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moons masterlist

work in progress: 20 something-j.jh fic

RECENT SERIES-> nothing here yet!!

riize- @cstarry

NCT 127

nct dream

wayv

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ bleeds— j.jh drabble

synopsis: you and jaehyun aren’t dating, but the line between friends and something more keeps blurring. a quiet evening together turns charged, with lingering glances, accidental touches, and the almost-kiss that gets interrupted by jungwoo.

pairing: friend!jaehyun x fem!reader

⋆ ⋆ genre: angst, slow burn, friends-to-almost, smut undertones, emotional tension

⋆ ⋆ tw: heavy sexual tension, implied sexual content, swearing, mutual pining, almost-kiss, awkward interruption

now playing: bleeds- malcolm todd & omar apollo

unfortunately for some time I was going through a rough time and needed time for myself, especially with uni starting. Im back now! and cant wait to get writing again

⊹₊ ⋆ 20 something— 002: love galore

⊹₊ ⋆ pairing: toxic!jaehyun x insecure!reader

⊹₊ ⋆ ⋆ tags: angst, emotional neglect, valentine’s day gone wrong, sexual frustration, cheating (implied), toxic relationship, low self-esteem, emotionally vulnerable reader, hookup regret, friends with tension, hurt no comfort, modern au, heartbreak, reader-centric chapter, mentions of drugs

⊹₊ ⋆synopsis: he comes back from vegas like nothing’s changed. she doesn’t ask where he was or who he was with—instead, lets the silence do the talking. he pretends not to notice, and she pretends she doesn’t care. it’s easier to be cold than be honest. neither of them says what they’re really thinking, and that makes it worse.

an: this chapter is ass

you weren’t even sure how long he stood there in the doorway, hoodie still on, keys hanging from two fingers, watching you from across the room like the silence would go away if he waited long enough.

his eyes were bloodshot. not from crying. not even from being tired. you knew that haze — it was the kind that came after hours of smoke and drugs, the kind that blurred the lines between guilt and apathy.

“you up?”

his voice was quiet, but casual. like he hadn’t missed valentine’s. like you hadn’t spent the entire night before trying to keep your heart from falling out your chest.

you nodded.

he came closer.

the second he stepped past the threshold of the bedroom, something changed. his presence was warm but heavy, like a weight settled over the air itself. you could smell vegas on him — weed, cologne, faint sweetness of someone else’s perfume mixed in with his own. not strong. not obvious. but you caught it.

he toed his shoes off. peeled off his jacket. sat on the edge of the bed like it belonged to him, like you were still his by default.

“long day,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck.

you said nothing.

he looked at you like he was waiting for something — an invitation, a reaction, a version of you that didn’t look so numb. but you didn’t give him that.

so he leaned in, slow. tested the waters. his hand found your bare thigh beneath the blanket, fingers brushing over your skin like he was asking for forgiveness without saying the words.

“you’re mad?”

your laugh came out thin and dry.

“should i be?”

he blinked, like he didn’t expect that.

then he smiled — that soft, tipsy grin that used to make you melt.

“you know i missed you, right?”

you didn’t reply.

his hand moved higher, thumb grazing soft patterns over your skin.

he leaned down, kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw. the touches were slow, practiced. not tender. not really.

“you’re so faded,” you murmured.

he nodded against your skin.

“good, right?”

you swallowed hard.

“sure?”

and maybe that’s what made you give in — the way he shifted the responsibility to you. like if it happened, it was because you let it. because you didn’t say no. because he needed this and you didn’t know how to keep pretending you didn’t.

so when he kissed you again, you didn’t stop him.

you turned your face into his, let your lips part, let him slip his tongue inside your mouth like it meant something. the kiss was wet and messy, all breath and teeth. he moaned into it, pressing his body down against yours, grinding slow, lazy — like he had all night and nothing to apologize for.

he pulled the blanket off your body, dragging his hand down your front. his fingertips were warm but clumsy. your nipples pebbled from the cold air, and he cupped your breast like it was familiar territory.

“missed this baby,” he breathed out. “missed you.”

you let your legs fall open. you didn’t guide him. didn’t rush him.

his hand slipped between them, fingers stroking you slowly like he was searching for softness to drown in. when he found it, his breath hitched. he kissed your neck harder. sucked a bruise into the skin like he wanted to mark his return.

you exhaled through your nose, face turned away.

“so wet,” he whispered. “you been thinking about me?”

your stomach tightened.

his voice made it worse. the way he spoke to you like you were lucky to have him back. like the hurt didn’t exist under your skin in layers he never bothered to peel back.

but still, you arched into his touch.

he slipped two fingers inside you and you bit your lip, letting the sensation override the ache in your chest. you focused on the pressure, the rhythm, the way your body reacted without permission.

when he kissed you again, he tasted like honey and regret.

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, not to hold him — to keep yourself grounded. his pace quickened. you clenched. he groaned.

“fuck, baby,” he mumbled. “been thinking about this the whole flight home.”

you closed your eyes.

your orgasm came quiet. no moan. no sound. it rippled through you like something internal collapsing — a silent sob disguised as pleasure. he kissed you through it, fingers still buried inside, eyes blown wide with desire. too bad his fingers could only get you off.

“you feel so good,” he whispered. “so fuckin’ good.”

he fumbled with his jeans. kicked them off. climbed over you like you were something to conquer, not comfort.

and when he entered you, it was slow. deep. dragging.

your body arched because it knew how, not because it wanted to.

he fucked you like he missed you. but you knew better. he fucked you like he missed what it felt like to be wanted. and right now, you let him pretend.

the headboard tapped the wall. the sheets twisted under you. your fingers dug into his arms for something to hold on to, but your mind kept slipping — drifting to that tiny voice inside asking why he only wanted you when he was faded.

his lips brushed your ear.

“you feel like heaven.”

you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled.

after barely three, maybe four minutes, jaehyun came — fingers digging into your hips like he thought he was taking you somewhere you hadn’t already been.

he pulled out reluctantly, breathing heavy, and kissed your forehead like a reward. “my baby.”

you stayed still.

you didn’t want to be rude. didn’t want to bruise that ego he carries around like it’s part of his body. but the truth sat heavy in your stomach — jaehyun sucks at sex. not all the time. not every time. but often enough for you to start wondering if it’s something you’re doing wrong.

he’s fast. messy. inconsistent. sometimes his thrusts miss the rhythm your body’s trying to follow. and his ego — so loud, so sure — makes it worse. he really believes he’s good at it. a sex god in his own head, like your silence equals satisfaction.

thank god for the condom. it keeps things from feeling too real. too close. keeps the weight of disappointment from sticking to your skin afterward.

you’d already gotten off earlier. from his fingers. it helped. but it also made the rest of it feel… underwhelming. like everything after that was noise.

his dirty talk never matches his stroke. the words are sharper than the way he moves, like he thinks saying the right thing is enough to get you there. maybe it is for someone else. maybe it’s you who takes too long. maybe that’s the problem.

that was what you told yourself, at least.

he’s big. long. he looks like he should be great in bed.

but somehow it just… doesn’t feel good. not really. not in a way that settles in your chest and lingers.

it’s not like this every time. sometimes it clicks. sometimes you feel it.

but nights like this, it feels off. disconnected. almost like you’re playing a role he’s already written for you — and all you can do is hit your cues.

something about it feels unauthentic. weird.

and the worst part is, you’re not even sure he notices.

he’s already sliding back in, already groaning like round one wasn’t a total fucking disappointment.

you don’t stop him. don’t want to start a fight. and maybe some part of you is hoping this time might feel different. better. real.

he grips your hips tighter, starts fucking into you with more intention. deeper. sharper. the kind of rhythm that makes your breath catch. like he’s trying to force a reaction out of you.

“yeah?” he pants, voice low in your ear. “that’s what you needed, huh?”

your body answers before your mouth can lie.

the pressure builds quick — sharp and sudden. no romance, no warning. just that hot pull behind your ribs and a flush that rushes under your skin.

you cum hard.

eyes squeezed shut, spine arching against him, thighs trembling. it knocks the wind out of you, that quick five-second burst of something close to euphoria.

but it fades fast.

too fast.

and all it leaves behind is quiet.

your chest feels tighter now. like that release opened something that shouldn’t have been touched.

he doesn’t notice.

he’s still moving, still groaning, still acting like this is mutual. “fuck, baby— so perfect for me. fuckin’ love you so much.”

you stare past his shoulder, eyes locked on the shadowed corner of the ceiling.

he finishes with a sharp gasp, jaw clenched, hand curling around your thigh like he earned it. “knew you’d feel better,” he says. “i told you i’d fix it.”

you nod. barely.

he kisses your shoulder, smug, breath slowing.

but inside you, that silence comes back colder.

and you don’t know what’s worse — the sex, or the fact that your body gave him something he didn’t deserve.

and that five seconds of euphoria sinks into the mattress like it never happened.

you roll over when he reaches for you, murmuring something about being too hot.

“turn on the fan then,” you muttered, not looking at him.

you hadn’t meant it with an edge — not intentionally. but it slipped out that way. and judging by the long pause that followed, it hit him harder than you thought.

he sat up halfway, rubbing at his face like the conversation was already exhausting. “i will. i don’t need you to tell me.”

you blinked, slow. pushed yourself up on one elbow. “okay? i was just saying. calm down.”

“i am calm,” he shot back, voice tight.

you turned your head toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. “sure doesn’t sound like it.”

he scoffed — quiet, more to himself than you. “okay but—” he cut himself off with a sigh. “nevermind.”

that part made you raise a brow. he almost never dropped something like that. usually, he pushed. usually, he made sure you knew when you were pissing him off, even if he was the one who started it.

you watched him for a second, then turned back on your side without saying anything. there wasn’t a reason for him to get defensive that fast. not unless he already felt guilty about something.

he got up and flipped the fan on, the blades clicking before the breeze kicked in. then he reached over and turned the lamp off, leaving the room in a soft bluish shadow, city lights creeping through the cracks in the blinds.

the bed shifted when he laid back down. a moment later, his lips brushed your chest — soft, automatic, almost rehearsed.

“love you, y/n.”

your eyes stayed open, focused on nothing. it took you a few seconds to respond.

“love you.”

⊹₊ ⋆ 20 something— 001: supermodel

⊹₊ ⋆ pairing: toxic!jaehyun x insecure!reader

⊹₊ ⋆ ⋆ tags: angst, emotional neglect, valentine’s day gone wrong, sexual frustration, cheating (implied), toxic relationship, low self-esteem, emotionally vulnerable reader, hookup regret, friends with tension, hurt no comfort, modern au, heartbreak, reader-centric chapter

⊹₊ ⋆ synopsis: valentine’s day came and went—so did he. he left you in LA, hollow in his absence, while vegas glittered across his stories like you never existed. you swore you were better than the need, better than the heat curling in your gut, but loneliness has a way of making fools out of girls who just wanted to be loved right. his friend tasted like guilt. still, you lie awake wondering why it’s so easy for him to forget you,

an: i really hope you all enjoy this chapter!! thanks for being so patient bcs this was long overdue from when i promised <333 enjoy !

you always knew you could talk to your mom about anything. she was smart, the kind of woman who’d been through storms and come out steady on the other side. sometimes she understood parts of you better than you understood yourself — the fragile pieces you tried so hard to hide.

she didn’t hate jaehyun. never did. she just wanted you to be careful. she saw the way you cracked sometimes, how fragile you could be, even when it made sense to be. since you could speak, she told you you were beautiful — inside and out — but beauty was a foreign language you never fully learned to speak for yourself.

years of awkward puberty, of feeling like you never quite fit in anywhere, had brought you here at twenty-three — not ugly, no, but anxious and second-guessing every move, every glance, every breath. you were the girl who overthought everything, the girl who kept to herself in crowded hallways and whispered doubts to the shadows.

she was what guided you through all of this.

February 14th 2017,

you told yourself this was the last time. last time you’d let the silence between you and jaehyun grow so wide it felt like a canyon swallowing you whole. last time you’d let your phone buzz with unanswered texts, your heart sink with every picture of him smiling somewhere far away—vegas, with his friends, laughing without you. valentine’s day should’ve been something soft, something sacred. instead, it was a sharp reminder that you were alone in a city that swallowed your voice and your worth.

you stared at the ceiling of your apartment, the clock blinking 2:17 a.m., and thought about writing a letter, an endless letter you’d never send. something that told him you were leaving, but not really—because you didn’t have the strength to walk away yet. not when you still needed him, even if he didn’t see it. not when your reflection was a stranger who didn’t believe in herself.

you knew he had new friends now, new habits that didn’t include you. maybe even someone new. you imagined the kind of girl who’d show up on his arm, prettier, easier, a flawless mask to replace you. and your throat tightened, not with jealousy but with the ache of being forgotten. like you were a page torn from a book he didn’t want to reread.

he wasn’t the only one to blame. you wondered if you were too much, too needy—always craving more than he could give. always chasing a version of love that felt like it was slipping through your fingers. you remembered your mother’s voice, soft and steady, telling you you were beautiful inside and out, but you hadn’t learned to believe her yet. instead, you learned to dissect your worth in the sharpest detail, convinced you were just awkward, flawed, not enough.

when you heard his laugh over the phone, deep and careless, it felt like salt in an open wound. why was it so easy for him to forget you? you pictured him with his new friends, drinking and talking like you were a ghost that no longer haunted his nights. maybe it was true what they said—maybe you were just a temporary lover, a chapter he was ready to close.

your mind wandered to mark, jaehyun’s friend, the one who always listened when jaehyun didn’t. mark who had eyes that saw you in ways you weren’t sure jaehyun ever did. you tried to push the thought away, but it clung to you like smoke, curling into your thoughts, promising something that felt forbidden yet safe.

you told yourself you wouldn’t cross that line. you promised yourself you’d be stronger. but the city was cold and so were the nights without him. your body ached—not just for touch but for validation, for feeling seen. mark was there in the quiet spaces you craved, offering a glance, a smile that made you feel alive.

sometimes, it felt like you needed more than just words. you needed someone to remind you that you were wanted, that you still had value beyond your doubts. the line between right and wrong blurred, and the guilt twisted in your chest. but guilt didn’t stop you from wanting to be held, even if only for a moment.

you replayed the moment you saw mark after that long night, how his eyes didn’t judge the weight you carried. how his hands were steady when yours trembled. you whispered apologies to yourself—silent, desperate confessions that maybe this was a mistake, but also maybe it was what you needed to breathe again.

and still, the fear remained—the fear that jaehyun would never forgive you, that you’d never forgive yourself. that you’d become the girl he warned you not to be. but beneath the shame, beneath the chaos, there was a tiny flame—something like hope, or maybe just survival.

the night draped over the city like a heavy velvet curtain, and the silence inside your apartment was louder than any noise outside. your skin felt raw with need you didn’t want to admit, the ache of jaehyun’s absence pressing deep in your bones. so when mark’s text lit up your phone, you didn’t hesitate—because sometimes desperation doesn’t wait for clarity.

he opened the door before you could knock, that quiet look on his face that made your heart tremble. it wasn’t just friendship anymore; you could feel it—something simmering just below the surface, dangerous and electric.

“hey,” he said, voice low, eyes dark and searching.

you nodded, voice caught somewhere between guilt and hunger. “i shouldn’t be here.”

“doesn’t mean you can’t stay.” his hand found your cheek, thumb tracing soft circles like he was memorizing you.

the way his fingers slid through your hair, gentle but deliberate, pulled something loose inside you. you wanted to resist, wanted to stop before the line blurred too much. but the lonely ache inside was louder than your reason.

he stepped closer, breath warm on your skin. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

you swallowed hard, barely whispering, “i don’t know what i want.”

his lips brushed yours—soft, slow, a question and a promise tangled together. you leaned in, hands trembling as they caught on his shirt, pulling him closer. the heat between you flared, cautious but undeniable.

his hands mapped your body like a secret, touching skin that felt too sensitive, too alive. your breath hitched as he trailed kisses down your neck, each one a silent apology for what this was, what it wasn’t.

there was no rush—only the slow, steady pull of need and hesitation, two halves struggling to become whole. your skin tingled under his touch, your body remembering what your heart was too scared to admit.

when he finally pushed your shirt off, exposing your bare skin to his hungry eyes, you shivered—not just from cold, but from the rawness of being seen, even when you felt broken.

his hands cupped your face, lips meeting yours with more urgency now. you kissed him back, shaky and desperate, the shame and desire twisting inside you like a storm.

every touch was electric, every breath heavy with unspoken guilt and aching want. you didn’t say it out loud, but you both knew—this was a temporary escape from the emptiness jaehyun left behind.

afterwards, tangled in sheets and soft murmurs, your fingers traced patterns on his skin, trying to hold onto something real. you whispered, voice barely audible, “i’m sorry.”

he shook his head, voice rough, “don’t be.”

but the ache remained—deep, complicated, and impossible to ignore. you didn’t stop him when his hands slid beneath your waistband. his touch was hesitant, almost reverent, like he couldn’t believe this was real—like he knew it shouldn’t be. but you let him. because you wanted to feel wanted. because jaehyun was in vegas, and you were here, on valentine’s day, cold and aching in every way that mattered.

your breath caught as mark’s fingers found you, slow and cautious. you gasped, biting your lip, your hand wrapping around his wrist as if to ground yourself, or maybe him.

“are you sure?” he whispered, voice trembling. “we can stop.”

you shook your head. “don’t stop.”

he nodded, kissing your shoulder as he eased his way between your thighs. every movement was tentative, soft, like he was afraid to break you—and maybe you were already broken. but his mouth found the curve of your breast, and your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly, grounding yourself in the moment.

you moaned when he finally pressed into you, the stretch slow, unfamiliar—but not unwanted. it wasn’t perfect, or passionate, or even the kind of sex people write about in poems. it was messy, hesitant, a little clumsy. but it was real. and for a moment, you let yourself feel something other than abandonment.

he moved inside you with quiet care, hands gripping your hips, your thighs trembling around his waist. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel someone against your skin. needing to forget.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered into your neck.

you didn’t answer. you didn’t believe him.

when it was over, you stayed wrapped up in the sheets, your body aching, your mind louder than ever. the guilt came in waves. not because it was mark—but because you weren’t even sure you were angry at jaehyun anymore. just hollow. disappointed. embarrassed that you needed to do this to feel anything.

mark reached for your hand. you let him hold it, but your fingers were limp. your voice was quiet when you said, “im sorry. i don’t think that was the best idea.”

he didn’t argue. he just nodded, eyes soft.

and you thought of jaehyun—how he’d left you on his birthday, valentine’s day, to get drunk in vegas while you stayed behind like something to be tolerated.

you rolled over, staring at the ceiling. the room was dim, the only light spilling in from the hallway—soft, golden, and far too gentle for how loud her head felt. her bare legs were tangled in the sheets, the room thick with everything they didn’t say. guilt clung to her skin more than sweat ever could.

mark sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his back turned to her as he stared down at the floor like he was scared to look her in the eyes. maybe he was. maybe she was, too.

“you okay?” he asked quietly.

her throat burned. she nodded first, then changed her mind. “no,” she said hoarsely, pulling the blanket up over her chest even though he’d already seen everything. “i don’t know.”

he turned to face her, brows drawn together with a kind of concern that felt too kind, too gentle, especially for what they just did. “talk to me.”

she hesitated, but the words came out anyway. “he left me here on valentine’s day. his birthday. i wanted him to stay, mark. begged. and he left anyway.”

mark didn’t speak. he just listened. and she kept going, because if she stopped she might cry.

“i don’t even think he loves me. not unless we’re having sex. not unless i’m telling him what he wants to hear.” her hands curled into fists around the edge of the comforter. “sometimes i feel like i’m just there so he doesn’t feel lonely. like i’m something he can fuck when it’s convenient and ignore when i need him.”

silence.

“he calls me selfish when i bring it up. like i’m the problem. like wanting his attention is some kind of crime. and maybe it is. maybe i am selfish. maybe i’m too emotional, or dramatic, but—”

“you’re not,” mark said, gently but firmly. “you’re not selfish. you’re just not very sure of what you want, and thats normal.”

tears prickled behind her eyes, but she blinked them away.

“i’m not gonna tell him,” he added, softer now. “i’d never do that to you.”

she looked over at him, searching for any hint of judgment, but his face was open. understanding. even a little sad.

“this wasn’t about revenge,” she murmured. her voice cracked. “i wanted to feel like someone gave a fuck about me.

“i know.”

you eventually slept over at mark’s, waking up with an immense amount of guilt and shame. but you didn’t feel completely bad for jaehyun—leaving you, his girlfriend, for vegas, of all places. sure, maybe it was his birthday, but he left anyway. no happy valentine’s day, no goodnight call, not even a dry “miss you.” nothing.

you need jaehyun.

you need him to look at you like you’re still worth it.

to hold you like he remembers how.

to love you—if he ever really did.

but only if he believes it.

only if it’s real.

i cant add more so watch for the other polls!

20 something masterlist—

tags: baby trapping, breeding kink, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, twenty something angst, unprotected sex, weed use, insecure!reader, selfish!jaehyun, dark themes, emotionally distant, soft breakdowns, realistic pacing

teaser 1

20 something— j.jh fic teaser #2

⊹₊ ⋆ tags: smut, slight breeding kink, unprotected, inexperienced!him, angst, breakup,

“baby,” he whispered, like it was a prayer. “i needed this. needed you.”

you didn’t say anything. because what was there to say? you’d told him. so many times. you didn’t want to risk it. didn’t want a child. not now. not like this. and especially not with someone who couldn’t even meet you halfway when it mattered.

but he was already losing himself in it — too far gone, clinging to the idea of love like it could fix everything he’d broken.

“don’t cum in me,” you finally whispered, voice fragile. “please don’t.”

he paused, like he’d heard you. like maybe this time he’d actually listen.

and then he moved again. harder. deeper.

like your words were just noise.

your breath caught. not from pleasure. from panic.

“jaehyun—”

“i know. i know,” he breathed. “just— fuck, let me feel you.”

your hands trembled. your chest felt tight.

he’s not hearing me. he never does.

you stared at the wall, mind spinning. you thought about your future. your plans. your friends. the way you used to dream so big. and now— this? this was what your twenties were turning into?

“you’re being selfish,” you said quietly, barely able to hold back the crack in your voice.

he kissed your shoulder. “i just love you so much. you know that.”

no. you didn’t. not anymore.

because love didn’t sound like this. love didn’t feel like someone forcing permanence on you when you barely had space to breathe.

he came with a muffled moan, holding you tight like that made it okay. like you weren’t crying under him. soft, silent tears, soaking the pillow.

and when he whispered “mine” into your skin, you realized something that hurt more than anything else—

you hadn’t been yours in a long time.

the next morning felt too still. too quiet. the kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, just… hollow.

you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless, just in your bra, blanket loosely around your hips. your stomach twisted, like your body was catching up to everything your brain hadn’t wanted to deal with last night. your thoughts were too loud for the silence.

he came in from the living room, rubbing at his eyes like he hadn’t slept either. “you tired, baby?” his voice was soft. casual. like nothing happened.

you turned, jaw tightening. “jaehyun. what is wrong with you?”

he blinked, expression unreadable. “huh?”

you ran a hand through your hair, exhaling slow. “you came in me yesterday. i told you not to.” your voice cracked, but you didn’t let yourself cry. not yet. “you know i’m on the pill, but that’s not the point. i said no.”

he scoffed—actually scoffed—and leaned against the wall like you were overreacting. “you act like it’s a big deal. it’s not. you’re being dramatic. it’s not like you’re pregnant.”

“jae.” you stared at him. “this isn’t about pregnancy. it’s about respect.”

his eyes narrowed. “so now i don’t respect you?”

you shook your head, voice quieter. “sometimes it feels like… the only time you actually love me is when you’re inside me. like that’s the only part of me you want.”

his face twitched, jaw clenching. “that’s not fair.”

“is it not?” you asked. “because when we fight, you shut down. when i’m upset, you say i’m sensitive. but the second you’re hard, it’s like i’m the love of your life again.”

he took a step closer, gaze sharp. “you think i don’t love you? after everything?” his voice dropped. “i’d do anything to keep you.”

you frowned. “anything shouldn’t mean ignoring me when i say no.”

he looked at you for a long moment, then laughed under his breath—low and bitter. “you think i’m trying to trap you?”

you didn’t answer, but your silence was loud.

he tilted his head, mouth curling into something between a smirk and a scowl. “maybe i should, then. maybe that’s the only way you’ll finally stop running. stop threatening to leave every time you get scared.”

your throat went dry. “that’s not love. that’s control.”

“you’re mine,” he said quietly. “you’ve always been mine.”

the room felt smaller. colder. you swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “that’s exactly what I fucking mean. you’re scaring me.”

he hesitated—just for a second—but didn’t apologize. didn’t soften.

you looked down at your hands. “i just want to feel wanted outside of sex. i want to feel like you see me. not just my body.”

he didn’t answer.

20 something— j.jh teaser #1

⊹₊ ⋆ tags: smut, slight breeding kink, unprotected, inexperienced!him, angst, breakup, 20 year old going insane, flawed relationship, messy emotions, desperate, raw, emotional turmoil, vulnerable, imperfect love, more tba

you’ve replayed the same question in your head a thousand times: why is it so hard to accept that the party’s over?

because on paper, it should be easy.

he’s gone. the texts stopped coming. the late-night calls that made you feel like you mattered? all ghosts now.

but your heart hasn’t gotten the memo. it still aches like he’s right there, like the space beside you is just waiting to be filled.

you stare at your phone like it’s a lifeline, scrolling through messages you promised yourself you’d delete weeks ago. you catch your reflection in the dark screen—eyes tired, skin dry, the way your lips tremble when you bite them to stop from crying.

“maybe i wasn’t enough,” you admit to no one. “maybe i wasn’t what he needed.”

the thought hits like a punch you didn’t see coming.

because you don’t want to blame yourself—he left. he hurt you. but still, the doubt creeps in.

what if you missed the signs? what if you didn’t try hard enough?

you shake your head. the lies you told yourself to survive suddenly feel fragile.

your fingers hover over his name on your phone.

“sorry, i just need to see you.”

the words feel heavy, desperate—like a quiet confession of how much you’re still tangled up in him.

you know it’s reckless. you know it might only open wounds that haven’t healed.

but part of you hopes he still cares. hopes he’s lying about moving on.

because even if he did all the damage, even if he was the one who broke everything, you still crave his presence like air.

my baby carriage- m.l

tags: smut, slow sex, emotional intimacy, breeding kink (in a soft, emotional way), protected sex, fluff, soft dom!mark, mother’s day undertones, established relationship, a bit of angst, aftercare-heavy

pairing: mark lee x f!reader

synopsis: on a quiet mother’s day, mark finds himself thinking about what kind of future he wants—with you.

it was just past midnight when mark came home, hoodie damp from the drizzle outside and hair slightly curled at the edges. he looked exhausted—eyes low, voice quiet—but when he saw you sitting on the couch wrapped in his old college crewneck, something in his chest relaxed.

“you waited up,” he murmured, kicking his shoes off.

“yeah,” you said softly, opening your arms for him.

he didn’t hesitate—just walked over and folded into you, head dropping to your shoulder. the weight of the day fell off both your backs in silence. his breathing slowed, and your fingers ran through his hair, gently detangling the tension.

“how was it?” you whispered.

he didn’t answer at first, just let out a slow sigh. you didn’t push. he never talked much about mother’s day, especially not since she passed, but you always made sure he didn’t have to be alone.

“just missed you,” he finally mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. “missed this.”

you kissed the top of his head. “i’m right here.”

his lips ghosted up your neck, warmer now, lingering in a way that felt less like comfort and more like want. his hands started to move too—slow at first, like he was asking permission.

you nodded against him. “it’s okay.”

mark kissed you then, deep and aching, like he needed to feel everything at once. and maybe he did. maybe he needed to lose himself in you tonight—to remember what it was like to love and be loved this way.

“you look so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, sliding his hands under your hoodie, fingers tracing your hips. “been thinking about you all day.”

you gasped as he eased you onto your back, your legs parting instinctively to welcome him between them. his eyes dragged down your body slowly, hungrily, and something shifted in his expression—soft but possessive, like he wanted to stake a claim.

“you don’t even know what you do to me,” he breathed, tugging your shorts down your legs. “you’re so warm. so soft. made for me.”

you helped him out of his sweats, hands trembling slightly as he tore open the drawer beside the couch to grab a condom.

“mark—” you started, but he was already rolling it on with practiced ease, leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time. reverent.

“don’t worry, baby,” he whispered against your mouth, voice raspier now, “not tonight. but fuck—someday. someday i want to feel you for real. want to fill you up. want it to take.”

your body arched under him, breath catching at his words.

“wanna fuck a baby into you so bad sometimes,” he admitted, moving his hips against yours, still slow, still teasing. “i think about it too much. imagine you all swollen. full of me.”

“mark,” you whined, a flush crawling up your chest, but your hands were already pulling him closer.

“i know, i know,” he said, kissing the corner of your lips, then your jaw, then your neck, “we’re not ready yet. i wouldn’t do it for real. but you let me think about it, right?”

you nodded, legs wrapping around his waist. “i do.”

he slid in with a low moan, the stretch burning just right, and you gasped, hands clutching at his back as your bodies finally connected.

“fuck,” he groaned, pushing all the way in. “so perfect. every time.”

his thrusts were slow but deep, hips rolling into you with purpose. it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t wild. it was intentional—like he needed every inch of you to feel how serious he was.

“gonna be such a good mom someday,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. “gonna carry our baby so well. i can see it.”

you blinked up at him, your chest tightening around the tenderness of it all. “you really think so?”

he kissed you hard then, one hand cupping your jaw, the other anchoring your hip as he thrust deeper. “i know so.”

your body reacted before you could stop it—walls clenching around him as your back arched, pleasure sparking through your veins.

“that’s it, baby,” mark panted, his pace starting to falter, “you like hearing that, huh? like when i tell you how i want to knock you up. how i want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“yes,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

he kissed your tears away as you came, coaxing you through it with gentle words and firm hands.

“so good for me. always so good.”

you felt him spill into the condom a moment later, his body shuddering above yours. he held you close as you both came down, breath tangled with yours, hands brushing over your waist like he couldn’t stop touching you.

afterwards, he cleaned you up quietly, carefully, and tucked both of you beneath a throw blanket on the couch. your head rested on his chest, his fingers stroking your back in slow circles.

“happy mother’s day,” he whispered.

you smiled, tired and warm. “you’re early.”

ILY YES OFC 😊

tired yet?- t.l drabble

it was 4:55 a.m.—1 hour and 4 minutes before you had to be up for work. but sleep just wasn’t happening. you tossed, turned, flipped your pillow, then turned again. nothing helped.

after a while, ten let out a quiet groan beside you. “you can’t sleep? you’re so fidgety,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. “it’s too hot… but then too cold. the air feels stuffy and i can’t find a comfortable position.”

he hummed, eyes still closed, a lazy smile forming. “i can help,” he said, voice a little lower now—and suddenly, he sat up, pulling off his shirt and slipping out of his sweats in one smooth motion.

you blinked at him, brows raising. “how exactly is that supposed to help?”

he leaned in closer, his hand brushing your hip beneath the blanket. “sometimes you just need a distraction.”

you felt a warmth bloom beneath your skin. “right… a distraction.”

he grinned, voice soft but unmistakably teasing. “a really good one.”

you didn’t argue. not when his fingers were already tracing slow, calming circles on your thigh.

his lips trailed lower, slow and purposeful, brushing against the sensitive skin just above your waistband. you let out a soft breath, fingers curling in the sheets.

“you’re so warm,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hip. “been thinking about this all night.”

he eased your underwear down with care, his fingers grazing your thighs as he did. the moment was slow—intentional—not rushed or frantic. he looked up at you, gaze soft but heavy with want.

“still okay?” he asked, voice hushed.

you nodded, breath shallow. “yeah.”

“good,” he smiled, leaning in. “i wanna make you feel good, baby.”

his mouth met your skin again, and soon enough, he was tasting you—slow, patient, like he wanted to memorize every reaction, every soft sound he coaxed from you. he hummed against you, holding your thighs open with steady hands as his tongue moved with practiced rhythm, never too much, never too little.

your fingers found his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned against you at the contact.

“feels good?” he asked, voice lower now, chin glistening as he looked up.

“mmhm,” you breathed. “so good.”

he kissed up your body again, dragging himself over you until his mouth met yours. he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“you ready for me?” he asked, already reaching for protection from the drawer beside the bed.

you nodded, pulling him closer. “yeah, please.”

he smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he slid the condom on. then he lined himself up, the tip just barely pressing at your entrance.

“deep breath, baby.”

he pushed in slowly, groaning as you stretched around him. he was gentle but firm, one hand on your waist, the other brushing your hair back as he bottomed out.

“fuck,” he whispered, “you feel so perfect.”

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, needing him close. the rhythm he set was slow and deep—each roll of his hips purposeful, like he didn’t want the moment to end too fast.

“you’re takin’ me so well,” he breathed, lips brushing your ear. “my pretty girl. always so good for me.”

your name left his lips like a prayer, his pace growing just a little more intense, his breathing ragged.

“gonna fill you up,” he murmured, lost in the way your body held him. “even if it’s not real—feels like you’re made for it.”

your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed in the best way, toes curling as his praise poured over you like warm honey.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered, hips stuttering slightly. “let go for me.”

he suddenly picked up his pace, hips snapping into yours with more urgency, more need. the bed creaked softly beneath you, his breath fanning hot against your cheek. your body jolted with each thrust, but your mind was floating—half-asleep, fully overwhelmed. the pleasure was thick and dreamy, dragging you under like warm waves.

you moaned in your head, too tired to make a sound, but he felt it. the way your body clenched around him, the way your legs tightened just slightly. he leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours.

“still with me?” he whispered, voice hoarse and dripping with restraint.

you nodded, barely. your body said yes even if your voice couldn’t.

“good girl,” he breathed, groaning low. “you feel unreal. fuck—so warm, so soft.”

his thrusts grew deeper, rougher—but still careful, still anchored in how much he wanted to make you feel good. his hand found yours beneath the sheets, fingers weaving together.

“gonna let me give you everything?” he murmured. “wanna fill you so bad, baby… even if it’s not real, even if it’s just pretend—feels like you’re mine like this.”

your back arched faintly, your breath caught. you couldn’t speak, but he read every small response, every flutter of your lashes and twitch of your hips.

“i know,” he whispered, hips stuttering. “i know, baby. just hold on.”

his movements slowed, hips pressing into you with one final, drawn-out thrust as he groaned low into your neck. his body trembled slightly, forehead resting against your shoulder while his breath came out in soft, uneven pants.

“damn…” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. “you’re… perfect.”

you didn’t answer, not because you didn’t want to—but because your body was completely spent, your chest rising and falling in steady, sleepy breaths. your hand was still laced with his, but your grip had loosened, fingers limp in his hold.

Ten kissed your shoulder, then your cheek, pulling out slowly and carefully, wincing a little when he noticed the way you flinched from the sensitivity. “sorry,” he whispered, even though you were already halfway asleep.

he cleaned you up gently, taking his time, being extra careful not to wake you too much. every so often, your body would twitch, reacting to his touch in your sleep, but you stayed under—exhausted, blissed out, safe.

by the time he slipped back under the covers, you were tucked into your side, already halfway snoring. he smiled to himself, brushing the hair from your face, his chest warm at the sight of you.

“sweet dreams,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “i’ve got you.”

you barely stirred, only curling in closer, breathing syncing with his.

backstage loving— n.jm drabble

⋆ tags: ⊹₊ ⋆ smut, backstage quickie, rough sex, unprotected (wrap it before u tap it!), biting & marking, light breeding kink, hair pulling, dom!jaemin, stress relief, tension-fueled, possessive energy, messy & desperate, idol!jaemin, established relationship

⊹₊ ⋆ pairing: idol!jaemin x reader

⊹₊ ⋆ synopsis: he’s been quiet all day, jaw tight and eyes stormy. the pressure, the cameras, the chaos backstage—it’s all too much. so when he pulls you into a storage room, locking the door behind you, you don’t ask questions. you just let him take what he needs.

🎧: body- summer walker

he didn’t say much when he grabbed your wrist—just shot you a look. one of those low-lidded, jaw-clenched, ‘don’t ask’ kinds of looks that made your stomach twist. his hand was warm, a little clammy, as it wrapped around yours and led you quickly through the winding backstage corridors. dancers passed, staff shouted in passing, but none of it reached you. not really. not when his grip tightened every few steps like he was trying to hold himself back.

when he finally shoved open the supply room door and pulled you in, he didn’t pounce. not right away. he just stood there with his back to you, breathing hard. tension poured off him in waves, visible in the way his shoulders rose and fell, in the way his hand dragged down his face like he couldn’t decide whether to scream or kiss you.

“everything alright?” you asked quietly, even though you already knew the answer.

his head dropped. then he turned, eyes sweeping over you like it physically hurt him to wait. “no,” he said, voice hoarse. “but it will be.”

you opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but he was already on you—walking forward until your back hit the door, his hands planted on either side of your head.

“you always calm me down,” he breathed, nose brushing yours. “you don’t even try. just… need to feel you right now.”

his voice cracked a little on “need,” and that’s when it clicked—this wasn’t just stress. it was desperation.

he didn’t wait for an answer.

his mouth was on yours before you could speak, all tongue and teeth, like he’d been starving for days. your gasp got swallowed by the kiss, hands flying to his shoulders as he pressed you harder into the door—like he needed you caged in, needed you still so he wouldn’t fall apart.

“mine,” he growled against your lips, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head back. “don’t care who’s outside. they can wait.”

you barely had time to breathe before his mouth moved to your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper. he groaned at the sound, hips grinding into yours like he couldn’t help it. you could feel how hard he was already, pressed tight against your core through too many layers.

“you feel that?” he muttered, teeth grazing the spot he’d just marked. “been hard for hours. all i could think about was this. you.”

his fingers found the waistband of your pants, tugging with impatience, eyes narrowing when they didn’t come off fast enough.

“off,” he snapped, backing up just enough to strip you himself when your hands fumbled. “now. don’t make me ask again.”

his tone sent heat straight to your stomach, thighs clenching without you meaning to. he noticed. of course he noticed.

“fuck—so needy,” he hissed, palming between your legs once your pants hit the floor. “already wet? did you know i was gonna fuck you like this?”

you didn’t get the chance to answer. he leaned in fast, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck—not enough to break skin, but enough to make you gasp and arch against him. he held the bite, groaning as your hands grabbed at his shirt, your hips grinding into his thigh for friction.

he pulled back slowly, tongue dragging over the spot like an apology. but then his mouth found your collarbone, and he bit again—harder.

“gonna mark you everywhere,” he rasped, lips dragging across your skin like he couldn’t stop. “wanna see them after. want you sore when you walk out of here.”

your head lolled back against the door with a soft whimper, thighs already shaking, but he wasn’t done.

he kissed down your chest, biting just above the swell of your breast, then lower, hand curling under your thigh to hitch your leg around his waist.

“jaemin—there’s people—” your voice trembled as you tried to ground yourself, your back still pinned to the door, nails digging into his biceps.

he yanked your hair, not enough to hurt, but just enough to make your head tilt up, exposing your throat to him again. his lips brushed the skin right below your jaw, voice dark and unforgiving.

“i don’t care,” he growled, biting down until you gasped. “those fuckers deserve to be disturbed.”

you felt his grip tighten on your thigh, the edge of the utility shelf digging into your back as he shoved you higher. his hips rolled into yours, slow but deliberate, and the friction made your breath hitch.

“you know how much shit i’ve had on my plate this week?” he spat, voice tight and full of grit. “the meetings, the cameras, the rehearsals—i’m always on. always holding it together.”

his mouth ghosted over your lips, and he sighed, like letting himself break down right here was the only peace he could get.

“never enough time for myself,” he muttered. “except when i’m inside you.”

he was already buried inside you, hips grinding deep as he pressed your back into the wall, making you take every inch. the room was hot, his breath hotter against your skin as he rutted into you like he couldn’t get close enough.

“fuck—you feel that?” he grunted, one hand gripping your thigh tighter, the other sliding down to your stomach. he pressed there, just above where he was stretching you open. “right there. that’s how deep i am.”

you whined, breath catching, nails clawing at his shoulders.

“gonna fill you up, baby,” he muttered, thrusts getting rougher now, desperate. “just like this—stuff you so full you leak me for hours.”

his voice dropped lower, almost a growl.

“you’ll still feel me when you walk out of here. still dripping,” he bit at your jaw, “and you’ll know exactly who did that to you.”

“gonna walk around here left pregnant with my baby, hm?” he whispered, breath ragged as he slammed into you again, like the idea of it was driving him insane. “let them all see you glowing—stuffed full and ruined just for me.”

you gasped, barely able to respond, your body trembling under the weight of him, under the filth in his voice. he kissed you then—hard, messy, like he couldn’t hold back any longer—then dragged his lips down to your throat, biting and sucking until he’d marked you up again.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he growled against your skin. “being mine like that. completely. no hiding it anymore.”

his pace got sloppier, more desperate, every thrust laced with the need to claim, to possess—to leave a part of himself inside you that no one else could ever touch.

he whispered, his voice rough but softer now. “didn’t mean to… i just couldn’t stop.”

you couldn’t help but smile faintly, even though your body was sore, still buzzing from the intensity. “i’m okay,” you mumbled, your fingers trailing down his arm, the comfort of his skin soothing you.

he chuckled, though it was tired, his lips brushing your temple. “yeah? you sure?” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours, a gentle exhale slipping from his lips. “i wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

you nodded, your hands reaching up to gently tug at his hair, calming him down in the way only you knew how. “just tired,” you muttered, your eyes fluttering closed, your body aching but satisfied.

he pulled you closer, your head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you both. “i got you,” he whispered, his voice soft and reassuring, like he was still holding you together, even in this quiet moment. “rest now. you’re safe with me.”

you let yourself drift, the weight of his presence making you feel warm and cared for, like the world outside didn’t matter. all that mattered was this moment, with him.

but you heard a voice outside the dressing supply room. “na jaemin! manager needs you on stage now, what are you doing??!”

jaemin stiffened, his hand instantly dropping from your body as he looked toward the door, eyes wide for a split second before he groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “fuck,” he muttered, “perfect timing.”

he pushed himself off you reluctantly, rolling his shoulders as he stood up, adjusting his clothes in a rushed, almost irritated manner. you sat up, watching him, still reeling from the aftermath of what had just happened. his usual cocky energy had dropped a few levels, replaced by that almost too-human exhaustion, his sharp features softened for once.

“you’re lucky,” he grinned, though it wasn’t quite the same. “you don’t know how badly i wanted to finish what we started,” he said, voice low, a little teasing, despite the situation. he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before grabbing his jacket. “but duty calls. i’ll make it up to you later.”