7 Works by neonencore
Listing Works
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“It’s hot in the dorms, and we’re both guys, so it’s fine, right?” Jisung asked, his voice tilting into that bratty register that usually made Minho want to either strangle him or pin him against a wall. “If you’re so frustrated by it, then you can also wear less. Unless you’re too shy.”
The table went silent. Chan looked between the two of them. “Don’t do it, Jisung,” Chan warned softly. “You’re poking a sleeping tiger.”
Minho didn’t look at Chan. He kept his gaze locked on Jisung. Minho felt a familiar heat coil in his gut, a predatory instinct clicking into place.
He liked it when Jisung played games, but he loved it even more when he won them.
When Minho takes Jisung’s casual dare to "wear less" around the dorms a little too literally.
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“It’s nice to see you again, Jisung-ah.”
Not Jisungie.
Not Sungie.
Certainly not the playful, teasing jagi he used to throw around when they were kids running through the sprinklers in their backyards.
Just a polite, distant, adult Jisung-ah.
Ten years after not seeing each other, Jisung learns that being treated like a stranger hurts far worse than being hated.
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Jisung: i scraped my knee on the coffee table corner 😭😭 it hurts so bad
Jisung: can you blow me
Jisung: can you blow it for me*
Jisung: sorry typo
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The itchiness he’d been ignoring on his arms instantly sharpened, cascading down his chest and pooling between his thighs as a heavy, demanding, pulsing ache. His mouth went bone-dry. His thighs twitched, slick suddenly leaking hot and heavy enough to soak straight through his cotton underwear.
“Oh,” Jisung whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh, wow.”
“Don’t ‘oh wow’ me,” Minho growled, though he was now hovering directly over him, casting a massive shadow. “Get in your room. Lock the door. Now. Before I lose whatever the fuck is left of my mind.”
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Heat bloomed in Jisung’s cheeks, crawling down his neck. It’s his problem. He could feel his body responding, a deep, familiar pull starting low in his gut. His cunt began to ache, a slow, liquid throb that slicked him up instantly. He squeezed his thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure-pain up his spine. He risked a glance at Minho.
Minho hadn’t moved. But the line of his jaw was tight, the muscle working as he gritted his teeth. His breathing was no longer even; it was shallow, hitching. Jisung’s eyes trailed down Minho’s back, over the loose t-shirt he wore, to the place where his hips met the mattress.
Jisung realized he was not alone.
Minho was subtly, desperately shifting against the bedding, seeking friction for the hard length Jisung knew was pressing into his briefs.
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I love you. I loved you before I knew your name this time and I will love you after I've forgotten it, because I never really forget, that's the joke of it. I remember everything and you remember nothing and somehow it still, every single time, ends the same aching way.
— M.
private letters of Lee Minho, the vampire, kept across eight lifetimes.
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“Look, just read the text out loud. If it looks like a sketchy phishing link, Chan’s just going to delete it without opening.”
“We sent a picture of you tied to the chair!” the twitchy man yelled, waving the screen in Jisung’s face.
Jisung squinted at the photo. “Oh, wow. When d’you take it? Bad lighting, terrible angle, and—I have a double chin! Can we take another one? I’ll pose for extra credit.” A bulb lit up above Jisung’s head. “Ah yeah, my phone! Use my phone, here, here, in my pocket. Damn, did you turn off my location, by the way?”
Getting kidnapped by amateurs is annoying, but watching your terrifying, exhausted rescuer completely lose his cool on the drive home? Still scary—and entirely too sexy.