jay looks offended, deeply offended, and if they handed out oscars for the most disturbed-looking husband on a random thursday afternoon, he would’ve walked up to that stage with a speech memorized. no hesitation.
he lowers the hammer in his hand, lets it drop onto the half-assembled desk with a dull clunk, and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, smearing a bit of sawdust across his temple.
“i literally married you,” he says, breathless, as he steps near you, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“yeah but people marry people,” you sigh, putting on a faux sad expression, “but do you really love me—”
“darling, i’m literally building you a wooden vanity closet,” he cuts you quick in your sentence, his eyes wide, “and it has been three hours now. i wouldn’t do that for anyone else.”
you press your lips together to keep from laughing. “you look good doing it though.”
his jaw ticks, he knows not to lose his patience, especially when you are all cute and testing it. he still thinks your question is ridiculous, of course he loves you. he loves you way more than the effort he’s putting in the vanity, and it’s not even one percent of what he’d do for you.
“my back hurts.” he sighs yet again
“because you love me?” “because i’m married to you,” he deadpans, rolls his eyes and strawls closer to you.
you pout. it’s exaggerated, a little playful. “so you don’t love me?”
jay huffs, then drops to his knees in front of you with a thud, on the bed. his hands settle on your thighs, sawdust and all, and his fingers press into your skin gently, grounding.
he looks up. his eyes are warm, but serious. intense, even.
“you drive me insane,” he murmurs. “you leave the shower light on. you forget where your charger is every day. you sing off-key when you think i’m not listening.”
you breathe stops, and before you can muster up a sentence, he says again.
“and i love you like i’m sick with it.”
you feel like your stops, with blood rushing up to your cheeks you really don’t know if you can handle this anymore. his thumb brushes over your knee.
“and if you say dumb shit like that again,” he says, voice low, “i might have to marry you again, just to prove a point.”
you open your mouth, ready to sass him back, but he leans in before you can.
his hand finds your waist, warm and rough from hours of sanding wood. his other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s mapping it out. like he missed it all day. like he needed this more than food or rest or sanity.
and then he kisses you. not a soft peck. not a tired brush of lips. it’s full. warm. deliberate.
his mouth slides against yours like he’s finally off the clock, like this is his reward — the only thing that makes the bruised knees and splinters and forgotten lunch worth it.
your fingers twist into his shirt instinctively. his thumb brushes down the side of your neck as his lips move against yours with something a little hungry, a little breathless, but still so stupidly in love.
you pull away for air, lips tingling, chest rising in soft, quick breaths. your fingers are still fisted in his shirt, and he looks up at you like you just knocked the wind out of him — which, to be fair, you did.
jay’s lips are red, a little kiss-swollen, and he’s breathing just as hard.
you blink, lips tingling. “so, i guess, you really do love me?”
“i love you when you talk too much,” he continues against your lips, grinning, “and when you ask dumb questions, like if i still love you.”
you let out a tiny gasp, equal parts amused and overwhelmed, and he pulls you even closer, your forehead pressed to his. your hands rest on his shoulders, thumbs brushing the slope of his neck.
“hey,” you whine softly, but he leans forward again and steals another kiss before you can complain further — short, warm, like a punctuation mark.
“i spend three hours building a closet,” he continues, kisses the corner of your mouth, “you sit here looking like a whole heart attack—” another kiss, this time near your chin, “—and then you ask—” kiss “—me—” kiss “—if i—” kiss “love you?” another kiss.
you laugh into his shoulder, hands slipping up into his hair, heart stopping “i just wanted to hear it.”
his lips curl, lazy and crooked. “you’re so annoying,” he mutters
your breath catches as he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing, full of love. “god,” he mutters, eyes still closed, “you drive me insane,” he chuckles again like a reminder.
“you like it,” you whisper, a chuckle falling on your lips.
he smiles, just a little. then, without letting go of you, he sinks to the floor.
kneels. infront of you.
his arms wrap around your waist, cheek pressing softly to your thigh. he exhales against the fabric of your shorts, like being close to you settles everything.
you run your fingers through his hair, slow. comforting. he hums under his breath, content and quiet, letting his body relax against your leg.
“this okay?” he sighs, his lips tickling your skin as he grins on it.
you nod, resting your hand on his cheek. “yeah,” you smile. “more than okay.”
his lashes flutter as he closes his eyes again.
and there you sit, a half-finished vanity in the corner, a husband with sawdust on his arms and love in every touch, and a kiss still tingling on your lips like a promise that never gets old.
your heartbeat is still racing a little. his breaths are slower now. calm. heavy.
“i love you,” he says eventually, voice muffled and slept against your thigh.
you smile. bend forward and kiss the top of his head, “i know. i love you more.”
스루 ܃ uploading this from my college library .. chem i hate you 😞 feedbacks are very much appreciated !
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📬 ❤︎ rich boyfriend!james 𝔁 gf!reader ─── ৻ꪆ to him, everything is simply ‘bare minimum’ when it comes to his girl.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ non-idol au · aged up · rich!james · he loves pampering and spoiling you · nicknames · kissing (mild) · the lines in italics sprinkled in between the fic are the actual lyrics of the song which inspired me to write this entire fic on a whim <3
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ james in that outfit..... holy shit hold me back rn.... · also you can’t tell me this is canon james when it comes to his gf... 🥹💕 he has so much love to give bro deadass · also, surprise at the end (post-fic) for james stans (thank me later 😋)
you always had a habit of running your thumb over things that were broken, as if gentle pressure could smooth out cracks that life had already set into place.
sitting at your small kitchen island on a dreary tuesday night, you were tracing the fine spiderweb fracture near the top right corner of your phone screen, the quiet click-clack of your nail breaking the absolute silence of the room. the glass was slightly sharp, just enough to catch the pads of your fingers if you swiped at the wrong angle, but you didn’t care. you had earned every single cent in your bank account, paid your rent three days early every month, and held a quiet, fierce pride in the fact that you never replaced something until it was thoroughly, completely dead.
across the polished marble counter, james shifted, the soft rustle of his tailored charcoal shirt drawing your gaze up from the illuminated glass. his laptop was open, a sleek fountain pen resting loosely between two long, perfectly manicured fingers as he reviewed quarterly ledgers for his firm, but he wasn’t looking at the financial numbers anymore. his dark, quiet eyes were fixed entirely on your hand, watching the way your thumb hesitated over the cracked corner.
“it’s going to catch your skin eventually, pretty girl,” james remarked softly, his voice a low, grounded rumble that filled the quiet space between you.
“it’s fine, james,” you said without looking up, tapping a message icon with calculated precision. “it’s barely visible anyway. i’m going to get the glass replaced next month once my work project settles down.”
“or,” he said, closing his laptop with a quiet, decisive click that signaled the end of any business discussion, “i could just handle it right now.”
you lifted your head, narrowing your eyes in that defensive, guarded posture he had come to recognise over the months you had been together. “i don’t need a new phone, baby. i’m serious. it functions perfectly well.”
“i didn’t say you needed one,” he replied smoothly, standing up and smoothing down the front of his shirt with effortless grace.
he crossed the hardwood floor toward you, moving with a fluid, grounded presence that always seemed to make whatever room he was in feel instantly smaller, instantly warmer. leaning forward, he rested both of his broad hands on either side of your stool, trapping you in a subtle scent of dark cedar, crisp cotton, and high-end cologne.
you knew that look in his eyes, but before you could launch into your rehearsed speech about financial independence and unnecessary expenses, james reached into his inner jacket pocket and slid a slim, matte-black box across the smooth marble. it was heavy, factory-sealed in immaculate plastic, carrying the minimal logo of the newest flagship phone in the exact dark graphite shade you had casually pointed out in an ad three weeks prior.
you stared at the sharp edges of the box, then looked up into his steady, dark gaze. “james—absolutely not. push that right back into your pocket.”
“open it, yn,” he murmured.
“nope,” you said, pushing the box back across the counter toward him. “this is a ridiculously expensive piece of technology. my current phone is only two years old, and i’m fully capable of managing my own devices.”
james didn’t move the box back. instead, his long fingers reached out, closing gently around your wrist. his thumb began to trace slow, soothing circles over your pulse point, feeling the rapid, defensive beat beneath your skin.
“look at me, sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice dipping into that impossibly patient cadence he reserved entirely for you.
you met his eyes, exhaling a frustrated breath. “i am looking at you. and i’m telling you no.”
“i know you can buy your own phone,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “i know you have a healthy savings account. i know you pay your bills on time, and i know you don’t need me to purchase a single thing for you. your independence is one of the million things i adore about you, my love. it isn’t a challenge to my ego, and it isn’t something i ever want to break. it’s simply who you are.” he lifted your hand, pressing a brief, lingering kiss against the back of your knuckles. “but this?” he continued, glancing down at the box before bringing his dark eyes back to yours. “this isn’t an obligation. it isn’t a power move, and it isn’t an attempt to show off. i saw a jagged piece of broken glass under the thumb of the woman i love. buying you a phone that doesn’t risk cutting your skin when you text me isn’t some grand, heroic gesture. to me, it’s basic. it’s the absolute bare minimum i should be doing as your boyfriend.”
“a brand-new, top-of-the-line device isn’t the bare minimum, james,” you countered, though your tone had softened under his touch. “it’s entirely excessive for a minor crack.”
a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “to you, maybe. but to me, ensuring that the person i love has a working phone, a safe car, and a warm coat in the middle of winter is baseline care. it’s entry-level stuff. and besides, i already had your sim card cloned and transferred at the store earlier this afternoon. all your data is already synced and waiting.”
you let out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head as you looked at the dark box sitting between your hands. “you’re absurd. you know that, right?”
“i’m attentive,” he corrected smoothly, a subtle glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “there’s a massive difference. now open it. and if you even attempt to transfer money into my checking account to offset the cost, i will simply route it straight back into a high-yield savings fund set up under your name anyway.”
“you wouldn’t dare,” you murmured, though you were already breaking the seal on the box, knowing full well he would dare, actually.
“try me,” he replied with a low, quiet chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss against the crown of your head as you lifted the sleek device out of its casing.
you couldn’t even stay mad at him—not when he handled your stubborn pride with such gentle, unyielding patience. you unwrapped the plastic, the fresh smell of factory-new electronics filling the air, and as you transferred your phone case over, you tried to ignore the way your heart swelled at how seamlessly he anticipated your needs before you even acknowledged them yourself.
iphone kupi (‘buy me an iphone’)... ☆
by the time friday evening rolled around, the city had dissolved into a slick, rain-soaked expanse of neon lights reflecting off wet asphalt. the weather was miserable, but inside the low, purring interior of james’ vehicle, the storm outside felt like a distant memory.
james didn’t just drive any car; he had a deep, almost understated passion for fine engineering, and tonight he had picked you up in his custom porsche 911 gt3 touring. it was an absolute beast of a machine, finished in a deep, brooding shade of jet black metallic that seemed to swallow the city lights, its dark silver center-locking wheels gleaming beneath the streetlamps. inside, the cabin was a masterclass in quiet luxury—smelling of rich leather, dark suede, and the faint, warm ozone of a high-performance engine humming quietly beneath the frame.
you leaned your head back against your seat, feeling the subtle rumble of the engine vibrating through the floorboards as james navigated the rain-slicked streets with effortless, practiced precision. his right hand rested casually at three o’clock on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, while his left hand rested on the gear shift, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knee whenever he brought the low-slung car to a smooth halt at a red light.
“you like the noise this one makes, don’t you?” james asked softly, glancing over at you with a slight curve on his lips as the exhaust notes echoed off the concrete tunnel walls.
“it’s terrifyingly smooth,” you admitted, turning your head to look at his profile. “you drive like you’re on a track even in gridlock traffic.”
“it’s called control, pretty girl,” he murmured, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the gear shift before he stepped gently on the throttle. the engine let out a deep, intoxicating rasp that sent a faint shiver down your spine, accelerating seamlessly through the wet lane.
there was something undeniably magnetic about the contrast between his calm, polished demeanor and the raw, aggressive power of the vehicle he commanded so easily. he pulled the sleek sports car up to the curb of an intimate, dimly lit restaurant tucked away in the quieter cobblestone corners of the district. the valet immediately stepped out with a massive umbrella, opening your door with practiced deference.
“careful with the step,” james warned gently, stepping out from his side and meeting you under the awning before handing the valet his keys without a second thought. “keep it parked right out front under the cover, please,” he told the valet in a quiet, firm tone, slipping a heavy bill into the man’s hand.
“right away, sir,” the valet replied quickly.
inside, the restaurant smelled of woodsmoke, roasted herbs, and expensive wine. the hostess led you both past glowing ambient candleholders to a plush, dark velvet booth nestled near a quiet stone fireplace. james slid in right beside you instead of sitting across the table, his long arm extending naturally along the back of the velvet bench behind your shoulders, bringing his warm, familiar weight right against your side.
“how bad was the office today?” he asked softly, his dark eyes reading every subtle line of fatigue on your face as you leaned back into his chest.
“it was an absolute nightmare,” you admitted, closing your eyes for a brief second as his fingers began to gently massage the back of your neck. “endless fires to put out, three missed deadlines from the junior team, and my brain feels like mush. but i’m fine now.”
“you’re exhausted, sweetheart,” he corrected gently.
without needing to consult you on the tedious details, james signaled the sommelier with a brief nod. “we’ll take a bottle of the twenty-six sauvignon blanc,” he told the waiter smoothly. “and bring out the seared scallops and the truffle crostini to start, please.”
“you remembered what i like after a bad day,” you murmured, looking up at him as the sommelier bowed slightly and walked away.
“of course i remembered,” james said, resting his chin lightly against your temple. “i pay attention, y’know.”
you loved dining out, but as the incredible meal progressed and the empty plates were cleared away by attentive waitstaff, that lingering sense of self-reliance began to prickle at the back of your mind again. you had made a point early on in your relationship that you wanted an equal partnership. you hated the idea of feeling like a financial burden or acting like someone who expected to be catered to, and as the quiet waiter finally approached the table to lay a dark leather folder down, your hand instinctively dipped toward the zipper of your leather bag.
“let me cover the tip at least, james,” you said, pulling out your card. “or let’s split the total bill down the middle. you paid for lunch on wednesday.”
james’ hand moved with lightning speed, sliding firmly over yours before your fingers could even pull your card free. his touch was warm, solid, and entirely unyielding.
“put that back in your bag, yn,” he said softly, his tone carrying that quiet, absolute authority that left zero room for negotiation.
“james, come on,” you whispered, leaning in closer so the surrounding tables wouldn’t overhear your back-and-forth. “i work hard. i earn my own money, and i genuinely dislike the feeling of being paid for constantly. it makes me feel bad, like i’m not pulling my weight.”
james didn’t pull his hand back. instead, he pulled a heavy, matte-black card from his coat, slid it into the leather folder without even glancing down at the itemised receipt, and handed it back to the waiter with a quiet, polite nod.
“thank you, sir,” the waiter murmured, sliding away into the dim light of the dining room.
once the staff member glided away, james shifted his weight in the booth, turning his torso so he was facing you directly, his knees framing yours beneath the white tablecloth.
“do you truly believe you’re a charity case in my eyes, yn?” he asked gently, his eyes searching yours.
“it’s not that,” you murmured, looking down at your fingers. “i just need equality in our relationship. i never want you to entertain the thought that i’m with you for the places you can take me or the money you spend, you know?”
james looked at you then, his expression stripping away any lingering playfulness, replaced by a deep, unwavering sincerity that made your throat feel dry. he picked up both of your hands, lacing his long fingers through yours over the soft linen.
“if i believed, for a single second, that you were with me for my wealth, my love,” he said firmly, his voice low and steady, “we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. you fight me on every single check. you try to pay for your own morning coffees. you constantly try to split tabs down to the exact cent when we order late-night takeout. i know exactly who you are. you’re the woman who would happily sit on a cold park bench eating three thousand-won street food with me as long as we were together.” he squeezed your fingers, his dark gaze holding yours captive. “so hear me when i say this,” he continued softly. “paying for dinner when i take my girlfriend out on a friday night isn’t a flex. it isn’t an obligation, and it certainly isn’t an attempt to buy your affection. it is, as i’ve said before, the baseline standard of taking care of someone you’re utterly devoted to. if a man takes you out, he pays. period. that’s basic etiquette to me, which i learnt by looking at my dad taking out my mum. yn, you don’t owe me a single thing for this—not a formal thank you, not a return favor, nothing. it’s my absolute pleasure, and i do it because i want to make your life effortless after a long, grueling week.”
you bit your lip, feeling the sharp, defensive edge of your independence melt away under the quiet warmth of his reasoning. “you really consider a high-end, multi-course meal in the city to be the bare minimum?”
james tilted his head, a smooth, devastating smile breaking across his features as his thumb stroked the back of your hand. “for you? bringing you good food, keeping you comfortable, and picking up the tab is entry-level boyfriend behavior, sweetheart. if i could hand you the moon on a silver platter, i would still feel like i was slacking off.”
restoran oplati (‘pay for the restaurant’)... ☆
a week later, the autumn air had grown crisp and biting, scattering golden leaves across the wet concrete sidewalks. you had spent the afternoon running errands, dressed in an oversized, heavy grey knit sweater that belonged to james, the sleeves overlapping your hands so that only your fingertips peeked through. you were standing in the quiet alcove of a boutique shoe store downtown, picking up a pair of simple leather flats you had ordered online weeks ago.
james was standing near the entrance, leaning casually against a polished display case as he waited for you. he looked effortlessly striking in a dark tailored overcoat, his silver watch gleaming softly under the boutique’s track lighting. even just standing there, resting one hand in his pocket while he checked a brief email on his phone, he carried an air of calm, unbothered command that naturally drew people’s eyes.
as the clerk walked back out from the stockroom with your basic flats, james happened to look up, his eyes casually scanning the curated shelves behind the counter. his gaze caught on a pair of heels resting on an illuminated pedestal—a breathtaking pair of sculpted designer heels, crafted from buttery dark slate-grey silk with delicate, shimmering silver hardware detailing that caught the light like liquid moonlight. they were artistic, sophisticated, and undeniably exquisite, the kind of shoes designed for private galas or high-end evening events.
you noticed him looking and followed his line of sight, catching a glance at the silver detailing before checking the tiny designer label beneath them.
you let out a low, breathy laugh at the sheer number of zeroes on the price tag and leaned closer to him. “those are ridiculous,” you murmured under your breath as the clerk handed you your boxed flats. “gorgeous, but completely absurd for real life.”
james didn’t say a word right away. he simply pocketed his phone, walked smoothly over to the counter, and motioned quietly to the sales associate.
“could we see those slate silk heels in a size eight, please?” james asked calmly, his tone so light he might as well have been asking for a glass of tap water.
you immediately whipped your head around, your eyes wide as you grabbed his forearm through his heavy coat. “james, no!” you hissed quietly, pulling him back a step. “what are you doing? i came in here for forty thousand-won flats. i don’t need five-inch silk designer heels, and i certainly don’t have anywhere to wear them to.”
james didn’t look bothered in the slightest by your subtle panic. he looked down at your hand on his arm, a soft, indulgent smile curving his lips. “just let her bring them out so you can check the fit, yn.”
“i don’t need to check the fit,” you argued softly. “they cost more than my first car’s entire transmission!”
when the associate returned and set the silk heels down on the velvet rug, james casually dropped to one knee in front of you on the store floor. he didn’t care that the sales staff was watching or that people were passing by the glass storefront outside. he simply extended his hand, waiting patiently for you to slide your foot out of your casual shoe.
“james, please,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks warm up under the boutique’s bright lights. “this is crazy. get up—”
“just try them on, sweetheart. humour me,” he murmured, his voice smooth and steady as his long fingers wrapped gently around your ankle, lifting your foot to guide it into the silk shoe.
the moment your foot slid inside, the shoe fit like it had been custom-molded to your arch. the silver hardware gleamed softly against your skin, matching the quiet, understated silver rings you always wore on your hands. you looked down, unable to deny how stunningly beautiful they were, how they made your legs look long and elegant even beneath your oversized sweater.
“see?” james said softly, looking up at you from his spot on the floor. “absolute perfection.”
“they’re far too expensive, james,” you argued softly, shaking your head as you looked down at him. “i can’t possibly let you buy me something that extravagant for no reason at all. it’s not like i’m attending an award show.”
he stood up smoothly, dusting off his trousers before taking the boutique’s credit card reader from the associate without missing a beat.
“we’ll take them,” he told the clerk, tapping his black card against the machine and settling the absurd total before you could even process the transaction. “and pack up her old flats into the bag, please. she’s wearing these out.”
“right away, sir,” the clerk smiled.
james turned back to you, stepping close enough that his coat brushed against your sweater. he held your waist gently, looking down into your conflicted eyes.
“james, seriously—” you started.
“buying my girl a pair of shoes that makes her feel breathtaking isn’t merely an indulgence, yn,” he interrupted gently, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip through the thick sweater. “i didn’t buy them so you could hide them in a closet for a special occasion. i bought them because i saw something beautiful, knew it belonged on you, and wanted you to have the absolute best beneath your feet whenever you walk anywhere with me.”
“i don’t need designer shoes to walk with you,” you whispered.
“i know you don’t,” james replied softly, leaning down to press his lips against yours for a brief, sweet moment. “but making sure you feel adored, elevated, and pampered from head to toe is basic. if i can’t put you in stunning shoes, i’m not doing my job as your boyfriend properly.”
you let out a quiet sigh, looking down at the gleaming silver detailing on your toes, completely helpless against the relentless tide of his affection. “you’re utterly ruined.”
he simply kissed your forehead, whispering back, “i’m perfectly fine with that, as long as you’re the one ruining me.”
the rain returned two sundays later, a heavy, grey downpour that turned the city outside james’ high-rise penthouse into a blurred watercolor painting. the apartment was silent save for the soft, ambient hum of music floating through the hidden ceiling speakers and the rhythmic patter of water against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
you were curled up on the edge of his deep charcoal leather sofa, your feet tucked beneath a heavy silver-grey knit throw blanket as you turned a page of your book. james was sitting nearby, a dark ceramic mug of coffee resting on the low table in front of him. he was pretending to scroll through news updates on his tablet, but in reality, he spent far more time watching the calm, relaxed expression on your face than reading any headlines.
without any warning, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, heavy velvet box, and tossed it gently onto the throw blanket near your knee.
you blinked, pausing your reading to look at the box, then lifted your eyes to glare at him with mild suspicion. “what is this?”
“it’s a box,” he replied with total deadpan ease, lifting his mug to take a slow sip of black coffee.
“james…” you dragged out his name, raising an eyebrow high. “is today an anniversary i somehow managed to forget? is it a secret holiday? is it my birthday?”
“no, no, and no,” he answered smoothly, setting his coffee back down on the glass tabletop.
“then why are you handing me a jewelry box on a random sunday afternoon?”
“because it’s sunday,” he said, as if that simple fact explained the entire mechanics of the universe. “and because i felt like giving it to you.”
you picked up the velvet box, holding it delicately between your fingertips. “james, we talked about this. we established ground rules about spontaneous, unnecessary spending. you don’t need to keep giving me things just because the sky is blue outside.”
“open it before you start your formal lecture,” he requested calmly. “do it for my own peace of mind.”
rolling your eyes with a quiet laugh, you popped open the spring lid of the velvet box. nestled inside against a dark satin cushion was a heavy, exquisitely crafted band of solid sterling silver. you had always preferred silver over gold—you loved its cool, understated elegance, the way it shimmered softly without being loud or ostentatious. james shared that exact same taste, his own watch and cufflinks always featuring polished silver accents.
the ring in the box was sleek, heavy, and timeless. but as you lifted it out of its velvet bed to examine it closer in the dim light of the room, you caught the delicate script engraved along the smooth inner curve of the metal.
you brought it right up to your eyes, reading the fine inscription. etched into the polished silver was your full name in elegant, precise lettering, followed by a set of fine coordinate points—the exact latitude and longitude of the quiet coastal overlook where the two of you had parked his car and talked for five hours straight on your very first real date.
your breath hitched slightly, a quiet lump forming in your throat. the sheer depth of thought embedded in the small band of metal hit you square in the chest, instantly wiping away any sarcastic remarks or arguments about price.
“james…” you swallowed hard, tracing the smooth, cool inner script with the tip of your thumb. “it’s gorgeous.”
he stood up from his chair, walking over to sit on the edge of the sofa right beside your legs. he reached out, taking the ring gently from your fingers, his other hand sliding beneath your knees to pull your legs into his lap so you were facing him completely.
“give me your hand, pretty girl,” he murmured softly.
you extended your right hand, watching in silence as he carefully slid the cool silver band onto your middle finger. it fit with absolute precision, settling against your skin as if it had been meant to live there forever, matching the other silver rings you already wore every day.
“why?” you asked softly, looking up into his dark, warm eyes. “why give me custom-engraved silver on an ordinary, lazy sunday?”
james brought your hand up to his mouth, resting his warm lips against the newly placed silver ring for a long, quiet moment. when he looked up, his expression carried an intense, protective softness that made your pulse jump. “because you wear your independence and your pride like heavy armor,” he said quietly, his thumb caressing your knuckles. “i wanted you to have something solid, something real and cool against your skin, that serves as a constant reminder that you belong to someone who cherishes you, even when we’re doing nothing more than sitting on a sofa watching the rain.”
“custom silver jewelry for no reason isn’t normal behavior, pewtty boy,” you whispered, though a soft, affectionate smile was tugging at your lips.
“who said anything about normal?” he countered softly, leaning forward until his chest was lightly resting against your knees. he reached up, his hand cupping the side of your neck, his thumb resting gently against your jawline, feeling the soft warmth of your skin. “listen to me closely, yn,” he murmured. “a custom silver band with your name on it, given simply because i thought of you while driving past an artisan shop downtown, is basic. it’s step one. giving a gift to the woman you love just to see her smile on an unmemorable afternoon is the absolute bare minimum expected of any man who claims to hold her heart.”
“you keep using that phrase—’bare minimum’,” you said to him softly, sliding your fingers into his soft hair. “i don’t think you truly understand what the it actually means for normal people, baby.”
“it means whatever standard i choose to set for how you deserve to be treated,” he replied without a single second of hesitation. his hand shifted, his fingers sliding up into the dark waves of your hair to pull you gently closer. “you spend so much of your life taking care of every single detail yourself,” he continued, his voice dropping into a tender murmur against your skin. “your job, your apartment, your responsibilities. you’re so fiercely determined never to be a burden to anyone around you. so let me burden you instead. let me pamper you. not because you ‘can’t’ buy your own silver, but because i demand to be the man who puts it on your fingers.”
he leaned in, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips that tasted of dark coffee and warmth, lingering against you until your arms naturally found their way around his broad shoulders, pulling his frame down against yours.
when he finally pulled back, his dark eyes were shining with an affection so heavy it made your breath catch.
“now,” he murmured against your cheek, “are you going to keep fighting me on every detail, or are you going to let me make you late lunch?”
“i’ll only agree if you let me stand in the kitchen and help you cook,” you negotiated weakly.
james chuckled softly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as he stood up, lifting you effortlessly off the sofa with him. “that’s an acceptable compromise, sweetheart.”
bez povoda mne podari, kol’tso s moim imenem (‘give me, for no reason, a ring with my name on it’)... ☆
the following month, the late-autumn weather reached its breaking point, unleashing a severe, relentless storm over the city. the sky turned a dark, bruised shade of slate grey, pouring sheets of torrential rain that flooded the lower intersections and brought city traffic to an absolute, gridlocked standstill.
it was the kind of day where everything that could go wrong did. your day at work had been an absolute nightmare of tight deadlines, but the real disaster struck when you walked out to the parking garage at seven in the evening. you turned your key in the ignition, only to hear a hollow, metallic clicking sound before your dashboard lights flickered once and died completely. your alternator had chosen the worst possible evening to completely collapse.
you spent the next forty-five minutes sitting in the damp, freezing interior of your dead car, trying to call roadside assistance while the rain hammered against your windshield like gravel. the tow company gave you a two-hour wait time, your phone battery was draining rapidly, and by the time you finally managed to get a rideshare back to your apartment building, your clothes were damp, your shoes were soaked through, and your shoulders were locked tight with pure, unadulterated physical and mental exhaustion.
you dragged yourself up the stairs to your floor, your wet key fumbling against the lock before you finally managed to push your apartment door open.
you expected a dark, cold flat. instead, you were instantly hit by a wave of lingering heat and the rich, mouth-watering aroma of roasted garlic, fresh herbs, and simmered broth filling your hallway.
standing in your small, modest kitchen, his shirt sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows to reveal his stupidly beautiful forearms, was james. he was calmly stirring a simmering pot on your stove, looking entirely at home despite the sharp contrast between your humble kitchen and his expansive penthouse.
you stood frozen in the doorway, your dripping umbrella hanging loosely in your hand as you stared at him. “james? what… how did you even get inside?”
he set his wooden spoon down on a rest, taking three long strides across the hardwood to take the dripping umbrella from your cold fingers and set it in the corner. without saying a single word, he unbuttoned your wet coat, peeling the heavy material off your shivering shoulders and hanging it up by the door. then he took both of your freezing hands into his warm ones, bringing them up to his mouth to breathe hot air over your pale knuckles.
“your landlord knows me well enough by now,” he explained quietly. “and your tow truck driver called me directly when he picked up your car.”
you blinked, completely bewildered through your haze of exhaustion. “wait… why on earth would a tow truck driver call you about my car?”
he offered a calm, unbothered explanation, admitting casually, “i placed a discreet tracking tag on your main key fob three months ago for safety and emergency situations. when your vehicle remained completely stationary in your office lot past seven o’clock with the hood popping an engine error on my tracking display, i got an automated ping on my phone.”
“you tracked my car?” you asked softly, almost laughing.
“i monitored a potential hazard,” he corrected smoothly. “i stepped in immediately, called my personal mechanic, arranged a flatbed transport, and settled the entire repair bill upfront with the garage owner. they’re replacing the alternator, swapping out the dead battery, and completing a full brake inspection. the car will be delivered back to your assigned parking spot by tomorrow afternoon, and i’ll drop you off at work tomorrow morning.”
you stood there in the middle of your warm hallway, completely stunned into silence. you had spent the last two hours stressing about how much a sudden alternator repair was going to hurt your monthly budget, how you were going to navigate commuting without a car, and whether the mechanics would try to take advantage of your lack of auto expertise.
and in the span of an hour, james had silently, invisibly erased every single one of those problems before you had even set foot inside your front door.
“james…” you started again, your stubborn pride raising its head even through your bone-deep tiredness. “an alternator repair costs well over a million won. i have an emergency savings fund specifically built for situations like this. you can’t just cover massive automotive bills for me!”
he stepped closer, taking your face gently between both of his broad, warm hands. his thumbs brushed over your damp cheekbones, wiping away stray drops of rain with delicate precision.
“stop talking, pretty girl,” he said softly.
“i’m fully capable of paying my own mechanic,” you whispered, looking up into his eyes. “you don’t need to step in and fix an obstacle in my life the second things go sideways.”
he looked down at you, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a fierce, unwavering intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
“baby, i’ll say this however many times it takes to fully convince you: i’m not fixing your life because i believe you’re helpless or incompetent,” he said firmly. “i know with full certainty that you could have called your own tow truck, paid the garage out of your savings, and managed the inconvenience entirely on your own strength. you’re brilliant, resilient, and fiercely independent.” he leaned his head down, resting his forehead directly against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips. “but what’s the point of me having resources, influence, and capability,” he murmured, “if i don’t use them to clear the path for the woman i love when she’s exhausted? letting you freeze in the rain while you drain your hard-earned savings on an unexpected car failure isn’t something i will ever allow.”
you closed your eyes, leaning your weight into his touch. “it feels like too much,” you confessed softly. “it makes me feel bad… how much you do for me.”
“it isn’t too much, i promise, sweetheart,” he said, his lips pressing a warm kiss against the bridge of your nose. “taking care of logistics when your girlfriend is stranded in a storm is standard human decency. taking care of a million-won repair so you don’t have to stress about money after a brutal workday is the absolute bare minimum expected of any man standing in my position.”
he guided you toward the heated bathroom, where he had already turned on the hot shower, steaming up the glass enclosure and filling the space with warm, soothing vapour. he smoothed your damp hair back from your forehead.
“now,” he said firmly, “get under the hot water. get warm, and change into the dry clothes i brought over from my place that are waiting on your bed. you’re not allowed to think about a single bill, a single mechanical issue, or a single work stress for the remainder of the night. do you understand me?”
you looked up at him—this breathtakingly handsome, fiercely loyal man who treated massive acts of financial and emotional rescue as if they were simple, everyday courtesies—and felt the very last brick of your stubborn, self-reliant wall crumble into dust.
“okay,” you offered softly, a genuine, relieved smile finally breaking across your tired face. “yeah, okay.”
“good girl,” he murmured, pressing a quiet, lingering kiss against your temple before stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him to give you quiet space.
an hour later, the heavy rain continued to hammer relentlessly against your bedroom window pane. the room was bathed in the warm, quiet glow of a single bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the cozy space.
you were sitting between james’ long legs as he leaned back against your headboard, your back pressed comfortably against his broad chest. he was slowly twirling the silver band on your finger, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as you both relaxed in the quiet dark of the room.
“james?” you called his name softly, tilting your head back against his collarbone.
“hmm?” he hummed in response, his arm tightening around your waist, his thumb tracing smooth patterns against the knit of your sweater.
“do you truly, genuinely believe everything you say?” you asked softly. “that the phone, the dinners, the heels, the custom silver, and handling my car repairs are all just the ‘bare minimum’?”
he went still for a long moment, his chest expanding against your back as he took a deep, deliberate breath. “i believe,” he said quietly, “that the world treats independent women with an unfair amount of coldness. people expect you to carry every heavy burden entirely by yourself simply because you’re capable of doing so. they see a woman who is strong, competent, and self-sufficient, and they assume she doesn’t need pampering, doesn’t need protection, and doesn’t need someone to step in and make her life easier once in a while.” he turned his head slightly, pressing a soft, warm kiss against the curve of your neck. “i know you don’t need me to survive, my love,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “you were thriving long before i walked into your life, and you will continue to thrive no matter what. but as long as you choose to give me your heart, my job isn’t just to watch you handle everything alone. my job is to give you a safe place to lay your burden down. to take the weight off your shoulders when you’re tired, and to give you beautiful things simply because seeing you smile is the best part of my day.” he lifted your left hand, catching the soft glow of the engraved silver ring in the dim light of the bedroom. “buying you a working phone when yours is broken, paying for dinner when i take you out, sliding designer shoes onto your feet, giving you engraved silver for no reason, and fixing your car before you can stress about it—that isn’t extraordinary love, yn,” james whispered, his voice rich and deep in the quiet dark. “that’s the bare minimum. that’s the standard entry fee for the immense privilege of being allowed to love you.”
you turned around in his lap, shifting so you could sit cross-legged facing him, cupping his jaw with both of your hands, your silver ring resting cool against his cheek. “you’re setting the bar dangerously high for anyone else in the world, pretty boy,” you told him softly.
james leaned into the touch of your hands, a slow, devastatingly beautiful smile breaking across his features as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.
“good,” he whispered against your lips, his dark eyes shining with pure, unyielding devotion. “because you deserve nothing less than the absolute highest standard imaginable. and as long as you belong to me, sweetheart, i’m only just getting started.”
(a/n): hellooo hellooo annyeonghaseo!!! I'm back. naked seungcheol got me all hot and bothered i couldn't help but write this. also the fact that i already knew he had a dad bod 🤨(not surprising because we literally live together) also it's my first time writing a headcanon, so I hope you like it ;)
SMUT ahead under cut!!
dad bod!seungcheol who still looks massive when he walks by. broad shoulders, heavy steps, arms that could still lift you like nothing if he tried - but there’s a softness to him now, one that’s crept in over the years. a little extra weight on his stomach, smells of baby formula, and that constant stubble because shaving every day doesn’t feel worth it anymore.
dad bod!seungcheol who complains about it sometimes, grumbling in front of the mirror while he runs a towel over his face. “need to start running again,” he mutters, or “can’t believe I used to have abs.” but you just lean against the doorframe, watching him, half-smiling because he’s still the same man - just… fuller
when he sits down, he spreads out - thighs taking space, arm slung behind the couch, posture lazy and open. you love that he doesn’t even notice how he fills a room anymore
dad bod!seungcheol who doesn’t understand why you’ve gotten clingier. why your hands always seem to find their way under his shirt when you hug him from behind, why you keep brushing crumbs off his chest when there are no crumbs, why your lips always linger a second too long when you kiss him goodbye
dad bod!seungcheol who still still wakes up before everyone else, shuffling around the kitchen shirtless, hair a mess, making coffee like it’s a ritual. you watch him from the doorway - all broad shoulders, soft stomach, stubble catching the morning light - and suddenly you’re way too awake.
dad bod!seungcheol who just mere minutes later, is now a moaning mess as you suck him as if your life depends on it.
"fu-uck," he pants, "slow down, babe." but the way he holds your head even tighter, says otherwise.
"can't!" you pant, taking him out of your mouth. "you get me all hot and bothered." he swears he could come right then and there and with that look in his eyes - he'd give you another child already.
"fuck me, baby." you moan, and he's trembling, barely holding onto the edge.
dad bod!seungcheol who grips your hips so hard, you're sure they're will be marks by the time you're done.
he wraps his arms around you, pushes you onto the wall and thrusts up into you - heavy balls smacking against your ass. the whines that comes out of your mouth is just pitiful.
he pinches your clit and your walls clench him tighter.
"fuck baby, you're so tight" he huffs. "you want to make me a dad again? huh?"
“cheol- slo- ugh. slow down” you pant as your legs shake every time his tip brushes your spot. the way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-want more.”
"I'll give you exactly what you want, mama"
you moan so loud that the whole damn block might know exactly what he’s doing to you.
"not so loud, mama. baby'll wake up" seungcheol is grinning.
"mhmm, cheol." you breathe, gripping his biceps harder. "feels so good."
your fingers dig into his shoulders, velvet walls clenching around him as your body shook violently, thighs quaking as pleasure surged through your veins.
“fuck, cheol - ohh fuck ‘m gonna cum!” your legs feel like liquid - you are glad he's holding you - otherwise you'd be as good as putty.
“thaaat’s it, mama. come f’me.” he groaned, pushing in with a few more punishing thrusts before spilling inside your spasming cunt, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim.
he’s holding you flush against him, fingers pressing into your back, thumb tracing along your jaw. “god…you really are relentless,” he huffs, voice low, teasing but strained.
you grin, smirking up at him. “can you blame me?” his chest rises with a laugh. "hmm…nope,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “not at all. and I think…I like it.” you trace over his shoulders, leaning closer, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the lingering tension.
“good,” you whisper. “because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”
📸 【FAME】 your popular boyfriend is ready to be your assistant ｡ ｡ ｡ ◞ #𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊
celebrity ! s.jy x celebrity ! 𝑓 reader ◜ᵕ◝ 𝟱𝟬𝟲 ≧ᗜ≦ DOWNBAD jake kissing established relationship
it's kind of funny, jake thinks, how the universe really cooked when it decided to make you you. he swears the best thing he’s ever done in life—aside from learning how to make scrambled eggs properly—was meeting you before you blew up. like, back when your biggest gig was doing a off-brand soda ad.
fast forward three years, and you’re everywhere. magazine covers, talk shows, a literal walking glitter bomb of success. jake thanks god every single day (and sometimes his manager, for once dragging him to that stupid event) because now he gets to say, very casually,
''yeah i'm y/n's boyfriend.''
does he say it too often? absolutely.
is he insufferable about it? yes.
does he care? not even slightly.
and every time someone brings you up around jake? he lights up like a golden retriever that just heard the word ''walk.''
''yeah,'' he says, puffing up his chest like it's his job, ''she's my girlfriend.''
people laugh, every single time.
he doesn’t get it. did he miss the joke?
like, what's funny about a man being proud of his girlfriend?
and then there’s always that one interviewer who tries to go gotcha-journalist mode.
''so, jake, do you ever feel overshadowed now that y/n's… well, her?''
he blinks at them like they just asked if the sky is green.
''why would i be mad?'' he says. ''i won, man. i get to date her. do you? i mean she's like the coolest person on earth. i'm lucky she even looks at me.''
the interviewer laughs. the audience laughs. everyone laughs.
jake doesn't.
he stares around, confused, like he missed the joke entirely—which he did—and then just continues talking because nobody on earth is stopping him.
he didn’t understand why the photographers laughed when he asked if he should carry equipment. he thought he was being helpful. he genuinely would drop his career to be your personal assistant and he said this often enough that your team started giving him tiny fake tasks just to keep him entertained.
and every time someone pointed a camera at him in public and joked, ''jake, when's y/n letting you be her full-time assistant?''
he'd brighten like a sunrise:
''i mean if she says yes i'll pack my things tonight—what, why are you laughing?''
every little comment about whether him having to ''worry'' about your success growing day by day only led to replies like
no. it bothers me that she doesn't let me carry her shoes too.
you tease him for it later, curled up together on the couch, his head tucked into your neck like it’s programmed there.
''you know people think you’re whipped, right?''
''i'm supportive,'' he corrects, frowning slightly.
you laugh, kiss his cheek, and he melts instantly—brain shutting down like a cheap computer.
he'd follow you anywhere. to any shoot, any event, any red carpet.
a/n: a silly little post since I feel like I haven’t done one of these stand alones in a while. I’ll be making individual texts & responses for each member for this so comment if you’d like to be tagged on those. (If you saw me use the photo of that nct member thinking it was jw no you didn’t 💔 bmh tone finding out ive had it in my phone since last year and it wasn’t him HELP(6,?)
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ꗏyn // You loved attending gatherings with your mom since you were a kid, mostly because of one girl you hit it off with since the beginning. However, since she got a boyfriend, it’s rare to see her. Now you’re thinking if it’s even worth it to waste time at these home parties. Your mind quickly changes when her younger brother randomly starts a conversation with you about Sudoku.
SHORTLY .ᐟ Keonho wanted to get to know you since he could remember, but he wasn’t sure if you were even aware of his existence. When he notices you playing Sudoku, Keonho gets an idea of how to make you notice him.
CONTAINS .ᐟ acquantaines2lovers family friends dynamic slowburn romance wonhee&keonho are siblings martin&stella are cousins reader is 09 down bad keonho school au profanity
WORD COUNT .ᐟ 5.8k (582O)
𝒫laylist .ᐟ chosen—blood orange&caroline polachek, sometimes memory fails me sometimes—everyone asked about you, the thrill of loneliness—hana stretton, it had to be you—frank sinatra, all i need—radiohead, lover, you should’ve come over—jeff buckley, be my angel—mazzy star, sometimes—faye webster damned—miguel
ᝰ note .ᐟ ITS HEREEEE FINALLYYYYY!!!! i genuinely loved writing this fic !! this was heavily inspired by those things i find attractive slideshows on tt LMAOO but i really hope you guys enjoy this <333 btw this was based on my last situationship LOL it ended back in may so idc it was just for fun but it’s still a lil bit awkward bcs we’re in the same friend group (FAMILY FRIENDS 😭😭) the wc turned out to be way less than I expected but the situationship was like 1.5 months long so 🤔🤔 not a lot to write about in comparison w/fluoroscent adolescent (situationship was 1.5 years long) cortis masterlist .ᐟ
YOU DON’T REMEMBER the first time you went to meet your parents’ friends. Only vague fragments cloud your mind sometimes. But you do remember that talking with Wonhee was as easy as getting a paper scratch.
Your talks were never forced: they included pointless school gossip and deepest secrets you didn't dare to share with anyone but her.
At some point in your life, you went to a family friend's functions just to talk to her. Unfortunately, it is not like that anymore.
Ever since Wonhee started talking with a guy from her grade, she slowly stopped coming with her family, texting you a quick apology and promising you'll talk at school.
You understand her; high school romance becomes a priority in your life as soon as it appears in your life. The feelings you've never experienced really mess up your senses. At least, that's what you think. Are you trying to excuse her? You don't really know.
But you know that these gatherings become more and more boring.
Sure, Martin's and Stella's cousin's antics are still comical, and Woonhak’s college stories make you wonder what will happen next, but it is not the same.
As you sit on the couch at Stella's house, you wonder if you should come here the next time or just study for the next quiz in biology. If you are going to spend time doing something you don't particularly enjoy, at least you should do something productive.
With this thought in mind, you take your phone to open the sudoku app. It's a little hobby you developed to pass your time with use. It's just the right difficulty too–hard enough to not make you bored, but easy enough that you are not stuck on the same puzzle for the next week. The rest of the group went out to get drinks while your favorite place is still open. You made Woonhak remember your exact order a few years ago because you were too lazy to wake up from your nap, so you are not worried about being thirsty.
Putting numbers into the grid, you don't notice how the couch dips under the weight beside you. You don't feel the pair of curious eyes follow your fingers until the person speaks up.
“You know how to play sudoku?” a captivated voice suddenly breaks the silence.
When you divert your attention from your phone to the person beside you, you are surprised by the distance between you. Not close enough to make you uncomfortable, but definitely enough to be able to see the moles on his face.
The person behind the questioning voice was Keonho–Wonhee’s younger brother. He was the same age as you, although you can't say that the two of you are close.
Actually, you barely even talk to him. You know he's in the same friend group as Martin and that he is a swimmer. That's all. Pretty weird, as you and his sister are almost inseparable.
After a second of silence after his question, you give him a slight nod, followed by your own query. “You don't?”
“Nah, I never really bothered to learn,” Keonho answers as he pulls out his phone from his sweatpants’ pockets, opening some social media.
You ponder for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to teach you?”
You never really bothered to get close to him. You greeted him at school and made small talk when you were in the same vicinity–that was enough for you. Thus, you are not sure what made you propose something like a lesson in sudoku.
Keonho seemed surprised at your offer, but quickly agreed, “Sure, if it's not hard for you.”
“No, not at all.”
Your assurance gave him the confidence to move closer to you so he could see the screen clearly. You didn't mind it; actually, you lay back so it was more comfortable for both of you.
Starting a new level on the easy difficulty, you started explaining the basic technique of Sudoku.
“Basically, there can only be one digit in each square, row, and column. you check each of them for a specific digit and decide where the missing one should be,” you explain slowly, showing him what you mean with your fingers.
“So, if there’s a 2 in these upper rows, then the third one should be in the bottom one?”
“Exactly, you're a fast learner.”
Keonho grins at your compliment, eyes curving into crescents. “Maybe you're just a great teacher.”
His praise makes you laugh. You hand your phone to him. “Let's check how amazing of a teacher I am.”
“Ah, I don't think I am at that level yet.” he shakes his head, but the smile doesn't leave his face. I still need the teacher’s guidance.”
“Just try, ask me if you have any questions.”
Keonho doesn't answer and just leans back with your phone in his hand.
Time passes as he asks you if a number goes into that spot every minute. You watch as he completes his first sudoku puzzle ever.
When he understood the fundamentals of the game, he started asking questions and telling you stories from his life: Martin getting scammed, his upcoming swimming competition, and even how Wonhee is barely home these days.
“She is either at school, hanging out with her friends, or talking with that guy of hers. " You know anything about it?” Keonho rambles, finishing his 6th square. When he asks you about Wonhee, he pauses slightly and glances at you.
Your attention was focused on the screen before, but as you catch his gaze, you start to think about the question. Do you know anything about Wonhee’s situationship?
“I think he might ask her out soon.”
“Really? Well, if that happens, she will stop bothering me about it,” he chuckles, going back to the game.
You snickered at this, letting him lead the conversation again.
“Finally…” Keonho breathes out while handing you your phone back; the bold phrase ‘completed’ is shown on the screen.
You pocket the device and sit up slightly, “Good job.”
Keonho closes his eyes and mutters some words of gratitude. At first, you thought he was tired, but you were proven wrong when he rose the next second. He seemed jittery, cracking his knuckles while looking back at you every second or so.
“You—” he pauses, cracks his knuckles again. “I mean, are you gonna be here next weekend?” he stutters while struggling to maintain eye contact.
His sudden question caught you off guard as you never had a proper interaction before tonight, and, well, you rarely miss these hangouts. It's not that you minded the question—it just surprised you. In all these years of knowing each other, you'd never gone beyond some small talk. Why would he care now?
“I mean, yeah. Why wouldn't I?” He looks away as if to think about your response. “Wonhee won't probably come, so I thought you know?”
Oh.
You hadn't expected him to notice that you were pretty bored without her. It made something small flutter in your chest, something that you quickly pushed down. You didn't want him to think that she's the only reason you come here. He's not wrong, you admit to yourself, but that's not something I want to say out loud.
“I'm pretty bummed that she doesn't hang out with us anymore, but it's alright. I'm still having fun with the rest.”
Keonho raises an eyebrow, sending you a funny look. He clearly doesn't believe you.
“What? It's true.” Martins and Stella's fights are enough to make me stay,” you defend yourself, crossing your arms. He snorts at that, shaking his head with a soft laugh, “pfft, alright, whatever you say.”
Before you could even prove Keonho wrong, the others arrived with the drinks. The peaceful bubble you’d been in was popped by Woonhak’s loud entrance, followed by martin’s and stella’s bickering.
“Did we miss anything?” Woonhak asks, while handing you your usual drink and then settling onto the armrest across from you.
Keonho glanced at you, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Nothing much.”
You caught his eye and found the urge to roll your eyes. ‘Nothing much,’ he says. Like you didn’t just spend thirty minutes teaching him how to solve a puzzle.
The rest of the evening goes on as usual—cousins’ petty arguments, Woonhak’s complaint about finals, the comforting presence of childhood friends.
But tonight, Keonho’s presence felt different. You weren’t sitting next to each other anymore, but you paid attention now. When he laughed at something Martin said, you found yourself smiling too.
When it was time to leave, you grabbed your hoodie and headed for the door, where your mom was waiting for you outside.
“Hey.”
You turned around. Keonho was standing a few feet away, putting on his hoodie.
“Thanks for teaching me.”
“You’re welcome,” you said, surprised by how genuine he sounded.
He nodded, “Then, I’ll see you soon.”
It wasn’t a question; it was something he had already decided. And you subconsciously allowed it.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “See you soon.”
THE NEXT MORNING, your sleep was disturbed by the call from your mom.
Shuffling in your bed, you stretch out your hand to grab your phone from the bedside stand. Randomly tapping in hopes of picking up the call, you bring it to your ear.
“Hello?”
“[name], do you have any plans today?”
Before answering, you go through your weekly plans in your head, trying to remember if you had anything today. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Do you want to have breakfast with my friends and me? Stella and the others are here too!”
“Yeah, sure,” you answer without thinking it through.
“Wonhee is not here; her brother is though! " We’ll be in the cafe near our house,” she mentions. “Come quick!”
Your mom hung up the phone before you could even answer. That made you get up from the bed to start getting ready.
You washed your face and brushed your teeth, dressed up in a comfortable outfit, and just did your mascara for the makeup. It’s not like you had a lot of time on your hands.
The cafe wasn’t even a ten-minute walk from your house, but still you found yourself walking faster, getting excited about a simple breakfast.
When you pushed through the door, the strong smell of coffee and pastries hit you immediately. Your mom’s laugh rang out from the corner table, and you spotted her waving at you enthusiastically.
“Over here!”
She was seated with two other women—Mrs. Park and Mrs. Kim—Martin’s and Stella’s moms. The table was filled with toasts, omelets, fruits, and steaming cups of coffee. Stella and Martin were squeezed on one side, arguing over the last croissant.
And then there was Keonho.
He was sitting at the end of the table, scrolling through his phone, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He was dressed in a simple blue hoodie, hair slightly messy. he looked up to look at you, and that sight made you feel something strange in your stomach. For a second, his expression shifted—surprise, then something softer, a small smile tugging at his lips.
You looked away quickly.
“[name]!” Stella called out, finally noticing you. She waved you over, gesturing to an empty seat. “Come sit! We saved you a spot.”
The empty seat was next to Keonho.
You swallowed and made your way over, sliding into the chair next to him.
“Morning,” he said quietly, just loud enough for you to hear.
“Morning,” you replied, suddenly very interested in the menu.
Your mom, of course, noticed nothing. “[Name], Mrs. Kim and Mrs. Park haven’t been able to talk to you in so long; they’ve been asking about you!”
The next few minutes were filled with polite talks, your mom's friends commenting on how much you’d grown and how they remember when you were just a toddler. You answered automatically, nodding at the right moments, but the awareness kept drifting to the person next to you.
Keonho wasn’t saying much. he was focused on his talk with Martin while stirring his coffee. When your mom asked him about school, he answered politely, and you found yourself listening more intently than you’d like to admit.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Keonho?” Mrs. Kim asked suddenly, her voice calm with a slight teasing tone.
You almost choked on your drink.
Keonho laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, ma’am, just focused on swimming at the moment.”
“What a shame,” Mrs. Kim sighed dramatically. “You’re such a handsome boy.”
Stella groaned, “Mom, please—“
The table dissolved into laughter, and you found yourself laughing too. You risked a glance at Keonho, and he caught your eye, rolling his own in a silent can you believe this?
You bit your lip to keep from smiling too much.
Everything is normal, you tried telling yourself, despite the beating of your heart saying otherwise.
After breakfast, your mom and her friends decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. “You kids stay safe and have fun,” she said, already pulling on her jacket.
Stella groaned. “We’re not kids, Mom.”
“You’ll always be kids to me. Come on, ladies!”
The moms left in a bustle of laughter and goodbyes, leaving the four of you at the table. Martin leaned back in his chair, stretching.
“So…what do we do now?”
You looked around the table. Stella was scrolling through her phone, and Keonho was finishing his coffee. You silently thought about what you could do.
“Let’s go to the playground across the street,” Stella broke the silence, putting her phone in her pocket.
Martin cracked a smile at her suggestion, “What are we? kids?”
“I mean, your aunt said that you’ll always be one to her.”
“Keonho, shut your mouth.”
You giggled at the interaction.
The playground was small, but well-kept—a few swings, a slide, and a bench that looked like it had seen better days. Stella immediately claimed the swings, pumping her legs to get as high as possible. Martin sat on the bench, scrolling on his phone, occasionally looking up to mock her.
You found yourself standing near the slide, not sure what to do with yourself.
“You okay?”
You turned. Keonho was standing a few feet away, hands in his hoodie pocket, watching you with a curious expression.
“Yeah,” you said, still a little bit awkward. “Just…not sure what to do.”
He nodded towards the bench. “Martin is gonna be on that thing for a while. Stella’s probably going to convince us to get on the swings eventually.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
He grinned. “Depends on who’s pushing.”
Before you could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, looked at the notification, and his expression changed to a more relaxed one.
“Sorry,” he said, tapping out a quick reply. “Just a friend.”
“No worries.”
He pocketed the phone and looked at you again. “Seonghyeon. Martin and I have known him for a while. We were supposed to study later, but he’s trying to back out.”
You blinked. “Seonghyeon?”
“Yeah, you know him?”
“he’s in my class,” you said, surprised. “We are actually seatmates.”
Keonho’s eyebrows rose. “Small world”
“Apparently.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I owe you a thank you then; your notes helped us both a lot last semester.”
“I’m glad,” you laughed, tension in your shoulders easing, “did he give you a copy?”
“Nope, we shared them when we studied. He kept complaining about how much information we had to memorize.”
“Sounds like him.”
Stella’s voice cut through the air. “Are you two going to stand there talking, or are you going to push me?”
Keonho looked at you, playful glint in his eyes, “Duty calls.”
“Don’t push her too hard,” Martin called from the bench. “She will throw up.”
“I will not!”
You laughed as Keonho walked over to the swings and gave it a half-hearted push that made Stella shriek. Martin was laughing now, too, and you found yourself smiling.
This is nice, really nice.
The hangout went well. With time, you joined Stella on the swings, and Martin told a funny story about a time when he and his friend Juhoon played basketball.
When you all went home, the sun was already behind the horizon. You said your goodbyes. You’re all gonna meet again tomorrow at school anyway.
And that was something Keonho was not sure about.
When he walked in home, he could hear his parents chatting in the kitchen and his sister laughing in her room.
He came in to greet his parents and went straight to his room, taking his phone and scrolling through his contacts.
When he found the right one, he pressed the call button and waited for the person to pick it up, while pacing around the room.
“what’s up, keonho?”
“Seonghyeon, I need your help badly.” Keonho let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“With what?”
“If I see [name] tomorrow at school, what do I do?” Keonho whispered, closing the door to his room.
“[Name]? Did the breakfast go well?” Seonghyeon asked, surprised. Keonho mentioned that he and Martin went to a cafe and you were there, but that was all Seonghyeon knew.
“Yeah, I’d say so. We all hung out after; I literally just came home.”
“damn,” Seonghyeon smirked. “Just say hi as a normal person. don’t make it weird.”
“Yea—“Keonho gulped, “I know, it’s just, what do I do?”
“What the fuck do you mean ‘what do you do’ Keonho?” Seonghyeon sneered. “Just send her a wave or a nod; there’s nothing else to it.”
“Okay, yeah,” Keonho mumbled. “You’re right.”
“I gotta go now, don’t fumble it tomorrow.”
“Mhm,” Keonho acknowledged.
When Seonghyeon hung up, Keonho changed his clothes and went to sleep, hoping that the new week would go well.
MONDAY MORNING came faster than expected.
Keonho had barely slept—his mind kept replaying the cafe, the playgrounds, the way you laughed at Martin’s stories. He'd tossed and turned for hours before finally drifting off.
Now, standing in the hallway in front of his open locker, he felt like he was about to go to the international competition.
Just say hi, don't make it weird. He spotted you at the end of the hallway, chatting with Seonghyeon. You laughed at something he said. Keonho felt his stomach do a weird flip.
okay. Here we go.
He walked towards you, trying to look casual. When you noticed him, you just smiled—a small smile that still made his heart race.
“Morning,” he said, hoping his voice didn't crack.
“Morning,” you replied, still smiling.
And because he didn't know what else to do, he waved. a small, awkward wave that made him want to sink into the ground. Seonghyeon was watching him with barely concealed amusement.
Keonho wanted to die.
But you just laughed—not meanly, never, but warmly, and said: “See you at lunch?”
“Yeah,” he managed. “See you then”
Keonho walked away feeling like he just swam 5 laps in a row.
The week continued like that. Filled with small moments that felt way bigger than they were.
On Tuesday, you passed him in the hallway and greeted him first. He almost forgot to reply.
On Wednesday, you sat with him and Stella at lunch, talking about the upcoming function. Stella complained about having to babysit, and you laughed. He couldn't stop thinking about how nice your laugh sounded.
On Thursday, he found himself texting you about the biology homework. It was a flimsy excuse–he didn't even take biology. But you still responded, and you ended up chatting for an hour about everything.
By Friday, Keonho realized something.
He wasn't just interested anymore.
He was falling.
As for you, the week had been…strange. Not in a bad way.
You couldn't quite put your finger on when things had shifted, but somewhere between awkward hallway greetings and lunchtime conversations, Keonho had become a constant presence in your day. You found yourself noticing him in the crowd, smiling without realizing.
It was ridiculous. You'd known him for years—barely, sure, but still. Why was this different?
Because before, you never really saw him, a small voice in your head whispered. And now, you can't stop.
You pushed the thought away, focusing on your biology notes. But the slight grin on your face wouldn't fade.
THE WEEKEND ARRIVED faster than you expected.
When your mom told you about the hangout at Stella’s house, you felt a flutter of anticipation you couldn't quite explain. You told yourself it was because you'd been bored at the last one—which was true—but a smaller part of you knew the real reason.
You arrived to find the house buzzing with noise. Adults were scattered around the dining room, drinks in hand, laughter filling the air. Stella’s younger cousins were running around the living room, and Martin was trying to escape their grasp.
And then you saw him.
Keonho was standing near the kitchen, talking to Stella’s mom. When he noticed you, his face lit up with a small smile that made your ears go red.
He greeted your mom first. When she joined the others in the dining room, he turned to face you.
“Hey,” he started. “You made it.”
“Wouldn't miss it,” you said, surprising yourself with how much you meant it.
The evening continued with a loud and chaotic energy in the best way possible. You found yourself gravitating towards Keonho without really meaning to—standing next to him during conversations, laughing a little bit louder at his comments, catching his eye during conversations and sharing a soft smile.
And then, as the night wore on, the adults made an announcement.
“Stella, Martin—we’re going to the convenience store. Be back in thirty minutes. Can you watch Louis?”
You blinked. Louis was Stella’s younger brother—a chubby-cheeked toddler with endless energy.
“Wait, what?” Stella started. “Mom—“
“Thirty minutes! Don’t give him anything sweet!”
And just like that, the adults were gone.
You looked around. The four of you stood in the living room. Louis was sitting on the floor with his toys, and an awkward silence settled over the group.
Stella and Martin exchanged a look.
“We’ll be right back,” Stella said, grabbing her cousin's arm. “We need to get something from upstairs.”
“Stella—“ Keonho started.
“Babysitting! You will be fine!”
And then they were gone too.
You stood there, frozen, watching them disappear. Keonho let out a long sigh beside you.
“Did they just—“
“Leave us alone with a toddler?” You finished. “Yeah, they did.”
Louis looked up at you with big, curious eyes.
And then he burst into a run.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of chasing, laughing, and almost stepping onto toys.
Louis was fast—faster than any toddler you had encountered before. You and Keonho ended up working together to catch him.
At some point, you’d both ended up on the floor with Louis in Keonho’s lap playing with his hoodie strings. You were exhausted, but smiling.
“He’s…a lot,” you smiled, catching your breath.
Keonho laughed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, but he’s cute.”
“He’s cute when he’s still,” you agreed.
Louis looked between the two of you, his tiny head scrunched in thought. Then he asked a question you’d never see coming.
“Are you two dating?”
You nearly choked. “What?”
“Are you two dating?” He innocently repeated, looking at Keonho expectantly. “Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”
Keonho’s face went red. “No, no—we’re just friends”
“Just friends,” you repeated, nodding your head.
Louis seemed unsatisfied with this answer. He looked at you, then at Keonho, then at you again.
“You look like you’re dating,” he declared and then squirmed off Keonho’s lap to grab his toy car.
You and Keonho stared at each other, both of you frozen.
And then, without thinking, you both burst into nervous laughter.
“Kids,” Keonho muttered, shaking his head.
“Kids,” you agreed, your heart pounding.
Later, when Louis was finally distracted by a cartoon, Keonho noticed your shoelaces were untied.
“Wait,” he knelt down, “You’re going to trip.”
“Keonho, I can—“
But he was already doing it.
He tied your shoelaces carefully, his fingers brushing against your shoe. It was such a small gesture, but the sight of him kneeling there, focused on keeping you safe, made you catch your breath.
When he looked up, his eyes met yours.
And something shifted.
After definitely more than thirty minutes had passed, you were holding Louis. The toddler curled up against your chest, and Keonho was standing close—closer than he usually did. He kept glancing at you, making sure you didn’t bump into anything while walking to the kitchen, his hand hovering near your back without quite touching.
You were so aware of him. Every time he moved, you felt it. Every time he looked at you, you felt it.
You tried telling yourself that he was just being considerate, that you’re both just babysitting, that it’s normal.
But nothing about the way your heart was racing was normal at all.
When the adults returned soon after, Stella and Martin finally came back downstairs. The chaos resumed, and you and Keonho drifted apart.
But he still glanced at you from time to time, like you were the only thing that mattered.
THE NEXT WEEK, everything went as usual, except you found yourself having lunch with Stella, Martin, and Keonho a lot more often than before.
Sometimes Wonhee joined you, but not for a long time. She would sit down, greet you, talk about her plans, and say bye. Earlier, it would upset you that she stopped hanging out with you, but things have changed.
You don’t seem to rely on her as much anymore. Spending time with others on the weekends greatly impacted your interactions at school. You could easily strike up a conversation with Stella or laugh at Martin’s jokes without worrying about how you sound.
And for Keonho…It was both easy and complicated at the same time.
One day, he found you sitting in the library after school.
“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat in front of you. “I need your help with something.”
You looked up from your textbook, surprised to see him. “With what?”
“Math,” he winced, taking out a crumpled worksheet from his bag. “I know it’s not your subject, but I’m desperate. Stella’s not helpful and Martin’s worse.”
You laughed, “You came to me for math help?”
“Seonghyeon said you’re patient,” he said, and there was almost a shyness in how he said it. “And that you’re smart.”
The compliment caught you off guard. You felt warmth creep up your neck.
“I’m… not great at math,” you sighed. “But I can try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
That session was awkward. You both were hyper-aware of each other. The textbooks in front of you acted as shields. Every time your hands brushed against each other, both of you would quickly retrieve them and laugh nervously.
But thankfully, as time passed, the tension eased. He asked questions, and you answered. You worked through problems together, and when he got one right, he grinned at you like he’d won a prize.
“See?” you said. “You’re a fast learner.”
“I have a good teacher,” he replied, and the way he said it gave you déjà vu.
After that, sessions became a part of your routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday, you’d meet to be in the library after school. He would show you his homework, and you would work through it together, the hour passing faster than it should.
Keonho started bringing snacks. First, it was just a bag of gummies, then a sandwich, then a coffee when you mentioned you were tired.
“You know, you don’t have to do that?” you asked when he set the cup down in front of you.
“Yeah,” he replied, shrugging. “I want to.”
And there’s that.
After a particularly long session, you had to prepare for his quiz, Keonho packed up his things and looked at you.
“Are you hungry?”
You blinked. “What?”
“I’m starving,” he admitted. “And there’s a place nearby. Really good food, I go there after practices sometimes.”
You hesitated at first. It felt like it would blur the line between you two more. But isn’t the line already blurry?
“Okay,” you said. “Let me pack up.”
The cafe was small and cozy, tucked away on a side street you never noticed. You sat across from each other in a booth, and the conversation flowed easily—no awkward pauses, no more overthinking. It felt right.
After you were done with the food, Keonho insisted on paying.
“Keonho, you don’t have to—“
“I want to,” He said, cutting you off. “Consider it as a thank you for all this tutoring.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he just smiled. And the words just died in your throat.
“Fine,” you said. “But the next time, it’s on me”
His smile widened. “Next time?”
Your eyebrows shot up, face turning red. “I mean—if there is a next time, if you’d like it.”
“I’d love it,” he said softly.
AFTER DINNER, you decided to take a walk along the curbside.
The evening cool air hit against your skin, making you slightly shiver. Keonho was walking close to you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.
And then, without a warning, he reached out.
His hand reached out to your face, brushing against your cheek to fix your hair, tucking a stray strand behind your ear.
It was such a small gesture. Such an ordinary thing. So why did it feel like the world turned upside down?
“You had something in your hair,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh,” you managed to reply. “Thanks.”
You looked at him as you continued walking. Your heart skipped once.
Then twice.
You forgot whatever you’d been about to say, too caught up in the warmth that lingered where his fingers brushed your skin.
In that moment, something clicked.
Oh my god, you thought, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. Oh my god, I like him.
After walking you home, Keonho came back and lay down on his bed.
Staring at the ceiling, he replayed all shared moments with you. he couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d taught him math and sudoku, how you’d smile at his attempts at being funny, or how shy you were when he complimented you from time to time.
And how you’d looked at him when he tucked your hair earlier.
He might’ve just kissed you right then and there, could’ve just blurted everything that has been on his mind.
As Keonho continues to stare down at the ceiling, he realizes that he has fallen for you before he even properly knew you. The quiet energy you radiated captured his attention too easily.
But now, these feelings were impossible to ignore.
He had no idea what to do about them.
THE NEW WEEKEND meant the new family friends' hangout.
This time, it was at Martin’s house. The backyard was filled with adults, the smell of barbecue hanging in the air. Martin and Stella were already bickering about music, and Woonhak escaped to somewhere quieter to finish his college assignment.
Keonho was there too.
He spotted you the moment you walked in, his face breaking into the same smile that always made your heart do a flip. You tried to play it cool, acting like you didn’t completely change how you viewed him a couple of days ago.
The evening passed as usual, in blurs of small talk and laughter.
“We’re out of soda,” Martin suddenly announced after searching the mini fridge.
“Again?” Stella sighed. “Martin, I told you to get more.”
“I’ll go buy some,” Keonho said, chuckling.
“Can you grab some chips too?” Woonhak called out.
“Got it.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket before turning to you.
“Come keep me company?” He asked, eyes glimmering under the shining stars.
You looked around. Everyone was already in their own world.
“Yeah,” you said, walking to the fence. “Let’s go.”
The walk to the store was quick, but it felt longer. It was filled with quiet small talk about mundane things—school, hangout, both of you even mentioned Louis.
The store itself was small and brightly lit. Keonho grabbed a few bottles of soda from the fridge, while you grabbed a bag of chips for Woonhak. When you went to pay, Keonho reached out and handed his card to the cashier before you could even pull out your wallet.
You looked at him with a pout, hinting that he didn’t have to pay.
As he took back his card, he chuckled. “It’s okay, I’ll make Martin pay me back.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Whatever.”
Both of you walked out the door, and you were again met with the night’s cool air. As you were walking back, the silence engulfed your space. The only noise interrupting the quiet atmosphere was the sound of your footsteps and a distant hum of traffic.
You almost reached the house when Keonho suddenly stopped.
You turned to look at him, confused. “What’s wrong?”
He put the grocery bags on the street, walking towards you.
“Nothing's wrong,” he said quietly. “I just,” he swallowed.
He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. Then looked away.
“Keonho?” You stepped closer to check on him.
He looked back at you, and there was something extremely vulnerable in his eyes. Something genuine.
“I wanted to ask you,” he confessed. “And it might sound sudden, but—“
He took a step closer. The distance between the two of you was almost nonexistent. He was close enough that you could feel his breath.
“Can I kiss you?”
For a moment, the world stopped.
You were processing his question while he was starting to feel nervous in front of you.
Instead of answering, you brought your hands to cup his face—and then you were standing on your tiptoes before you could overthink it. Keonho immediately placed his hands on your waist, his gaze flickering to your lips for the briefest second before finding your eyes again.
Neither of you could remember who was the first one to close the distance.
The kiss was tentative at first, as though you were both afraid the slight movement might shatter the moment.
When neither of you pulled away, it deepened naturally. It became more gentle, more careful; like you both were discovering something you needed.
When you finally pulled away, you were both breathing a little heavier. Keonho’s hands wrapped around your middle, his head falling into your neck.
And you stood there, under the stars, holding him.
The world kept moving; the night was still young.
And somehow, with him in your arms, it felt like it was just the beginning of everything.
trope/au » social media/texts format, established relationship au, non-idol au
genre » fluff, (yet another attempt at) comedy, some of them are jelly, some of them are cute, some of them are...hm-
warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » pet names (babe, baby), mingi is taller than reader
navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist
this idea came pretty randomly but i was trying to decide if i should get the aniteez dolls or not but even if i do, i know i'll never take it out the house because i would be so scared of losing it (all my the boyz sunwoo dolls are at home too and he's never seen the light sdfjkskdfjhf). so then this was born!! this is my personal opinion and i did struggle with some members since i still consider myself somewhat of a baby atiny but i hope you all enjoy this one!!
navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist
join the taglist here » @k-films @kflixnet @k-vanity @starlit-network @kstrucknet @blossomnet @pirateeznet @haneul-and-clouds @svzllts @yerimacoustic @ffenjoyerdazme
Warning(s) - smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (m and f receiving), dubcon (Mark insists 'just the tip' but it's very much not that), multiple orgasms
Summary - What starts as a joke about condoms turns into desperate, heated intimacy that ends with Mark grinning against your lips, swearing his pull-out game is flawless.
Word Count - 2.3k
Author’s Note - This was inspired by a fever dream about texting Mark
Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls (join my taglist!)
Now Playing: Watching TV - Mark
Your thumbs hover over your phone longer than they should before you text your boyfriend, Mark.
‘we’re out of condoms’
‘too lazy to go buy more’
‘how good is your pull out game?’
You don’t expect a reply right away. He was probably on his way home right now. But your phone buzzes within seconds.
‘👀’
‘you wanna test it?’
‘because i’m almost home’
You laugh to yourself, tossing your phone aside. You were mostly joking anyway.
By the time you hear his key in the lock, you’ve forgotten all about it. You were in sweats and one of his hoodies, reheating leftovers and scrolling through social media when he walked in with a grin tucked into the corners of his mouth like he already knows something you don’t want to admit.
“Hey,” he greets, dropping his bag by the door. “About what you said earlier…”
“I was kidding,” you tell him, handing him a plate. “Mostly.”
Mark smirks, brushing a kiss to your cheek before settling on the couch. You join him not too long after. Dinner is easy, quiet. You eat with your legs tangled together, shoulders brushing, the TV humming in the background. It’s the kind of night that feels domestic. Warm lighting, full bellies, a shared blanket. Ordinary in the best way.
But then Mark’s hand slips beneath the hem of your hoodie. Just a little. Just enough to trace circles over your bare waist, his thumb brushing the softest part of your stomach. His fingertips graze the band of your underwear like it’s an accident, but you know better.
You glance at him, ready to tease, but he’s already watching you, his gaze low-lidded and dangerous.
“Still too lazy to go buy some?” he asks.
You blink at him. “You’re the one who drove here and didn’t stop to buy any.”
“Mmm,” he hums, lips twitching. His fingers trail higher, ghosting just beneath the curve of your breast before slipping away again. “Guess we’re not doing anything tonight, then.” You shove his shoulder lightly, but he only laughs, leaning closer until his breath warms your ear. “Nothing at all,” he whispers, hand skimming down your thigh under the blanket.
“Nothing,” you agree, biting back a smile, though neither of you seems to mean it as the teasing touches linger, each one daring the other to break first.
The first kiss is slow, more a press of mouths than anything urgent. But it builds fast, his fingers skating under your shirt, yours curling in his hair, the blanket slipping off both of your laps as he nudges you onto your back.
Mark’s hips settle between yours. It was just the weight of him, the warm slide of sweatpants against you. Then he grinds down, and your breath catches.
He groans, low and sharp. “Are you sure we don’t have anything?” he groans into your neck. “And you’re not—”
“Nope,” you respond, already rolling your hips up into his. “Not on anything.”
You both freeze for a second. The tension builds between you in a shared, sharp awareness. But then he does it again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, letting you feel how hard he is even through the layers.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is—this is so bad.”
“It’s so bad,” you echo, arms tightening around his shoulders. “But you feel so good.”
You’re both laughing under your breath, the kind of laugh that dissolves into breathless sighs as your bodies fall into a rhythm. Dry heat. Friction. His hips meet yours again and again, your panties growing damp.. You feel his cock twitch, how close he’s getting just from this.
Mark pulls back just enough to look at you. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”
“Doing what?” you tease, but your voice is thin, your thighs already trembling.
He kisses you again, messier this time, his hand dipping down between you and into your underwear. His fingers slide through the heat of you, and he groans into your mouth. “You’re so—” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he pushes two fingers inside, your walls gripping him instantly, and he swears against your lips.
The stretch makes you gasp, your hips lifting into his hand. He curls his fingers just right, knuckles dragging against your softest spots until your thighs tremble. It’s all slick sounds and sharp breaths now. His fingers massaging your walls, your hips rocking into his hand helplessly.
Your hand finds him, too, slipping past the waistband of his sweats. He’s flushed and hard when you feel the silky heat stretched tight over the heavy length of him. He shudders when your fingers wrap around him, leaking slick against your palm. You stroke him in time with the thrust of his fingers inside you, the rhythm sloppy and desperate but perfectly matched, each of you unraveling the other with every tug and curl.
“Fuck, babe—” Mark’s forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers pump faster, curling deep until your thighs quake. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit with each movement, pulling sharp little sounds from your throat. You squeeze him harder in return, dragging your thumb over the swollen, wet tip, making his hips jerk helplessly into your hand.
It builds fast, too fast, and you’re clenching around his fingers, pulling him deeper, moaning into his mouth as your body seizes with release. He doesn’t let up, working you through it until your hips fall limp beneath him, sweat slicking your skin.
You barely catch your breath before you’re fumbling at your waistband, tugging your pants and underwear down your legs, and tossing them aside. Mark sits back, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as he watches you crawl towards him.
“Wait, wait—” Mark’s protest is drowned in a choked sound as you kneel between his thighs and tug his sweats down just enough to free him. He’s thick and flushed in your hand, twitching when you lean down to take him in your mouth.
The first wet lick up the full length of his cock has his head tilting back against the couch. “Oh, fuck.” His fingers thread into your hair, not pushing, just clinging.
You hollow your cheeks, sliding down until he hits the back of your throat, then pulling off with a wet pop to lick along the sensitive underside, tongue tracing every vein until he’s trembling. Mark moans helplessly, thighs flexing beneath your hands.
When you cup his balls gently, his whole body jerks. He gasps your name like it’s the only word he knows, high and thin, hips twitching up despite himself. You suck harder, dragging your tongue in slow, deliberate laps, alternating between swallowing him down and teasing the swollen head with light flicks until he’s whimpering.
“Fuck—baby, please…please, I can’t,” he pants, tugging weakly at your hair. “You’re killing me.” His voice breaks on a groan. “I need to be inside you, just the tip—I promise, just the tip.”
You hum around him, pulling back just enough to smirk. “Only the tip. You have to promise.”
“I promise!” he cries out, already dragging you up for a desperate kiss.
You’re already half gone, nodding as he pulls his sweatpants and underwear off, throwing them to join yours on the floor. He pushes you back against the couch, guiding himself to your entrance. The first stretch has you crying out, your nails digging into his arms.
Mark shudders, jaw tight, pushing only the head of his cock inside. His whole body shakes as he exhales through clenched teeth, forehead pressing to yours.
“Fuck—just the tip,” he growls, almost like a warning to himself. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he fights not to push farther, but every pulse of your walls around him drags him deeper by instinct. He’s panting, chest heaving, veins standing out in his neck, yet he stays still, like he’s convincing himself as much as you. But then your hips twitch, a needy little roll that drags another inch of him inside.
“Mark,” you whine, already trembling.
He curses again, thrusting shallowly, just enough for the tip to press and retreat. His resolve breaks with every little sound that escapes from your mouth. Each time he rocks forward, more of him slips past the tight clutch of your walls until you feel the thick weight of him stretching you open.
“I only meant—just the tip,” he pants, but the lie dies when his hips drive forward harder, burying half of him in one slick thrust. “God—fuck—you’re so tight,” he stammers, voice cracking. His rhythm falters as he pulls almost all the way out, then sinks back in, slower this time, savoring every inch.
You cry out, back arching, knuckles white against his shoulders. “Mark—fuck, you’re already inside,” you whimper, voice breaking. “You might as well just fuck me.”
Mark squeezes his eyes shut, groaning like he’s tearing himself apart. But your desperate pleas crack him wide open. With one hard thrust, he pushes fully inside, hips flush to yours, the stretch searing and euphoric.
The heat of him fills every inch, thick and throbbing, textured veins dragging against your walls until you’re gasping, overwhelmed by how deep he reaches. You cling to him like you’ll fall apart if you don’t, sobbing his name against his shoulder as he holds you there, buried in your wet heat, shaking with the effort to stay in control.
It’s too much, too hot, too good. Mark sets a rougher pace, hips snapping into yours with raw need. His body trembles against you, growls ripping from his throat as he loses his rhythm. You’re gasping, nails scraping down his back, his body shaking with the effort of holding on.
“Shit—shit, I’m gonna cum—” His thrusts grow frantic and desperate, the tip of his cock nudging so deep you swear you can’t breathe.
Your hands fly up, clutching Mark’s face, forcing him to look at you. “Not inside, Mark—You have to pull out.” Your voice is broken but firm, even as your own pleasure crests.
He groans miserably, teeth gritted, fighting his body’s instinct. “Fuck—I will, I will—”
Mark’s hips stutter before he yanks out at the last second with a ragged groan cry, spilling hot across your stomach in heavy spurts where your hoodie rode up. The sound of his pleasure tears out of him, sharp and guttural, as his body bows and then collapses forward. His forehead falls to your shoulder, chest heaving, his muscles trembling with the aftershock. His breath is harsh against your neck, broken gasps tangled with the sound of your own ragged breathing.
But he doesn’t stop. Still shuddering, he drags his mouth down your throat, pushing your hoodie up higher, exposing your breasts, and leaving open-mouthed kisses on them as he makes his way lower. His hand slips between your thighs, spreading you wide as he settles in, his other palm smearing through his own release across your skin. He groans at the mess, at how wet you already are even before his tongue is on you.
The first drag of it is slow and deliberate, from your entrance to your clit, but then he’s sucking you into his mouth, greedy and insistent. He flattens his tongue against you, licking broad and heavy until you’re writhing, then narrowing to spear inside you, fucking into your heat with wet strokes that make your hips jump. He pulls back just enough to circle your clit, lips closing around it, sucking until your vision swims.
“Mark—holy fuck—” Your voice cracks, your thighs trembling around his head, but he only groans into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He alternates between tongue-fucking you deep and sucking hard on your clit, working you with a feral sort of focus that leaves you gasping. The wet, obscene sounds fill the air as he slurps at everything you give him, tongue drinking you down like he can’t get enough.
It’s too much, the pleasure building until it finally breaks you. Your body arches, shuddering hard as your orgasm rips through you, your thighs clamping tight around his head. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, licking you through it, swallowing every drop as you cry out and shake against him.
Only when you’re trembling and boneless does he finally let up, kissing back up your body in slow, messy lines. His tongue traces your stomach, licking up the cooling streaks of his cum, lapping at the taste of himself before moving higher.
When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deep and wet, pushing the salty tang of him and the sweetness of you onto your tongue. The kiss is filthy and desperate, spit-slick and hungry, until you’re both panting against each other’s mouths.
At last, Mark lowers himself onto you, his body heavy and warm as he goes limp. His arms circle around your shoulders, holding you close, his cheek pressed to yours, while his breathing finally starts to steady.
His hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead when he finally cracks a grin against your cheek, breath ghosting over your skin. He nuzzles into you, lips brushing lazily along your jaw before he murmurs, voice hoarse but teasing. “My pull out game is pretty solid, huh?”
You let out a weak laugh, still dazed, smacking lightly at his shoulder. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Mark only chuckles, smug but exhausted, pressing another sloppy kiss to your mouth as if to seal his point. “Almost doesn’t count, babe.”
You groan, burying your face in his chest, but the corners of your mouth betray you with a smile. His arms tighten around you, and even as his joke lingers, he melts further into your body, humming softly as sleep starts to creep in.
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