation, briefly reexplaining the reason for the meeting today. Your short presentation starts after. You show them the key things that make up your brand, and explain where you see possible partnerships.
When you are done talking, you look at them with an expectant look. Now it´s their turn to tell you what they have in mind. Everyone in the room is aware of the power you hold. Being the CEO of the brand that has had the highest market value for the past three quarters. The fashion brand that´s exceptionally positively received by the public for its authentic cuts and wearability for women of all ages and sizes. The only fashion brand that seems to outperform the old empires that used to rule the market over the past decades.
You lean back in your chair as you watch them mumble to themselves, crossing your arms. The men know each other. They´ve worked together before, too. So you are curious about what they come up with. In the corner of your eyes, you see Jeno take some notes. Unlike the older men, he keeps to himself, calmly writing down information he deems important, maybe even possible expansions for his own business — clothes specifically made for men.
When Mr. Cha clears his throat, you give him your full attention, allowing him to voice his suggestions. “Ms. L/N, I am aware of the rise in popularity AZURE Fashion has earned the past year. I am very interested in working with you. As you know, my brand focuses on accessories, shoes, and bags for mostly women, but also men. I could imagine a collaboration in which we design a collection together, and present it in our shops in all of Korea, possibly even globally.”
You let his words sink in for a second. The reputation his brand has is big. He sells a lot of products every year and has stayed in the top ten for many years. The proposition doesn´t sound bad. But there is one thing you need to ask first. “Will you cover production costs fairly, too? Will you take part in the costs for distribution and marketing? Or will you just sell my clothes in your shops, advertising it as a collaboration, when you just want my clientele?”
This wipes the arrogant smile off his face. You know his business runs well. But what he´s trying to do is use your name and items for his own benefit, earning all the profits. Mr. Cha tries to say something, but because he fails to come up with a reply right away, Mr. Park steals the attention. “Ms. L/N, we could offer you a share of our company in exchange for a cross-brand stake in yours. A strategic alliance between our boards.”
You chuckle at his offer, shortly looking away in amusement. Do these men really think you are that stupid? You lean forward, placing your elbows on the table and resting your chin on the backs of your intertwined hands. “So you´d like a hand in my decisions, Mr. Park. I thought I proposed a collaboration, not a merger.”
The mocking undertone in your voice makes Jeno smirk in amusement. He knows what these men are trying to do. It´s as clear as day that they just want a collaboration for their own benefits and to ruin you in the long run. They fail to see the vision you have, genuinely wanting to expand your brand into a different branch to reach more loyal customers who trust in what you provide.
Mr. Park clenches his fists, seeing that you have seen through his scheme. He leans back in his chair and clears his expression into one of neutrality. “Gentlemen, I don´t mean to offend you when I say this. But do you really think I am stupid enough to give any of you rights to my company that will inevitably ruin my business in the long run?” Your voice cuts through the air, mocking their shameless attempts to sabotage you. “I know all of you are great businessmen. But I aim for something genuine. To expand my brand.”
“You aren´t seeing the bigger picture,” Jeno interrupts, looking at the older CEOs. Surprised to hear him actually speak in your favor, you give him room to expand on what he is saying. The seniors in the room also pay attention to what he says, not exactly pleased with his choice of words, though.
“Ms. L/N.” Hearing him use your last name in such a formal way feels weird, but you don´t let it shine through on your face. You keep a calm demeanor and listen to him. “Seeing how your current focus is authentic fashion for women, and seeing how my brand focuses on men´s fashion so far, would you be interested in a possible collaboration that expands to couples? A collection that matches each other visually while focusing on what´s practically needed for both.”
His proposition sounds interesting. You´ve thought about it before. The dating market is big, and a lot of people pay attention to matching looks, especially when it comes to certain formal events. “That´s a very ambitious proposal, Mr. Lee. A collaboration like this would mean shared creative control. Especially to create the customization options I usually offer for most of my designs.”
“I am well aware of that. Couples already put a lot of meaning into shared items like jewelry, shoes, and other things. Even for clothes, people like to feel like they belong to each other. It´s just missing the aspect of something that´s not only pretty, but also fits well and works for everyday life,” he expands on his thoughts, matching your energy in the process. It feels like a debate you used to have with him in class all the time. The training of argumentation about business deals, trying to win the other over. This time, it´s simply that it´s a real offer. One that possibly impacts the future of your brand and his brand.
“Matching fashion for couples? That´s no sustainable revenue.” Mr. Byun scoffs, unimpressed by the idea. Clearly, he still doesn´t understand where you want to go with your brand.
Mr. Kim mutters something under his breath, looking to the side, annoyed. “Sentimental marketing. What a joke.”
Jeno can´t help but chuckle to himself. “Neither is ignoring what people feel when they buy your products.” His voice sounds professional, yet dominant. His bold statement shocks the older, more experienced men.
“He´s right. Emotion drives loyalty, and loyalty brings sales. Why else do you think your target groups slowly start to try out with newer brands that actually meet their needs?” You back up Jeno´s statement, enjoying the sour expressions in front of you a bit too much. “Your focus is on quantity. You don´t listen to what people complain about. That´s what separates us.”
Mr. Park slams his hands onto the table. He´s heard enough. He won´t endure this kind of slander to his brand any longer. Mr. Cha looks at him with a glare, trying to keep the tension from snapping, because he knows it won´t look well if his colleague makes a scene.
But before any of them can say much more or do anything, you clap your hands together. “Mr. Lee, I will think about your proposal. It has potential,” you voice sounds firm and authoritative. The men in front of you stare at you as you gather your folder and the notes inside. Then you stand up, finally looking them in the eye again. “I thank you for your time and consideration. I will see you in the future.” With that, you start to walk out of the room, leaving them behind. You feel eyes on you, but you ignore them, letting the door click shut with a soft sound.
Your feet carry you through the building, back to your executive assistant. You give her the folder and update her about the proposition from Jeno. In the next beat, you ask her about your schedule.
“Miss, your schedule is clear for the rest of the evening. The next appointment isn´t until tomorrow at 1 pm,” she tells you. You nod and decide to review some files in one of the offices on the floor.
⪩.⪨
While the other CEO`s slowly take their leave, Jeno stays in the meeting room. He writes down the important bits from the negotiation. In his mind, he is stuck with your portrayal of yourself. He obviously recognizes and remembers you. Very clearly. Back at uni, you already had this confidence. You wouldn´t step down from your vision just because someone felt like you had no right to voice your opinions. In the end, it was always him placing second when you took first place on the leader boards for the year. And it was always you who stared him down when he aced a test better than you did.
To him, your expressions were so cute. He always had an interest in your intellect and how you thought about the material you had to review for presentations and other projects because you had such a way with words. But somehow, he was always met with a certain disdain. He placed it as a result of the rivalry you unintentionally created. Seeing you again, in a serious setting, brings back the memories, and he´s reminded of why he liked you so much.
The possible collaboration means a lot to him. He knows how seriously you take your work and that you value what your customers think. It´s exactly what he needs and wants for his own business. So when you invited him, he couldn´t say no.
Done with his notes, he finally gathers his things and gets up. He moves out of the room, through the corridor, and coincidentally runs into your assistant. “May I ask if Ms. L/N is still in the building?” he swiftly asks, giving her a small smile.
Your assistant, too stunned by his handsome face and the sudden question, stutters. “S-she´s busy reviewing some files in one of the offices on the upper floor.”
“Great. Is she busy for the rest of the evening?” he adds, professionally.
The woman in front of him nods. “Do you want to request a separate meeting with her? I can try and arrange something,” she proposes, but Jeno shakes his head.
“It´s fine. Thank you for telling me. Have a nice evening,” he says his goodbye and moves to the elevators. Inside, he calls his assistant. “Say, Jaemin, can you clear my schedule for the rest of the evening? Something came up.”
Jaemin, on the other side of the line, looks into the calendar, surprised to hear from his friend so suddenly. He usually never requests this, so it must be important. “Jeno, you have another meeting with the president of the manufacturing company later. Are you sure you want me to clear your schedule?”
“I am well aware of that. Please go ahead and reschedule the appointment for me,” Jeno says, clearly set on something else for the night.
“Alright. But please stay available in case there is a call back from him,” Jaemin requests, already knowing there will be some issues. The president has quite a temper and doesn´t like sudden cancellations.
“I will. Don´t worry.” With that, he ends the call, right as the elevator arrives at the floor with the offices. He walks through the hallway, determined to find you. And when he finally sees you sitting at one of the tables, busy writing something on a piece of paper, he goes and knocks on the glass door.
The sound catches your attention, so you look to the side. Surprise is written all over your features as you´re met with Jeno standing there. You don´t say anything, yet, and instead roll around the chair a little to face him directly.
“It´s been a while,” he starts and strides forward.
“Indeed, it has,” you respond, your eyes following his figure as he gets closer. “Can I help you with something?” you then ask, curious to see what he wants from you.
“Not exactly. I just wanted to catch up. See how you are doing,” he says casually. His hands find themselves inside his pockets. His gaze never leaves yours, either.
You scoff at his answer. “Please. Catch up? See how I am doing? Since when do you care?” you retort, not believing your ex-rival wants to catch up.
“Y/N please. Don´t be mean. I am genuinely asking. It´s not to taint you,” his voice rings in your ears. The mention of your name with that deep rasp does a few things to you, but you don´t relent easily.
“Are you trying to be nice to me for the sake of the collaboration? Are you that scared I will back out of it?” you ask, finally standing up to be on equal footing with him.
“Not at all. I am confident you are professional enough to keep personal matters away from business decisions. After all, you´ve always had a talent for it,” he says, looking at you fairly gently.
You eye him with skepticism, but decide to give him a chance. “Fine. But I won’t catch up with you in this stuffy office.”
“That´s fine with me. I wanted to invite you over for a talk anyway,” he smiles, showing you the famous eye smile that had girls swooning over him when you were students.
You roll your eyes, but your feet move regardless. Within minutes, you are no longer inside the office but situated inside his car, on the way to his hotel room. The ride over is silent. You are busy looking out of the window. You look calm on the outside, but inside of you, it feels like a storm is brewing. His sudden interest in you gives you a weird feeling. In the past, he never really acknowledged you, only viewing from afar. He used to be very timid. This change in his presence is unfamiliar. Scary even. Because you no longer know what to expect from him.
When you reach the hotel and manage to get to his room without any weird or awkward incidents, you let out a breath you didn´t know you held. Inside the neat room, he moves over to grab a bottle of water and two glasses, filling them equally. You don´t move away from the door; instead, you watch him from a distance, arms crossed in front of your chest.
He looks at you, holding both glasses, and chuckles. “Do you plan on standing there the whole time?” He is sitting down on one of the armchairs, waiting for you to join him.
Your eyes roll again, not in the mood for any teasing from him, so you relent and walk over to the other armchair, slowly sitting down on it and crossing your legs. He hands you the glass of water and smiles at you. “How have you been? Like, seriously,” he asks, taking a sip from the cold liquid.
“I´ve been fine. In fact, striving describes it quite well. I see you are well off yourself,” you entertain his question, still not relaxing and keeping your defense up.
He chuckles, which doesn´t go past you. “Are you making fun of me?” you ask, slightly irritated.
His hands immediately move up, waving the question off. “No, no. No, don´t worry. I actually find it quite cute how you want to stay professional even though we go way back.”
“You say that as if we dated. What´s it with you, suddenly showing so much interest in me?” You can´t help but rub your palms over your knees in a fit of nervousness. It´s too unfamiliar for you to hear him talk like that. So boldly.
“I´ve always had an interest in you. You just kept ignoring me,” he says calmly, slowly leaning back in his chair. His eyes never leave your figure. In fact, he actually takes the time to look you up and down. You´ve always been attractive. And the experience from managing your own brand has given you even more confidence, which, in his mind, translates to sexiness.
“I didn´t ignore you. I was busy focusing on my studies,” you defend yourself, trying to mask the sudden heat that crawls up your whole body. Why is he looking at you so intensely? And what does he mean by he´s always had an interest in you?
“You are always too focused on such things. Even now, you can´t even let go enough to talk to me on a more personal level,” he calls you out, his eyes finally coming back to find you staring at him with an intensity he didn´t expect.
“That´s quite mean of you to say,” you retort, clenching your hands with the uncomfortable attention you feel on yourself.
“It´s the truth, Y/N. I´ve never really seen you as a rival. That was all you, making it a competition when there was none. We could have been good friends. A strong team, even,” he says, voice dipping into a lower register. The change in tone has you clench your legs slightly. Something starts to feel really uncomfortable between them. You don´t think you can sit here for much longer.
“I don´t think I have the time to listen to you say such nonsense,” you say, rising to your feet. You really can´t stand it any longer. The air feels thick around you. The sudden rise in tension is suffocating. The way he looks at you has your heart skipping a beat, while heat keeps filling your body.
Your legs move towards the door. You try to open it. But before you can, a strong hand grabs your wrist and spins you around, right into his arms. “Where do you think you are going?” Jeno asks, not really expecting an answer from you. You are too stunned to speak. His grip on you is too strong. The way he holds you, the sudden proximity—it all messes with your head.
“Admit it, Y/N.”
You gulp. Your gut tells you to free yourself and leave, but deep down, your heart wants you to stay. To see what else will happen. “Admit what?” you ask, voice a little raspy from the way he stole your breath with his actions. He is intensely staring at you, not allowing himself to miss any reaction. It makes it harder for you to stay composed.
“Admit that this stupid rivalry was a one-sided thing, and that you were simply too afraid to recognize what it really was.”
Biting your bottom lip, you look to the side. Do you want to admit that? Not really. Is he right? Maybe. You always found him attractive. And you are sure you could have been a thing back then. But you didn´t want any distractions. Especially not the boy who´s right behind you in placing. The one who might steal your scholarship from you by scoring higher.
The way you bite your bottom lip has him swallow. He knows you aren´t one to give in easily. But right now, he feels like you are playing with him. Even if it´s unintentional. The silence is loud. It´s clear that you don´t want to answer him. So he prompts you one last time.
“Y/N.”
“Urgh, fine. Maybe it was a one-sided thing. What does it matter now anyway? It´s way in the past!” you finally snap. Your eyes are boring into his with a stern expression. You are no longer in the mood to play this game. The fact that he is still holding you like this kind of annoys you, too. “Can you finally let go of me now?”
Your reaction has him chuckle. He shakes his head in amusement while his grip on you loosens a lot. When he looks at you again, his eyes have a lot more of this innocent but daringly cute fire to them. It has you swallow once again. “You are so cute, you know that?”
“And you are still a big asshole,” you retort, unable to fully comprehend his compliment.
“Wanna know something, Y/N?” he suddenly asks, ignoring your comment.
“What is it?” you entertain him. What could he possibly say now? Isn´t he already done teasing you?
“There is something I´ve wanted to do for quite a while now. Actually, since the day I´ve gotten to know you,” he continues. His gaze is focused on you. And even though he isn´t holding you as strongly anymore, his thumb starts to caress your hip. His hand is still resting there. Just more gently.
“And what would that be?” To say you are curious is an understatement. But you don´t want to show him that. Or even tell him. The way he touches you sends a shiver down your spine, too, but you really focus on not giving any reaction. To your dismay, your heart is beating in your chest as anticipation rises.
“I´ve always wanted to kiss you,” he mumbles, slowly getting closer to you. He keeps eye contact. His breathing slows a little. But he won´t take that last step. Not without your consent.
Hearing him say that has your eyes widen. You expected anything but this. Is he really that attracted to you? And since university at that? You look at him—really look at him. His eyes are filled with intensity. His hair looks neatly done. The glasses that sit on top of his nose bridge complement his face shape a lot. His lips look plump and oh so kissable. So what´s stopping you? You are both adults. Professionalism aside, the rivalry you had in the past isn´t there anymore, either.
Your eyes return to his. And while your head is still spinning, you throw away all the thoughts that keep you grounded and tell you not to do it. With a swift movement, your hands move from his shoulders to his face. And in the next second, you crash your lips onto his.
He responds instantly. His hands grab your waist tightly. His lips move in the rhythm you set for the two of you. He is taking in how you taste, how you feel. And oh, is it satisfying. He can´t get enough of you, which you notice by the way he presses you against him.
Through the fabric of the formal attire you are both wearing, and the close contact of your bodies, you can feel the solid muscle beneath. It fuels your sudden hunger. Your imagination is filled with possible outcomes of how this night will end. And while it ignites fire that transforms into a very apparent wetness between your legs, you can feel how something hard touches your stomach.
Out of breath, you break the kiss for a few seconds. Your eyes find his face. You see how his skin is flushed with heat. The hunger in his eyes sends a bolt of electricity right to your core.
Before you know it, your back lands on the bed. He is on top of you in an instant. His lips meet yours once again, more fierce and ready to devour anything you give him. It makes you moan into his mouth.
“You are so hot,” he manages to rasp out before his mouth finds your neck, sucking at the delicate skin. The action has you grab his biceps while a breathy moan leaves your mouth.
The sound goes right to his dick, and before he knows it, he can´t stop his hands from moving to your blouse. With a strong pull, he tears it open, barely leaving the buttons intact. When his gaze drifts to your breasts, he can´t help but pull away and admire the sight.
A grin paints itself onto his face as he shakes his head, amused, which leaves you confused. “What? What´s the problem now? Why are you grinning?” you question, flustered from all the kissing and his sudden motion of tearing your clothes open.
“Why did you wear lingerie to an event like this?” he asks in disbelief. He isn´t mad about it, per sé. But damn, what a decision for a formal meeting with stakes that high.
“It´s my lucky underwear. How do you think I aced my exams? Confidence doesn´t come from nothing,” you defend, feeling the amusement he is getting out of this, even if he is also very much turned on by it.
“You mean to tell me that every time we´ve had an exam, you wore lingerie?” his eyes grow a little wider when he realizes what you just said.
“Yeah? What about it?” What´s his issue again? You wonder why he always finds things to complain about. Much to your oblivion, he has multiple images of you as a university student running through his mind, now imagining you with your short skirts and tight tops on, and below, that sexy underwear.
He doesn´t answer your question. Instead, he presses his lips onto yours and uses the force to push you into the mattress. Before you know it, he positions himself between your legs, fully caging you between himself and the bed. He keeps his pursuit of you going while swiftly moving his hands to undress you further.
Quickly, your pants and blouse are fully discarded, leaving you in just your underwear. When he shortly sits back to admire you with hungry eyes, he lets out a groan and bites his bottom lip. “I can´t wait to get a taste of you.”
You swallow involuntarily at his hidden declaration. Anticipation floods into you, and you feel yourself get wetter and wetter. The way he stares at you has you shiver for a second, but then you realize how much he´s still wearing. So you sit up a little and pull at his tie.
“You’d better take off something, too, or I won´t let you touch me any further,” you warn him. Threaten even. Your eyes scream at him to listen, displaying the fire inside you very clearly. And he really likes it. Because he doesn´t let you wait.
With quick motions, the tie around his neck is loose. The blazer he wears is thrown onto the armchair you sat on earlier. And his shirt is gone within seconds.
The way his abs shine under the light, all toned and on full display, has you drooling. And as your eyes drift down, you see the visible erection.
“Satisfied?” he asks tauntingly, a smirk gracing his mouth. He doesn´t let you answer, though, because he is back on you as soon as the word leaves his mouth, and starts sucking on your neck.
Your hands find his shoulders, his back, his chest. You can´t help but roam them over his body. He has always been fit. But back then, he used to be a little skinnier. When did he build all these muscles?
The way he sucks on your sensitive skin has you out of breath. The more he does it, the hotter it makes you feel. With the way the air gets thicker and thicker, you start to roll your hips against his, craving friction.
When he feels you on him, he groans into your neck. One of his hands grabs your hips tightly out of reflex. Determined, he starts to litter his kisses downwards, making sure not to neglect any part of you. And when he reaches your bra, he looks at it, then at you. “Let´s take this off,” he mumbles.
Before you can protest, his hands are already working on the piece of clothing. As soon as your tits hit the air, you suck in a short breath. Jeno gives you a small smile, then dives right back in. His mouth sucks on your left nipple while his hand takes care of the other.
You are left speechless at the sensation as the air gets knocked out of you. You are extremely sensitive and haven´t had any action in months. So his skilled work riles you up so much, it´s hard to bear.
The way your body shudders as he keeps going, eventually switching sides with his mouth, doesn´t go past him. He takes in how your body reacts to his touch, noting every little detail in his mind. It causes a chuckle to escape his mouth.
With a plan formed in his mind, he descends, slowly kissing down your chest to your stomach, then to your thighs. He takes his sweet time, licking over and sucking your skin until he is greeted with your soaked-through panties.
He looks at it for a bit, a smirk displayed on his face. Then you squirm a little and face him. “Are you getting to it, or do you wanna take a picture to admire it some more?” you hiss, clearly flustered from the way he has you on edge.
Your impatience makes him chuckle, but he quickly relents and pulls your underwear aside. Your pussy greets him with a gleam from all the juices that leaked. The sight fuels his hunger even more, and without waiting any longer, he dives in like a starved man, ready to devour every last drop of you.
The moment his tongue laps at your pussy, drawing a long lick from your hole to your clit, a loud moan escapes your lips. His eyes are focused on you as he finds a rhythm—incorporating a good mix of sucking on your clit and licking between your folds as if his life depends on it.
Quickly, your hands find their place in his hair, grabbing and pulling at it thanks to all the pleasure he´s causing. There is a hiss here and there, whenever you pull a little harder, but he doesn´t care. He keeps going until he can feel you squirm more and more.
“Fuck, Jeno, keep doing that~” you moan, already feeling that edge you are so familiar with. The man between your legs chuckles, sending vibrations to your pussy and making you moan even louder.
When your thighs threaten to close on him, trapping his face between them, his arms are quick to grab them and hold them in place. It makes you whine as your first orgasm threatens to hit you at full force.
“Ah-fuck, I-I´m so close,” you whine, lost in the feeling right before tipping over the edge.
Feeling the way you tense up right after, arching your back, totally lost in the pleasure, he keeps his rhythm steady, fucking you through the high that hits you the moment your sentence ends.
Only when you suddenly push at his head due to the overstimulation does he back off. With a slight pant, he looks at you. He licks his lips in satisfaction while his chin and mouth glisten with your sweet juices. “You taste so good. Gotta do this again later,” he mumbles and slowly climbs back over you. “You came so fast, I didn´t even get to use my fingers,” he then adds, the slightest chuckle accompanying his words.
“Shut up,” you pant and lightly hit his arm. While catching your breath, you hear the buckle of a belt and the rustling of fabric once more. Curious, you open your eyes to look for the source and are greeted with the sight of a leaking tip and the biggest, thickest dick you´ve seen in your life as an adult.
Swallowing, you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him. He looks so damn attractive, it makes the wetness pool between your legs once again. When he´s done, he turns to you and grabs the sides of your panties, pulling them down and off your legs.
“Let me prep you a little more,” he mumbles, caressing your thigh with gentle strokes of his fingers. The gesture has you relaxing, and a sudden, comfortable warmth blooms in your stomach. Automatically, you nod at his statement and lean back until your back lies flat on the mattress.
You can feel his fingers move to your inner thighs again, and soon the tips of his index and middle fingers start circling your clit. At the same time, he leans down and places feathery kisses on your collarbone and neck. The mix of both has you moaning, as you can feel the pressure build.
Then, he inserts one finger and slowly moves it in and out. Your walls immediately tighten around it, but soon relax again. When he feels that you are ready for the next, another finger is added, stretching you wider. You moan every time he grazes that sweet spot inside you, and one hand of yours moves to his cheek to pull him up so you can kiss him again.
You are so lost in his taste and the way his lips feel on yours, you don´t even notice the way he adds a third finger until another moan tears through your throat, breaking the kiss. You gasp as he fastens his pace, and when his thumb gives some attention to your clit, you can feel the orgasm close in on you.
“Cum for me, tiger. Let me hear how much you like my fingers,” he encourages you. His deep voice is music to your ears as you focus on how he´s rubbing against your G-spot with every pump of his fingers.
When your second orgasm hits, he helps you through it. And the moment you start to come down from it, his lips land on yours with a certain hunger. He enjoys your sweetness and the lingering taste of the cherry lip gloss you´ve had on earlier. You are so lost in the feeling and taste of him, you barely notice the way he repositions himself between your legs again.
When you break apart with a gasp, hungry for air, your eyes meet his. You can sense the way he wants to move and get a condom, but you stop him, grabbing his wrist with urgency.
“Keep going,” you demand.
“But-” he tries to argue, but you interrupt him with a kiss.
“It´s fine. Just fuck me already.”
There is a pause. He´s observing your face for any sign that says something else. And then he exhales and chuckles. “Alright. But don´t you dare complain later.” His hands are around your hips, and a second later, he´s pulling you closer to him. His gaze dips down to your pussy—hunger flashing in his eyes. And then he´s aligning himself.
Anticipation has your heart racing like crazy. You prepare yourself mentally, trying to push the need for him down since it´s hard to deal with the fact that you want him so damn much it hurts your pride.
When you feel his tip and then his length pushing inside you, the sting is the first thing you feel. He´s so big, your cunt can barely take him, even though he prepped you just fine a few minutes ago.
A gasp leaves your mouth as you try to adjust to him as fast as you can while he slowly inches deeper. The way Jeno´s thumbs caress your hips makes it a little more bearable, but it still takes a lot of energy from you.
When he´s finally bottoming out, he stills, letting you breathe through the sting. To make it easier for you, he carefully leans down and crashes his lips on yours again. His hands also move back to play with your nipples, making you whine into the kisses. Meanwhile, you cage him with your arms slung around his neck to keep him close to you.
“Ngh, you can move,” you mumble at some point in between kisses. The casual tone has him chuckle, amused, but he obliges anyway, because he´s waited long enough. He may not say it, or let it shine through, but deep down, it took him every ounce of willpower to keep from just slamming into you right then and there. The way you moan so sweetly has him so hard it hurts.
With a smooth move of his hips, he pulls back until only his tip is inside. Then, he slams back in. The feeling of your tight walls around him has him groan in satisfaction as he repeats the action, slowly finding a rhythm.
“Fuck, you are so damn tight,” he mutters, totally lost in the feeling of you. “Feels so good.”
Feeling the pleasure rise with each of his thrusts, and hearing his low moans, has you see stars. You can feel him everywhere, rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you with every push and pull. You can´t get enough of it.
“Harder-, aah~, go harder please,” you whine, nails digging into his arms as he´s drilling into you. The moment he hears your plea, he follows through, obeying your wish. There is nothing he wants more than to make you feel good.
So he slams into you harder with the following thrusts, keeping his rhythm as steady as possible. There is no way for him to keep his mouth shut, either. Moan after moan leaves his mouth with the sensation your gummy walls bring him. He could get lost in it.
When you start clenching around him more, feeling the third orgasm close to forming, a sudden ring of a phone interrupts the bliss that both of you are in. Jeno groans, annoyed at the distraction, and ignores it at first. To steady himself, he grabs your hips harder, probably leaving bruises there with how strongly he´s holding onto you. But when the ringing of the phone won´t relent, you give him a teasing look and tap his forehead. “Maybe you should get that call. Seems important.”
Seeing your grin, he rolls his eyes. “Can´t ever get time to fuck properly,” he complains, and only unwillingly reaches behind himself to try and find the source of disturbance. When he finally grabs his phone and looks at the caller ID, he sighs. Jaemin did tell him to stay available after all.
With stilled hips and cock still stuffed inside of you, he brings the device to his ear after accepting the call. You watch him with curious eyes as he starts talking to someone seemingly important, trying to decipher any words that could give away who it is.
Then, Jeno glances at you. There is mischief in his eyes as she does. Your intuition immediately tells you he has something in mind. And before you know it, he suddenly starts moving again.
The slow but intense strokes have you gasp, but as soon as the sound leaves your mouth, a hand covers it. On instinct, you grab his wrist to control the strength a bit, but you don´t push it away, too afraid of revealing the lewd things he´s doing to you while calling.
“Yes, I understand. I´m sorry for the sudden change of plans, but something personal came up,” he explains to the person—the president of the manufacturing company—and thrusts deep inside of you, biting his bottom lip to not let out a groan.
Seeing him do this so casually, and feeling like you are doing something way too naughty, you can´t help but feel turned on even more. Annoyingly, the caller seems to keep discussing something and bringing the man who´s supposed to bring you over the edge another time back to the conversation again and again.
Jeno still keeps going with his hip rolls, however, making sure to keep you close to the high. There is no way he will disappoint because of something like that. The intensity of the situation has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, with how insanely good it feels.
To tease him just a little bit, though, because it´s still his fault that someone interrupted your shared fun, you clench around him hard every time he almost pulls out. The light stutter and the heavy breaths that come with it whenever he tries to answer the man on the other side are very satisfying to your ears, and you can´t help but grin the tiniest bit about it.
When he finally ends the call, almost blowing the covers, and throws his phone to the side to refocus on you, he takes his hand from your mouth and gives you an accusing look. “You naughty little thing.” There is a grin gracing his mouth as he says this, and you can only feign innocence and look at him with big eyes in return.
“What? Did I do something?” you say, obviously knowing what you did.
“I almost gave myself away because of you,” he accuses.
“You didn´t, though. Besides, that´s what you get for your poor self-management,” you taunt.
He only clicks his tongue, done with your bullshit, and before you know it, he has your legs thrown over his shoulder. The sudden change in position has you shriek in surprise. But before you can complain, he´s back at slamming into you, changing your forming words into loud moans.
“Shit-, Jeno-” you let out, already feeling almost dizzy from the increase in pleasure. And then, when you think there is nothing more that can add to it, his thumb brushes over your clit, circling it in quick motions.
You are a mess, arching your back and holding onto the bed sheets for dear life as he tries to keep his rhythm steady. But even he is close to tipping over, his hips barely keeping up with the pace he´s set.
There is another breathy groan coming from him when you feel your pussy clench harder. “I-I´m cumming! Fuck!” you almost yell. And then your mind spirals into the land of pleasure, overwhelmed by the orgasm that hits.
The spasm of your cunt around his dick throws him over the edge seconds later. Hot spurts of cum paint your walls white while he fucks you through it, praising you with the sweetest words. “Such a good girl, all fucked out and beautiful.”
When the overstimulation hits, your palm finds his lower stomach. Feeling your warm skin on his, his hips slowly still. He waits a few moments, panting a little, and then he slowly pulls out, watching as the cum leaks out of you shortly after.
There is a hiss on his end, and his eyes roam over your body. “You look so fucking hot with my cum dripping out of you.”
gain, you slap his arm for the choice of words he has, but the satisfied smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know. “You´d better take me out on a date after this. Or else I will have to rethink a few choices from today.”
The warning is subtle and totally not serious, but he laughs anyway and leans down to kiss your shoulder, your cheek, and then your lips. “Of course. Only the best for the best.”
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Content Warnings: Explicit smut (mature audiences only/MDNI), senior/junior dynamic, slight reader innocence kink, oral (male receiving), handjob, deep throating, face fucking, come swallowing
Summary: The night before court, pressure has him unraveling. Desperate and exhausted, Jeno asks you for a kind of help that isn’t written into your job description—and you choose to give it to him, changing your dynamic with him forever.
Author’s Note: Blame the glasses and the suit!.
✦ ──────────────────────────────────── ✦
You've only been working as Lee Jeno's assistant for a few weeks, but already the rhythm of the days feels intense and consuming. Jeno is a renowned defense attorney, sharp and commanding in the courtroom, with whispers circling about his ties to the underworld mafia. People say he'll bend any rule to secure a win, as long as his fee is locked in, but you dismiss it all as idle gossip. There's no proof, just shadows of rumor that don't touch the man you see every day—the one who pushes through endless cases with unyielding focus.
He treats you to dinner nearly every evening after the grueling hours at the office. At first, you try to refuse, insisting it's too much, but his invitations are warm, almost insistent in their casualness. 'Just a way to unwind,' he says with that easy smile, and you find yourself nodding, accepting the plates of pasta or steak he orders. Maybe it's his way of looking after his team, rewarding the late nights and the stress. You tell yourself that as you sit across from him, the light softening the edges of his handsome face, his dark eyes lingering on you a beat too long.
Tonight, the air in the office hangs heavy with the weight of tomorrow's trial. Papers and files scatter across the desk like fallen leaves, evidence meticulously organized under the dim glow of the lamp. You're focused, sorting through witness statements and photos, when Jeno leans back against the couch, his long legs parting slightly. The fabric of his slacks stretches taut over his thighs, and you glance up briefly before returning to your task.
"Y/N..can you help me with something?" His voice cuts through the quiet, low and edged with fatigue.
You pause, fingers hovering over a folder. "What is it, sir?"
"First, promise me you won't think I'm a..pervert.."
The words freeze you in place. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze—those intense eyes locked on yours, unblinking. "A pervert...?"
"Yes."
Your mind races for a moment, weighing the odd request against the trust you've built. "Okay, what is it?"
He shifts, one hand drifting down to rest just below his navel, fingers splaying over the flat plane of his abdomen. "I need help..with this..."
Confusion knots your brow. You tilt your head, genuinely puzzled. "I don't understand... what do you mean, sir?"
A frustrated groan escapes him. "Gaahh! I need a blowjob!" The admission bursts out, raw and unfiltered, and you see the flicker of regret in his expression. But he doesn't retract it, his jaw setting firm.
"A blow...job..?" The term feels foreign on your tongue, heat creeping up your neck as you repeat it, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, Y/N, a blowjob. But I won't force you, and please don't think I'm a pervert, okay? I just... really need some help." Exhaustion threads through his tone, making him sound almost vulnerable.
Your thoughts whirl. "Don't you have someone? Like..a girlfriend?"
"No, not really. I have been too busy with work lately..." He admits it with a slight dip of his head, avoiding your eyes for the first time.
"..Why me..?"
"Look, I'm not forcing you. You don't have to do it if you don't want to."
The office falls silent, save for the distant hum of the city outside. You consider the dinners, the way he's always been kind, the pressure of the trial looming like a storm. A strange mix of reluctance and curiosity stirs in your chest, warming low in your belly. "It will be casual, right?"
"Yes..."
"Okay... I will help." Your words come out soft, eyes wide and innocent as you meet his gaze again, a decision settling over you like a veil.
"You sure?" He presses, searching your face.
"Yes, Jeno."
A breath of relief escapes him, and his voice dips lower, laced with command. "Okay, come here, ..on the floor."
Your heart pounds as you obey, sliding off your chair and kneeling before him on the cool office carpet. Fear flickers through you, mingling with an unexpected heat that pools between your thighs. You settle between his spread legs, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"You ever blown someone before?" He asks, leaning back fully now, his posture relaxing as the bulge in his pants becomes starkly visible, straining against the fabric.
"No, not really..."
"I figured that much... now free me."
Your hands tremble as you reach for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle before moving to the button and zipper. The metallic rasp echoes in the quiet room, and you tug his slacks down his hips. He lifts slightly to help, the motion smooth and expectant. His boxers come into view next—dark fabric soaked with dampness, clinging tightly, barely containing the thick outline beneath.
"Pull these down too, Y/N..please.." Desperation colors his plea, needy and raw.
You hesitate for a split second, then hook your fingers into the waistband and ease them lower. His cock springs free, heavy and erect, the length thick and veined, the tip flushed angry red and glistening with precum. It throbs in the air between you, intimidating in its size, the musky scent filling your senses.
"Y/N... can you massage it a little, like stroke it?" His voice is soft but urgent, eyes half-lidded as he watches you.
"Yes." You reach out, both hands tentatively palming the hot, velvety skin before wrapping around the girth. It's warmer than you expected, pulsing under your touch as you stroke upward, then down, pumping slowly. The slickness from his arousal eases the motion, your palms gliding along the shaft.
"Am I doing okay?" You ask, glancing up at him, your strokes steadying as you gauge his reaction.
"Fuck, you are doing great. Please don't stop..." His hips buck subtly into your grip, a low groan rumbling from his chest.
Emboldened, you continue the handjob, your fingers tightening just enough to feel the ridges and veins shift beneath them. The office fades around you, the trial preparations forgotten as you focus on the way his cock twitches in your hands, the bead of precum that wells at the slit and smears under your thumb. Heat builds in your core, your panties growing damp as you work him, a submissive thrill coursing through you.
"Jeno..you sure you want my mouth..?" Your voice is breathy now, the question hanging as you pump him a little faster.
"Yes, Y/N, fuck, I want your—" He cuts himself off, breath hitching. "P-please take it now, Y/N. I can't wait..."
You lean in, heart racing, and part your lips to take the tip into your mouth. The saltiness bursts on your tongue immediately, tangy and addictive. You swallow instinctively, the flavor surprising you as it coats your throat—good, unexpectedly so. Your lips seal around the head, sucking gently, respectfully, mindful that he's still your boss. Your hands keep stroking the base, twisting lightly as you swirl your tongue along the sensitive underside, tracing the frenulum with careful laps.
The taste urges you on, your own arousal soaking through your underwear, but you hold back, keeping the pace measured, your sucks soft and exploratory. His cock fills your mouth, stretching your jaw as you bob shallowly, saliva gathering and dripping down to slick your fingers.
"Y/N, I know you can do better. Don't hold back—it's all yours."
His encouragement ignites something in you. You suck harder, taking him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you draw him in until the tip nudges the back of your throat. Your tongue flattens against the underside, pressing and licking as you hollow your cheeks further, the wet sounds of your mouth echoing softly.
Jeno's control frays almost immediately. His hand moves to your hair, fingers threading through the strands gently at first as he guides your head, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. The movements are measured, his hips rolling up in a controlled rhythm that matches your strokes. You hum around him, the vibration drawing a hiss from his lips, your free hand bracing on his thigh for balance.
But the restraint doesn't last. As your hands pump the base faster, twisting and squeezing, and your mouth worships him with deeper sucks, his breaths turn ragged. "Fuck, Y/N..." He mutters, and suddenly his grip tightens, fingers tangling roughly in your hair. He holds you steady, thrusting deeper now, the pace quickening as he fucks your mouth with aggressive intent.
Your eyes water as his cock slides past your gag reflex, filling your throat on each push. The controlled thrusting gives way to something rawer—his hips snapping forward, the salty precum flooding your senses as you struggle to keep up. Saliva spills from the corners of your lips, dripping onto his balls, which tighten against your chin. The mix of submission and desire overwhelms you; your pussy clenches emptily, aching as you let him use your mouth, the professional boundary blurring into heated obedience.
He groans deeply, thrusts growing erratic, his free hand clenching the couch cushion. You're lost in it now, the stretch of your jaw, the burn in your throat, the way his cock pulses against your tongue. Just as his body tenses, signaling he's teetering on the edge, he pulls back abruptly, his cock slipping free with a wet pop, slick and shining with your spit.
"Jeno..please, cum in my mouth. I want it—it tastes so good." The words tumble out in a near-beg, your voice hoarse and desperate, one hand still fisting his base as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
His restraint shatters at your plea. "God, doll..." He surges forward, shoving back into your mouth, fingers yanking your hair to hold you in place. He thrusts a few more times—hard, deep, relentless—his cock swelling impossibly thicker before he stills, a guttural moan tearing from him as he erupts.
Hot spurts flood your throat, thick and bitter-sweet, pulsing against your tongue. You swallow eagerly, every drop, the warmth sliding down as you milk him with gentle sucks, not wasting a bit. His release seems endless, your belly filling with the evidence of his pleasure, until he finally slumps back, panting.
He pulls out slowly, the wet pop echoing as a string of saliva connects your lips to his softening cock. "I didn't know you were such a naughty girl, Y/N. Where did all the professionalism go?" He teases, voice husky, a smirk tugging at his lips as he strokes your cheek.
"Jeno, wait..." Your hand reaches out instinctively, wrapping around his slick length, still warm and twitching. You lean in, sucking the softening cock back into your mouth gently, tongue lapping at the remnants of his cum, cleaning every inch with soft, reverent swirls.
"You will make me hard again..." He warns, but there's no real protest. His fingers resume stroking your hair, tender now, as you nurse on him a little longer, savoring the fading taste, the intimacy lingering in the air like smoke.
The office clock ticks onward, the trial waiting, but in this moment, everything else fades—the rumors, the files, the world outside. Just you, on your knees, and him, sated and watching you with dark, half lidded eyes.
summary: in the midst of jeno trying to help you pass a statistics class, you become friends, and eventually, that friendship turns into something neither of you can define. you say he fucks around too much. he says you're not his type. and as far as you're both concerned, it's not that deep anyway.
pairing: fuckboy student!jeno x f!reader.
genre: university!au, fluff, crack, angst, friends(ish) to lovers, smut!
word count: tbd (est. 20k)
a/n: simply cannot wait to post this. hueheeuehueheueheueheueh. lmk what ya'll think of this tiny preview - your lovely comments always encourage me to keep writing <3
taglist: drop me an ask or comment below if you'd like to be added xx
masterlist
“Y/N?” He tries tentatively. His suspicions of you being asleep disappear when your head quickly shoots up. Your wide eyes show surprise.
“Jen? Hi.” You sit up hastily, as though you’ve been caught red handed. “Is this your room?”
“Yeah.” He nods, taking in the perplexed expression on your face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His words come out rushed as he shuts the door behind him, giving you both privacy and all of a sudden, he feels like he’s intruding, even though it’s his room you’re in.
“Yeah, sorry, just needed some privacy.” You shake your head. “I can go.” You rush to get up and he instantly feels guilt wash over him.
“No, no. You’re fine.” He cuts you off, his hand waving defensively and you settle back on his bed with a sigh. “Did something happen?” He asks carefully, somewhat concerned now. He’s never seen you like this before. Not that he sees you much outside your tutoring sessions, but the times he does, you’re all chirpy and playful, always cracking jokes. He doesn’t know you well but it’s evident that you’re not your usual self.
“Um, not really.” You scoff, an exasperated laugh leaving you. “It’s silly, don’t worry about it.” Your eyes stay on your hands as you play with your rings and he realises he’s never noticed them before. Pretty, he thinks.
He moves to sit on the carpeted floor, leaning his head on the edge of the bed, next to where your legs are dangling off. He’s now decided that this situation is a lot more interesting than the chaotic impromptu party Jaemin decided to throw downstairs. Half his friends are drunk off their faces, the other half busy getting there, while Haechan and his girlfriend have already disappeared to god knows where. And you? You seem somewhat sober and definitely in need of some company.
“What’s up, Y/N? You’re clearly upset.” He presses, not pleased with your vague answer. Jeno is a nosy guy and he knows that about himself, but in this case, he’s also worried, and for some reason, he can’t seem to be able to let this go.
“I’m not upset.” You defend, making clear that he’s touched a nerve. “I’m pissed off.” Oh? He can’t help but crane his neck sideways to look up at you. Your eyes meet for a split second and it’s clear as daylight now, you’re fuming.
“Shit.” He turns to look ahead again, legs crossing to make himself comfortable. “Who’s the culprit?”
“Classic shitty ex and his shitty new girlfriend, you know the drill.” You explain, sounding like you hate yourself for even talking about this, unwilling of showing any ounce of vulnerability. Jeno gets it.
“I assume they’re here showing off their newfound happiness?”
“You assume correct.” You confirm and Jeno can’t see you, but he imagines you nodding your head.
“Want me to beat the shit out of him?”
Your snort tells him that he’s succeeding at making you feel a tiny bit better and he can’t hold his smile back.
“You wouldn’t hurt a fly, Lee Jeno.” He feels the mattress dip behind him and when he looks back up he can’t see your face anymore. You’re lying down again.
“Hey, I work out.” He elbows your calf playfully, earning another tiny laugh from you.
“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Yeah, I see you checking me out when I talk stats.” He jokes, expecting a snarky response.
“I’m just a heterosexual female, Jeno. I see muscles, I stare.” So, you do check him out. As much as Jeno is aware of the effect he has on women (and sometimes men), for some reason he never considered that he might have that same effect on you. Maybe it's the lack of indication or the fact that you're so difficult to read most of the time. Almost out of reach.
“I mean, I was joking, but stare away if it makes you happy.” It’s your turn to make him laugh, kicking him in the ribs lightly.
A comfortable silence falls upon you both and Jeno ignores the buzzing coming from his back pocket, probably Jaemin or Jisung looking for him. He’d rather be here right now. Not because he enjoys your company; he just feels a sense of calmness he would hate to ruin. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.
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