#Had started this on impulse and now so addicted to it. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sillylilsquid · 29 days ago

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𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢

♥︎summary: Thanos and you have always been each other’s safe place. You helped him through his darkest moments, but now you’re the one spiraling—reckless nights, self-destructive choices, and a past she won’t face. Thanos refuses to let you slip away, stepping in when things go too far. A getaway forces buried truths to surface, blurring the lines of their relationship as old wounds and unspoken feelings collide. But healing isn’t easy, and neither is love. He makes you feel something. Something like safe.

♥︎trigger warnings: au, no squid game. sexual themes, brief descriptions addiction, mentions of sa(nothing in depth, just implied), suggestive photos, blackmailing reader w/ said suggestive photos, oc thanos. minors dni!! 18+

♥︎a/n: 12.4k words. plz enjoy!! i have been writing so much lately, so be on the look out for much more hehe 🖤

The first time you ever saw Thanos cry was in the alley behind a convenience store, vape in one hand, bruised knuckles on the other. He didn’t say much, just mumbled something about how he was “so fucking tired,” voice thick and strained, like he had been holding it in for too long. You sat beside him on the curb, handed him the bottle of cheap soju you had bought on impulse, and let him talk when he was ready. That night, he told you about the weight of expectations, the suffocating grip of addiction, and the fear that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t strong enough to pull himself out of it.

The first time he saw you cry was in your car outside your ex’s apartment. You hadn’t meant to call him, but your fingers moved faster than your brain, and before you knew it, he was there–leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed, waiting. You were embarrassed at first, wiping at your cheeks furiously, trying to play it off, but Thanos didn’t buy it. Instead, he sighed, climbed into the car, and cranked up the heat. “Alright, babe,” he had said, voice softer than usual. “You wanna cry about it first, or you wanna tell me what happened?”

The first time you saw him high, it scared the hell out of you. He wasn’t himself, not really. His eyes were distant, movements sluggish, laughter hollow. You had heard the rumors, but seeing it with your own eyes was different. That night, you dragged him out of some shitty house party, ignoring the protests, the slurred reassurances that he was “fine.” You had sat him down on your couch, forced him to drink water, made sure he didn’t choke in his sleep. And in the morning, when the weight of his choices settled in, you didn’t scold him. You just made him coffee and told him, “I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?”

And now…now things were different. Now, it was you spiraling. Now, it was you disappearing for days, shutting people out, then swinging to the opposite extreme–going out, drinking too much, spending money like it was nothing. You told yourself you were fine, but Thanos wasn’t buying it.

Thanos noticed it in the little things first. The way your texts became inconsistent–sometimes flooding his phone with nonsense at three in the morning, other times leaving his messages on read for days. The way you bounced between isolation and excess, spending entire weekends locked away in your apartment only to turn around and blow money on drinks for strangers at clubs you didn’t even like.

At first, he let it slide. Everyone went through phases. But then it started feeling less like a phase and more like a pattern.

The night he really knew something was wrong, he wasn’t even supposed to see you. You’d blown him off earlier in the day with some half assed excuse, so he was surprised when he spotted you across the club, drink in hand, laughing too loudly at something some random guy said.

You looked good–too good. The kind of good that wasn’t for yourself but for someone else. A mask. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, eyes a little too glossy, smile a little too wide. He watched as the guy leaned in closer, fingers ghosting over your wrist, and something in Thanos’ chest tightened.

Then he saw it; the exact moment you tipped past tipsy into reckless. The way your hands wavered when you reached for another drink. The way your smile faltered for half a second when the guy leaned in too close.

The slight flick of the guy’s wrist, the quick glance around before he tilted a small packet over your drink. Subtle. Almost too quick to notice. But Thanos saw everything.

That was it. That was too far. Thanos was already moving before he could think twice, his jaw set, his steps purposeful as he cut through the crowd toward you.

Within seconds, he was at your side, snatching the glass from your hand before you could take another sip. “What the–?” You blinked up at him, startled, your expression shifting from confusion to irritation in an instant.

Thanos didn’t even spare you a glance. His eyes were locked on the guy, his entire body radiating something dangerous, something dark. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low. Deadly.

The guy hesitated, feigning innocence. “Man, chill. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wrong answer.

Thanos didn’t need to explain. He reached forward, grabbing the guy by the collar, yanking him close enough that their noses almost touched. “You think I didn’t see that shit?” His voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a blade. “You wanna try that again, see what happens?”

The guy’s face paled instantly, his bravado crumbling. “A-alright, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just–just having fun.”

Thanos let out a humorless laugh, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he shoved the guy backward, making him stumble. “Get the fuck out of here. Before I really lose my temper.”

The guy didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ran the second Thanos released his death grip on his shirt.

You, on the other hand, weren’t running. You were staring at Thanos, arms crossed, lips pursed in frustration. “What the hell was that?”

Thanos exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his hair. “That guy put something in your drink.”

You frowned. “No, he didn’t.” Thanos clenched his jaw. “I saw him, babe.”

For a second, something faltered in your expression. Something uncertain. But then, just as quickly, it was gone–replaced by irritation, defiance. “Okay, well, thanks for the concern, but I can take care of myself.”

Thanos scoffed, his patience thinning. “Yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it sure as hell doesn’t look like it.” You glared at him. “I didn’t ask you to come save me.” “No, you didn’t,” he shot back. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

There was a beat of tense silence. Then, Thanos sighed, his voice softening. “Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here.”

Your jaw tensed, and your hands curled into loose fists at your sides. You wanted to argue, wanted to fight him on this, but deep down, you knew–he wasn’t giving you a choice. And even in your drunken stupor, a part of you didn’t want one.

You let out a frustrated sigh, crossing your arms as Thanos gently grabbed your wrist, guiding you through the crowd. You could’ve pulled away, but something about the way his fingers curled around yours, firm but not forceful, made you stay.

The cold night air slapped against your skin the second you stepped outside. It should have sobered you up, but instead, it just made the world tilt a little more. You stumbled slightly, and before you could catch yourself, Thanos’ arm was around your waist, steadying you.

“Easy, babe.” He murmured.

You huffed, pushing at his chest. “I told you–I don’t need you to save me.”

Thanos arched a brow. “Yeah? ‘Cause if I wasn’t here, you’d be drinking something laced with God-knows-what right now.”

Your stomach twisted, a sliver of doubt creeping in. You wanted to believe he was wrong, that he was overreacting–but deep down, you knew he wasn’t. It only made you angrier.

“Why do you even care so much?” you snapped. “You’re acting like you are my fucking dad or something.” Thanos let out a sharp breath, running a hand down his face. He was trying to be patient. You could tell.

“Because, babe,” he said, his voice softer this time, “I’ve seen where this leads.” His eyes locked onto yours, unyielding. “And I’m not gonna stand by and watch you burn yourself out.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging. You swallowed it down, shaking your head, trying to hold on to the anger. It was easier that way.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered. “I just…I just needed a break, okay?” Thanos frowned. “A break from what?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain it? The exhaustion that never went away, the feeling of drowning even when everything was fine, the way your own mind felt like a prison half the time?

Instead, you just scoffed, shoving at his chest again. “Whatever. I’ll just call a cab.” Thanos’ jaw ticked. “No. You’re coming with me.” Your eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Thanos held your gaze as if completely unfazed. “You throwing a tantrum right now, babe?” Your nostrils flared. “I’m not–”

“Cause it kinda seems like you are.” He smirked, tilting his head. “You wanna kick your feet, too? Maybe scream a little?”

Your face burned with frustration. “I hate you.” Thanos snorted. “Sure you do. Now get in the damn car.”

Before you could protest, he was steering you toward his car, opening the door for you like it was already decided. You hesitated. Considered fighting him on this. For some reason though, you let him push you into the passenger seat. And when he shut the door behind you, you stared out the window, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the fact that for the first time in weeks you didn’t feel completely alone.

The drive was quiet. Not the comfortable kind, where words weren’t needed. This was tense–thick with everything left unsaid.

You sat with your arms crossed, staring out the window like the streetlights were the most interesting thing in the world. Thanos, for once, wasn’t pushing you to talk. He just kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh, his eyes flicking toward you every so often.

You could feel it. His worry. His frustration. They way he was biting his tongue. It made your chest feel tight.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?” Thanos finally asked, voice steady but careful, like he was trying not to spook you.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your forehead against the cool glass. “I already told you,” you snapped. “I just needed a break.”

He hummed, clearly unimpressed with that answer. “A break from what, babe?” The nickname making you groan. You shut your eyes, willing away the lump forming in your throat. “Everything.”

Thanos sighed. “That’s not an answer.” “Well, it’s the only one I’ve got,” you muttered, nails digging into your palms.

A beat of silence. Then– “You know this isn’t you, right?” It made your chest feel tight. “You don’t know who I am.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Bullshit. You’re not the type to black out every weekend. You don’t throw money around like it means nothing. And you sure as hell don’t let random assholes buy you drinks without knowing what’s in ‘em.”

You flinched. “I wasn’t–” “Yeah, you were.” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. Just honest. “And that’s not you, babe. So, what the hell is going on?”

No words left your mouth. You just continued to stare down at your lap. What was going on?

You wanted to explain it, but how did you explain something you didn’t even fully understand yourself? How did you put into words the exhaustion, the weight in your chest that never really went away, the way everything felt too much and not enough at the same time?

Instead, all you could do was whisper, “I don’t know.”

Thanos glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s not good enough.”

Your head snapped up, irritation flaring again. “Well, sorry if my personal crisis isn’t meeting your fucking standards.”

Thanos didn’t flinch. “You wanna yell at me, babe? Fine. Go ahead. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breath hitched. That was the problem, wasn’t it. That he was still here, even when you were doing everything to push him away. You turned back toward the window, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “Just take me home, Thanos.”

A long pause. Then, instead of agreeing, he said, “Nah.” Your head whipped around, glaring. “What?”

Thanos’ grip tightened on the wheel as he made a sharp turn, heading the complete opposite direction of your apartment. “You think I’m dropping you off so you can sit in the dark and wallow? Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Thanos–” “Relax, babe. I’m not kidnapping you.” His lips twitched, but his voice was firm. “You need air. You need to get out of your head for a bit. So, humor me.”

The fight was slipping out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its place. So, instead of yelling, instead of insisting that you just wanted to be alone, you sighed, slumping back into your seat. “Fine.”

Thanos smirked, reaching over to poke your cheek. “There’s my girl.” You huffed, smacking his hand away, but for the first time that your lips twitched just slightly. Just a little.

You didn’t realize where he was taking you until the neon lights of the 24-hour convenience store came into view. You blinked. “Seriously?”

He pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, throwing the car into park. “What? You thought I was about to hit you with some deep, inspirational shit?” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Nah, babe. You need a snack.”

You frowned, your body still tense from everything. “A snack?” “A snack,” he repeated, already opening his door. “Now get your ass inside.”

For a second, you debated being difficult just for the sake of it. But then your stomach grumbled–loudly–betraying you as Thanos shot you a knowing look. “Uh-huh,” he smirked. “That’s what I thought.” You rolled your eyes but pushed open the door anyway, stepping out into the cool night air.

The store was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators and the scratchy pop song playing over the speaker. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you trailed behind Thanos, watching as he made a beeline for the snack aisle like he had a mission.

“Arlight,” he said, clasping his hands together. “What’s it gonna be, babe?” Sweet, salty, or ‘I have zero impulse control’?” Shaking your head you mumbled, “I’m not even hungry.”

Thanos ignored you completely, already reaching for a bag of chips. “That’s crazy, ‘cause I don’t remember asking.” You glared, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “You’re annoying.” “And you’re cranky when you’re hungry, " he shot back, crouching to grab something off the bottom shelf. “So, I’m doing us both a favor.”

A sigh fell from your lips, and you ran a hand through your tangled hair. The weight of the night is still pressing on you like a too-heavy coat. A tiny part of you, the stubborn part, thinks you should have insisted that you just wanted to go home. But instead, you found yourself feeling a little better than earlier just standing beside him, staring at the shelves.

A pack of strawberry Pocky caught your eye. Thanos followed your gaze, then grabbed it without hesitation. You frowned. “I didn’t say I wanted that.” “You didn’t have to.” Something about the way he said it–so casual, so certain–made your throat tighten.

You swallowed hard, looking away. “Anything else?” he asked, like he hadn’t just sent your brain into overdrive. You reached for a small carton of chocolate milk and looked up at him. “Happy?” Thanos grinned. “Proud of you, babe.” You rolled your eyes, but the fight in you felt smaller. Softer. The tension in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it wasn’t unbearable.

After checking out, the two of you climbed into the backseat of his car, the world outside dim and quiet. Thanos sprawled out in the corner, legs stretched across the seat, while you tucked yourself into the opposite side, knees drawn up to your chest. The only light came from the streetlamps outside, casting a faint glow over the dashboard.

He ripped open a bag of chips, tossing one into his mouth before looking over at you. “Alright, so are we gonna talk about it, or do I just keep stuffing you with snacks until you’re too full to be sad?”

Staring down at the carton in your hands you hesitated before opening it, taking a small sip but keeping your eyes casted away from him. “There’s nothing to really talk about.” Thanos made a face. “Wrong. Try again.”

Your jaw clenched, willing yourself not to snap at him. He was trying to care for you, you couldn’t hurt his feelings. “I just–” you let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Thanos stretched out, his legs spread wide with his knee resting against yours, and his arm along the back of the seat. “Ain’t nothing wrong with you, babe.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Feels like there is.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching you. Then he spoke, “You ever see a dog freak out ‘cause they got the zoomies?” Your brows pulled together. “What?”

Thanos smirked. “You know, like when they start running around in circles like a damn maniac, then five minutes later, they pass out like they fought a war?” You stared at him then, unamused. “Are you comparing me to a dog?” “More like a chihuahua,” he teased, stealing one of your Pocky.

“Thanos.” He snorted but shifted closer, nudging you with his knee. “I’m saying maybe your brain’s got the zoomies. You go, go, go–party, spend, drink, whatever–and then you crash. Hard.”

Your fingers tightened around the carton. “Yeah, well…what am I supposed to do about it?” Thanos tilted his head, studying you for a second. Then he reached over, poking the side of your face until you turned to look at him. “For starters? Let me help.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want help. But letting someone in–really in–was terrifying. He knew a lot about you, but this one thing…it was something you never wanted to let out of the depths of your brain.

Thanos must’ve seen it written all over your face because he nudged you again, his voice softer when he said, “You don’t gotta do it alone, babe.” Your throat felt tight again, and this time you didn’t fight. Instead, you just nodded.

Thanos’ apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the lamp in his room. You sat on the edge of his bed, your hair damp from a shower sticking to the oversize hoodies he’d given you–his favorite, one that smelled like him. The sleeves were too long, the fabric soft against your skin, and yet you still felt cold. He’d offered you a pair of sweatpants, but you turned them down opting to stay in your underwear.

He sat next to you, one leg bent up on the bed, his arm draped casually over the back of the headboard. He’d given you space since the talk in the car, not pushing, not pressing, just…waiting.

It was familiar the way the two of you could just exist in the same space with no pressures or expectations. But your body was tense, your mind racing with everything you still hadn’t said.

Thanos watched you, his gaze heavy, like he was trying to figure out what was running through your head. Then, after a moment, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You feeling a little better?” he murmured. You let out a slow breath. “Yeah.” He huffed, skepticals, but didn’t call you on it. Instead, his fingers found the edge of your sleeve, tugging it lightly.

“You’re cute when you steal my shit,” he said, teasingly. You rolled your eyes. “You gave it to me.” “Same thing.” He smirked, but it was softer now, like he was trying to ease you into something without making you realize it.

Your chest felt tight. He was always like this–always knew when you needed space, when you needed patience. When you needed him. Maybe that’s why, when he leaned in, when he brushed against yours, you let yourself melt into it.

It wasn’t new. You’d done this before, had kissed him more times than you could count–on impulse, on drunken nights, whenever the two of you were bored, or nights like this when you just needed to feel something.

But the moment his fingers brushed the back of your neck something inside of you snapped. Your body went rigid. A cold, nauseating panic clawed up your throat, and before you even realized what you were doing, you pushed him away.

“Wait–” your voice came out uneven, breathless, like you’d just been caught underwater. Thanos immediately pulled back, hands up, brows furrowed. “Hey. You good?”

Your pulse was hammering, your vision blurring at the edges. No, you weren’t good. You curled your arms around yourself, shrinking into the hoodie like it might shield you from the weight of what you’d been carrying.

Thanos sat still, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t annoyed. He was just waiting. Waiting for you to say something.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “It’s not you,” you whispered. Thanos’ gaze softened. “I know.” He tilted his head slightly, studying. “Talk to me, babe.”

Fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. You hadn’t told anyone. Not a single person. Saying it out loud made it real, made it something you couldn’t shove into the back of your mind and pretend it didn’t exist.

But Thanos was still there. Still waiting. Still looking at you like you weren’t broken, like you weren’t ruined. Your breath shuddered, you knew you had to tell him.

“It was a hookup,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I-I thought I was okay with it, but…I wasn’t.”

Thanos didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. But his whole body had gone still, like a wire pulled too tight. You couldn’t look at him. If you did, you’d fall apart. So you just kept talking, your voice shaking, your fingers gripping your sleeves so tightly it hurt.

“I was drunk,” you admitted, the words burning as they left your mouth. “Not blacked out, but enough that things were hazy. I remember saying no at first, telling him to slow down, but he just kept–” your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the memory away. “I don’t know. Maybe I should’ve pushed harder, or maybe I just froze, but then suddenly it was happening, and I couldn’t–I just–”

“Babe.” You froze. Thanos reached out, slowly, carefully, giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his fingers brushed over your knuckles, warm and grounding.

His voice was low and steady. “You didn’t misunderstand anything.” A lump formed in your throat. “I don’t–” “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, firm, leaving no room for argument.

Your eyes burned. Shaking your head you looked down at your lap. “I just…” a shuddering breath escaped your lips. “I feel like I’m losing it.”

Thanos hummed, like he was trying to reel himself in. Then he moved, shifting so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in–not tight, not suffocating, just enough for you to know he was there. “You’re not losing it,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re not alone.” You squeezed your eyes shut, starting to believe him.

Honestly, you didn’t know if it was the way he was holding you–strong but careful, like he could keep you from falling apart–or if it was the way he looked at you, like nothing about you had changed, like you weren’t ruined.

But before you could stop yourself, you moved. Your hands found his face, fingers threading through his purple strands of hair as you pulled him in. Pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly frightened you.

Thanos didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his lips firm and warm against yours. It wasn’t enough. You needed more.

You deepend it, shifting onto your knees, pressing your body against his. The weight of his hands landed on your waist, steadying you, his grip tightening when you tried to push closer.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Make me forget.” His breathing halted, and for a moment you thought he might give in. But then…

“No.” The word was firm, final. His hands gripped your waist tighter, but instead of pulling you in, he pushed you back, just enough to put space between you.

Your stomach twisted. “Thanos–” He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath uneven. “You think I don’t want to?” His voice was rough, strained, like he was fighting against himself. “You think I don’t wanna touch you, hold you…help you forget?” His fingers flexed on your hips, and his jaw clenched. “But not like this,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Not when you’re hurting. Not when you’re trying to use me to erase something that’s not your fault.”

Your throat tightened, tears burning at the back of your eyes. “I just–” “I know.” His hands trailed up, brushing across your arms, warm and grounding. “But I won’t let you do this to yourself. And I won’t let anyone take anything from you again.”

His lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a moment before he pulled back, his thumbs stroking your sides. “You need sleep,” he murmured. “And tomorrow, we’re getting the hell out of here. Just you and me.” Your brows furrowed. “Where?” It made his lips quirk up in that cocky, familiar smirk. “You’ll see.”

The next day, true to his word, Thanos had all but dragged you out of bed, throwing your jeans at you and one of his shirts before hauling you into his car.

“You’re gonna love this,” he said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled onto the highway. “I don’t even know where we’re going,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

“Exactly,” he shot back, grinning. “That’s the best part.”

And maybe he was right, because when he finally pulled up to the spot you felt something shift inside you. A secluded little arcade tucked between two buildings, neon lights buzzing faintly in the air. It was small, almost unnoticeable.

Thanos hopped out of the car, coming around to your side before you could open the door. He held his hand out. “Come on, babe. Time to let loose.” Slowly, you slipped your fingers into his.

The arcade was dimly lit, filled with the sound of old-school games and muffled laughter. Thanos wasted no time dragging you toward a claw machine, eyes lighting up with challenge.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “You’re gonna lose,” you teased, arms crossed. He shot you a look. “I never lose.” You snorted. “Please. I’ve seen you get your ass handed to you in Street Fighter more times than I can count.”

“Okay, first of all,” he turned to face you, stepping closer, the playful glint in his eye shifting into something heavier. Something deeper. “You keep talking like that, babe, and I might have to shut you up.” The air between you shifted. Your breath caught in your throat. And just like that, the playfulness turned into something else entirely. Something you wanted.

Thanos must have seen the shift in your expression because his smirk widened. He stepped even closer, crowing you against the claw machine, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“You wanna keep talking, or you want me to put this mouth to better use?” Your pulse skyrocketed. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that you felt like yourself for the first time in weeks. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, crashing your lips against his.

Thanos was having the time of his life messing with you. It started at the claw machine, where he somehow managed to win a stuffed bear on the first try. He shoved it into your arms with a smug grin. “For you,” he said, leaning in just enough for his breath to graze your ear. “To remember me when I’m not around.” “You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, hugging the bear to your chest anyway.

Then came the air hockey table. Every time he scored a point, he’d make a big show of it–throwing his arms up, biting his lip like he just hit the game winning shot at the NBA finals.

“You see that?” he taunted. “I’m unstoppable.” “You’re insufferable,” you shot back, scowling as he scored another goal.

But the final straw was when he stood behind you at the basketball game, his arms caging yours, pretending to “help” you shoot.

“See, you gotta bend your knees a little,” he said, his chest pressed against your back, his voice a low purr in your ear.

You swallowed hard, trying, and failing, to ignore the way his hands ghosted over your waist. “Thanos–” “Shh, I’m coaching.” “You’re distracting me.” “Am I?” his smirk was pure sin.

You elbowed him in the stomach, and he let out a dramatic groan, stumbling back. “Damn, babe, you trying to kill me?” “You’ll like,” you muttered, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

After an hour of arcade games, where he absolutely did not let you win, Thanos finally led you outside, the cool air wrapping around you.

“Arlight,” he said, stretching. “Next stop.” You shot him a skeptical look. “Another surprise?” He just winked. “You’ll like this one.”

A short drive later, you realized exactly where he was taking you. The spot. It was nothing fancy–just a quiet overlook on the edge of town, tucked away where no one ever really went. It had a perfect view of the city lights in the distance, the skyline stretching wide and endless.

This was your place. Where you’d gone to clear your heads, to escape, to talk for hours about nothing and everything. Some nights, you’d just sit in silence, sharing a cigarette or a blunt, watching the world move with you. It was a place that belonged to just the two of you.

The day had been so much fun you forgot you were even upset. Until now, in this peaceful, quiet spot that had so many memories. It made you feel bad for putting Thanos through everything last night.

Thanos parked, cutting the engine. The silence settled easily between you two. You both got out, climbing onto the hood of his car like you had a hundred times before. He pulled a joint from his jacket pocket, lighting it with practiced ease, taking a slow drag before offering it to you.

You hesitated before taking it, inhaling deep, letting the warmth settle in your chest. For a long moment, neither of you spoke

“Feeling better?” You glanced over at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. Yeah. You were. Instead of answering, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. It was slow, lingering, a silent thank you.

When you pulled away, he arched his brow. “What was that for?” You smirked, shrugging. “A thank you.” He squinted his eyes as if he was waiting for more of an explanation. But he didn’t say anything cocky as he took another hit, offered it to you, then leaned back against the windshield. For once he was the one speechless.

The night grew colder and harsh against your skin. Now you both sat in the backseat of his car, heater blasting. You sat curled up in Thanos’ lap, your head resting against his shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around you. He had taken off his jacket to drape it over your frame. For a long while, neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, you murmured, “I’m sorry.” Thanos’ hand, which had been tracing lazy circles against your thigh, stilled. “For what?”

It took you a second to answer him, not trusting yourself to not cry. “For pushing you away. For acting like I didn’t need you when–” your voice cracked, and you shut your eyes. “When I did.”

Thanos exhaled, pressing his lips to your temple. Your name fell from his lips, a word he rarely said since he always opted to call you babe. “I knew what you were doing. I just wasn’t going to let you.”

A shaky breath left you, half a laugh, half a sob. “You’re annoying like that.” “Damn right,” he said, his arms tightening around you.

Silence settled again, the weight of unspoken things lingering in the space between heartbeats. Finally you whispered, “I never told you what exactly happened.”

Thanos’ fingers curled slightly against your waist, but he didn’t push. “You don’t have to.” You shook your head. “I want to.” So you told him. Not every detail. Not every ugly piece. How you met the man.

It was just enough for him to understand why you hadn’t been yourself. Why you’d been spiraling. Why even the warmth of his hands on your skin had made you flinch at times. He listened. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t demand more.

And when you finally fell silent, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “You know what the worst part was?” you whispered. “I thought…for a second, I thought I deserved it. Like maybe I brought it on myself.”

Thanos stiffened beneath you. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. “Don’t say that.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I know it’s not true. But I felt it. And I hated myself for it.”

Thanos cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Look at me.” You did. His expression was sad, but his eyes–god his eyes–were burning. “You are not to blame for what happened to you. Not in any way. Not for one damn second. You hear me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded. He exhaled, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “You saved me, babe. You know that?” Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“When I was at my worst,” he whispered. “When I was using, when I was pushing people away,” he shook his head. “You were still there. Always.” Your throat tightened. “Thanos…” “You never let me give up on myself. Even when I wanted to.” his lips pressed against your forehead. “I’ve been clean from hard shit for almost a year because of you.”

A shard breath left you, your hands fisted his shirt. You knew he drank and smoked a lot, but you never realized he was using other substances. Let alone that he had been clean for so long. “I didn’t know.” He chuckled lightly. “Never told you. Didn’t want you getting all proud and annoying about it.” You laughed, an actual, real laugh. Thanos smiled, his arms pulling you even closer.

Stepping into your studio apartment, Thanos barely took two steps before pausing, his gaze sweeping over the palace. Clothes scattered on the floor, takeout containers on the coffee table, an empty wine bottle tipped over on the counter.

You saw it too, the mess, the disarray. And the embarrassment hit fast. “I–” you moved quickly, grabbing the nearest pile of clothes and shoving them into a laundry basket. “It’s usually not this bad, I just–” “Babe.” You froze, gripping a pair of sweatpants in your hands.

Thanos was watching you, arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen counter. His expression wasn’t judgemental, just knowing. Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric. “I didn't mean to let it get this bad.” Thanos exhaled, stepping forward. “You been taking care of yourself at all?” You forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He didn’t look convinced.

Still, he didn’t push. Just reached out, brushing a hand along your waist as he passed. “C’mon,” he said. “Shower, get comfortable. I’ll wait.” Your stomach twisted. The thought of being alone–even for just a few minutes–made your chest feel tight.

“Come with me?” you asked, avoiding his gaze. Thanos didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, babe. Of course.”

So, while you showered, he sat on the closed toilet lit, scrolling through his phone like it was just any other night. He cracked a few jokes, made fun of the random soap brands in your shower, anything to make you feel normal. And strangely, it worked.

By the time you stepped out, fresh-faced and wrapped in a towel, some of the tension in your chest had eased. Thanos had left to grab your pajamas and returned with a cute matching set for you. You slipped them on, and brushed your hair before following him back to the couch.

He sprawled out, one arm draped over the back as you climbed onto his lap, legs straddling his thighs. His hands instinctively found your hips, fingers pressing into them slightly.

“Baby,” he murmured, sighing quietly. That was a new one. He never called you anything other than babe, and it sent shivers down your spine.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Let me take care of you.” Thanos went still. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing down his neck then his chest. His grip on you tightened slightly. “You sure?” he asked, voice low. There was no cockiness to his tone. In response you only smiled, saying “Positive.”

Thanos took a deep breath, fingers flexing on your hips. “Baby,” there was hesitation in his voice now, like he was at war with himself. You leaned in, lips grazing the corner of his mouth. “What?”

He tilted his head back against the couch, eyes scanning your face. “I don’t know if this is a good time.” Your hands traced up his chest, nails lightly scratching over the fabric of his shirt. “I do.” His jaw clenched. “You’ve been through a lot.” You nodded. “I know.”

Thanos let out a long breath through his nose, his grip tightening as if trying to keep himself from pulling you closer. Again he whispered, “Baby…”

You kissed him before he could say anything else. A slow, lingering press of your lips against his. He barely hesitated before melting into it, groaning softly as he kissed you back, his hands sliding up your thighs, pressing you more firmly against him. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was just deep. Like you were breathing life into each other.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead resting against his, his breathing was heavier. His fingers dug into your plush skin, like you were his anchor. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he muttered, voice rough.

“What?” you blinked up at him with wide eyes. His fingers traced your bare thighs, tough featherlight. “Resisting you. Not pulling you into my lap every damn time you looked at me like that.” His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Watching you with other guys was the worst.”

“You think I didn’t notice?” He huffed a dry laugh. “You’d flirt with someone right in front of me, and I’d have to act like it didn’t make me want to knock their teeth in.” Your heart pounded. “Thanos–” he cut you off. “You drive me insane, baby.” he sounded desperate. “And if any part of you doesn’t want this, you better say it now. Because the second I let go, I’m not stopping.”

A slow smirk tugged at your lips as you slid off his lap, dropping gracefully to your knees between his legs. “I told you,” you murmured, hands trailing up his thighs. “I’m positive.”

Thanos’ eyes widened at your movements, not expecting to see you looking up at him with such a desperate look on your face. When your fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans, he shot up from the couch and was quick to tug them down. He messily kicked them off, plopping back down on the couch as he tugged his boxers down his thighs.

You giggled, the sight of him acting so quickly drove you wild. The thought of knowing that he was excited for this made your thighs clench. Your small hand reached out, gently grasping his length. You pumped it a few times, eyes glued to Thanos who was a mess beneath your touch. His head hung back and his eyes were screwed shut. His lips parted ever so slightly as he panted.

There were maybe one or two times before that you had seen Thanos naked. Once at a party where he insisted on skinny dipping with all his friends, and another when you found him passed out in his bed with no clothes on. You never looked, never starred because the two of you were friends and it felt wrong. But this? This felt so right.

The moment you wrapped your lips around him he fell apart. He became a stuttering mess. Your name falling off his lips along with random swear words. It made you feel good knowing you were making him feel so good.

Your movements were slow at first as you tried to get used to the size of him in your mouth. Out of instinct Thanos snapped his hips up, his cock tickling the back of your throat which elicited a gag out of you. “Fuck,” he groaned, eyes opening to look down at you. “Sorry–f-fuck, sorry.”

You used one hand to pat his thigh as if signaling it was okay. Thanos kept his eyes glued to your. The way your eyes were so wide and tears brimmed at them, the way drool and precum trickled down your chin. It was pornographic, and an image he would never forget.

His hand tangled firmly in your hair, not pushing your head but as if he needed something to grasp onto. It made a moan slip from past your lips, sending vibrations through him. That drove him wild.

Faster now, you moved your head. With your hands sprawled against his tattooed thighs you let the fist in your hair be your guide. Thanos pushed your head all the way down, that familiar gagging sensation hinted in you but you held it back. Your nose rested against his stomach, and as you swallowed around him that’s all it took. Thanos was groaning, practically screaming, your name as he came in your mouth. Most of it went straight down your throat but as he let up his grip on you, you made sure to swallow every last bit before pulling away.

Thanos rested back against the couch, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His fingers dragged through his hair as he exhaled, a deep, satisfied sound rumbling from his throat. Then, before you could even think to move, you heard the soft click of his phone camera. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

“Thanos.” He grinned down at you, tapping his screen before angling the phone toward you. “Nah, you gotta see this, babe.” You hesitated before glancing at the screen. Oh. Your face was flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy. A thin strand of drool clung to your chin, your hands still resting on his thighs. You looked utterly wrecked.

You smacked his knee. “Delete that!” He just chuckled, tossing his phone onto the couch before pulling up his boxers, then gripping your chin, tilting your face up. His thumb swiped at the corner of your lips, gathering the mess before bringing it to his own mouth, licking it off with a satisfied hum.

“Can’t believe you’re so good at that,” he murmured, eyes dark. “You suck cock that well for other guys?” Your stomach flipped. His grin widened. “Nah, actually…I can believe it. Perfect little mouth, always running–figures it’d be good for something.”

Your cheeks burned, and he laughed, hauling you up into his lap, arms wrapping securely around your waist. “C’mere, baby. Let me hold you for a second.” And just like that, the teasing melted into warmth. Into comfort. His fingers traced up and down your spine, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your temple.

“Did so good,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “Knew you would.” You buried your face in his neck, letting yourself melt into him, letting the afterglow and his warmth settle deep into your bones. Yeah. You were exactly where you needed to be.

The night before had been good. Too good. You fell asleep in Thanos’ arms, wrapped up in warmth and a feeling so foreign it almost scared you–something safe, something steady. But by morning, the weight of it all pressed down on your chest like an anchor.

You woke up feeling…wrong. Like you’d taken one step too far into something you couldn’t undo. Like on matter how much Thanos tried, how much wanted to fix you, you’d always end up right back where you started.

He was still asleep beside you, his face slack, mouth parted slightly. One arm was draped over his stomach, the other curled loosely around you, his fingers brushing your hip through the fabric of your shorts. You stared at him, at the way his brows twitched slightly, like even in his sleep he was thinking too much. He’d done so much for you. And you? You were still ruining yourself, just in different ways. You swallowed hard and slipped out of bed, moving quietly into the bathroom before he could stir.

Thanos noticed. Of course he noticed. You were quiet all morning, responding to his teasing with soft smiles instead of the usual bite. You moved through your apartment like you were lost, like you weren’t really there. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched, his eyes following you like he was waiting for the moment you finally cracked.

Then, after a while, he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “C’mon, babe. Get dressed.” You blinked. “What?” He stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I wanna go somewhere. You need to get out of this place for a bit.”

You hesitated, but the way he looked at you, the quiet determination in his face, made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. And you didn’t have the energy to argue.

The drive was peaceful. Thanos had one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console between you. His playlist hummed through the speakers, low enough that the rumble of the car nearly drowned it out.

The road stretched ahead, empty except for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance. It almost felt normal. Almost.

You sighed, shifting in your seat. Your phone buzzed in your lap, lighting up with a name you didn’t want him to see. You hesitated. You shouldn’t answer. You really shouldn’t. But your fingers twitched anyway, hovering over the screen. Before you could react, Thanos reached over, plucking your phone from your hands.

“Hey–!” He barely glanced at you, his eyes locked on the screen. His jaw ticked. Then he scoffed, shaking his head as he tossed the phone onto the dashboard.

“Seriously?” You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how tense the care felt. “It’s not–” “Is that him? You’re still talking to him?” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s not like that.”

Thanos let out a humorless laugh, running a hand over his face. “Not like that?” He shot you a look, something between disbelief and frustration. “Babe, c’mon. What the hell are you doing?”

Your stomach twisted with guilt. “I don’t know.” You stretched in your seat, reaching for your phone and once you had it you tucked it securely in your lap.

Thanos pressed his lips into a thin line, fingers flexing on the wheel. He wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t. But it pissed him off in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Because after everything–after the way he held you, the way he tried to pull you out of this–you were still keeping one foot in the door of something that was dragging you down. And he didn’t get it. He didn’t get why.

Thanos sighed, shaking his head. “You really gonna sit there and tell me it’s nothing?” Your throat felt tight. You didn’t have an answer for him. And the worst part? He knew that.

You remained silent after that, yet the silence felt suffocating. You stared out the window, watching the blur of passing streetlights, the dark silhouettes of trees lining the road.

Thanos didn’t say anything else for awhile. He just kept driving, his grip on the wheel tight, his jaw locked. He wasn’t mad at you, but it felt like he was. It was so unlike him. No teasing remark, no smartass comment to cut through the tension. Just silence. It made you feel worse than if he had just yelled at you.

Finally, you swallowed the lump in your throat and whispered, “I don’t know why I’m still talking to him.”

Thanos sighed, resting his elbow against the door, fingers tapping against his temple. His body seemed tense, uncomfortable. “Yeah, babe. I got that part.” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. It was tired. Like he was trying to understand something he really didn’t want to understand.

You fiddled with the edge of his hoodie he let you wear, pulling at loose thread. “It’s just…I don’t know. Maybe I like pretending nothing happened. That I can just go back to normal.” Thanos made a sharp sound in the back of his throat. “And talking to him helps with that?”

“No,” you groaned. “I don’t know! Maybe it makes me feel like I still have control over something. Like I get to decide how it ends.” Thanos was quiet for a beat. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he muttered, “That’s not how it works, babe.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring down at your now shaky hands. “I just…I hate feeling like this.” His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, an anxious tic he used to calm himself. “Like what?” he asked.

“Like I’m broken,” you admitted. Thanos’ jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened on the wheel. Then, suddenly, he swerved to the side of the road and slammed the car into park. You jolted forward slightly, eyes wide. “Thanos, what the hell–”

“Get in the back.” “What?” Thanos unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face you, eyes dark, voice low and sharp. “Not arguing, babe. Get in the back.”

Thanos could be scary when he wanted to. He could be demanding and strong headed, you knew this about him. His deep voice and tall, muscular frame turned to you and you knew then it wasn’t a choice. He wasn’t challenging you. He was telling you, and you obeyed.

You slipped out of your seat and into the back, settling in just as Thanos followed. He slammed the door shut which made you flinch ever so slightly.

The air was thick, charged, as he sat next to you, stretching out his legs and crossing his arms across his chest. Then, without a word, he reached over and snatched your phone from your lap. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Thanos, don’t–” “Unlock your phone,” he demanded. Slowly, you shook your head no. Thanos clenched his jaw. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Unlock the damn phone.” And you did. You reached over and typed in your passcode which earned a hum from him.

He ignored your protests, thumb swiping across the screen. You tried to grab it back when he opened your messages, but he easily dodged you. “Damn, babe. You weren’t kidding. You really are still talking to this piece of shit.” Your stomach twisted as he scrolled through the messages.

wyd tonight? lets meet up

idk. maybe.

u look good in that dress

thanks

u miss me or nah?

u were so into me that night, dont act different now

stop

damn u actin like a whole new bitch. u know i could pull up rn

just drop it

Thanos’ breathing was ragged as he read them. “Maybe?” he read aloud, shaking his head. “Babe, really?” You look away, ashamed. “It’s not–” But before you could finish, he scrolled. You tried to snatch your phone again, but he grabbed your arm holding it down.

And there they were. Pictures. Some from him. A shirtless mirror selfie, a couple of low lit bedroom shots. Nothing outright explicit, but the intent was there. Then he saw your pictures you had sent to this guy. A mirror selfie in a fitted dress. A close up of your lips. And then his whole body stiffened. Because the picture that was staring back at the two of you was something he wasn’t expecting to see. A picture of you. Taken by you. Wearing Thanos’ hoodie. Sitting on your bed, the hem barely covering your thighs, biting your lip at the camera. Your stomach dropped.

Thanos scoffed, his grip so tight on the phone you feared he’d snap it. “You really sent this to him? In my hoodie?” he let out a sharp laugh, but it wasn’t amused. “Fuck, babe.” Your face burned. “It wasn’t–”

But then he scrolled further. And that’s when everything changed. Because there were more pictures. But these weren't yours. They were taken by that guy. Pictures of you. Your blood ran cold. You knew he’d sent them to you, but you didn’t remember him ever taking them.

Your body, sprawled out on the bed. Your face flushed, half turned away. The strap of your dress slipping down your shoulder. The bottom hem pushed up just enough to reveal your lacey underwear. Another one of you naked, your breasts covered just by the man’s hands. Another one with his fist in your hair, makeup smudge across your face as you looked straight into the camera. Eyes hazy from your drunken state. And the worst part? The messages that followed.

dont act like u didnt want it

u looked so good like that

we both kno u liked it

u better stop ignoring me

u know i could ruin u, right?

Of course he had planned to use them as blackmail. That was when you had stopped responding to him, in hopes he’d leave you alone. That’s when you really started to spiral. Your hands had started to shake, and you dared to sneak a peek at Thanos. He hadn’t said a single word, and his silence was lethal. His jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out his own phone. You watched in confusion, still frozen, as he tapped his screen a few times, then turned to you.

Your heart stopped. Because there on his phone were so many pictures of you. Some candid, some not so candid. Some from nights when you’d crashed at this place, tangled in his sheets, makeup smudged. Some from parties where you’d clung to his arm, leaning close to whisper in his ear.

Some of the two of you together. His arm slung around your waist. His fingers curled around your throat. His lips at your ear, mouth curved into something between a smirk and a promise. And the picture from last night. You with swollen lips, bloodshot eyes, and a mixture of drool and his cum dripping down your chin.

Your breath hitched. “Thanos…” He turned to look at you, grinning. “You forgot who you belong to, baby.” He’d always been possessive over you, but never like this. He leaned in, voice dropping lower. “Maybe I should send one of these to your little friend. Let him know who the fuck he’s messing with.”

Your lips parted, shock flashing through you. “Thanos, no–” but then, your phone buzzed. Your breath caught. A call. From him. Thanos stared at the screen for half a second before answering.

“Hello?” Your whole body went rigid. There was a pause, then a low, irritated voice. “Uh…who the hell is this?” Thanos smirked, staring straight into your eyes. “Her boyfriend.” Your mouth fell open.

“What?” the guy scoffed. “Dude, put her on the phone.” “Nah, I don’t think I will.” Thanos leaned back, completely unbothered. “Matter of fact, I think you should delete all those pictures and lose this number.” The guy scoffed again. “Man, she was just texting me–” “Yeah, well she won’t be anymore.”

You sat there frozen, heart hammering against your ribs. You should’ve stopped him. But you didn’t. You prayed this would end all of the harassment you’d been through. You watched as Thanos brought the phone back to his ear and, in a tone dripping with amusement, said, “Lose this number, or I’ll make you lose it.” Then he hung up.

The silence afterward was deafening. Thanos tossed your phone back into your lap, his expression still flat, unreadable. But then in a tone that was soft, but no less firm, he murmured, “C’mere, baby.” you didn’t move at first. You just sat there, phone in your lap, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Thanos’ voice was softer this time. “Babe.” The second you were within reach, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his lap, into the solid warmth of his body. His grip was firm but not crushing, a quiet promise of protection.

“I–” “Shh,” he murmured, one hand slipping to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “I got you.” You let yourself sink into him, let your face press against his neck, his hoodie soft against your cheek. His scent wrapped around you–clean, familiar, safe.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You weren’t sure how much time passed before Thanos finally said, “How long has he been pulling this shit?” You hesitated. Too long. “...A while.”

His jaw twitched beneath your head. “And you didn’t tell me?” You pulled back slightly, looking at him. “I–” you shook your head. “I just wanted to forget about it.”

“You really think I wouldn’t notice?” You blinked up at him. “You think I don’t know you?” His fingers tightened in your hair, just a little. Your throat burned. You hated this. Hated feeling seen. Hated how easily he could read you.

Thaons let out a slow breath, dropping his forehead to yours. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Babe, you don’t have to do this alone.” Tears began to burn behind your eyes, thick and hot, threatening to spill over. “Is there more? Because if there’s more to this I need to know so I can end it all.”

You shook your head, a few stray tears slipping down your cheeks. He pulled you in tighter, and this time you didn’t fit any of it. His grasp, the tears, your feelings. You allowed yourself to cry into his chest, body racking with sobs. Thaons held you, never letting his grip falter.

After you collected yourself and Thanos made sure you were okay, the two of you continued your drive. “Where are we even going?” you asked, turning toward him. Thanos smirked, eyes still on the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You narrowed your eyes. “I would like to know. That’s why I asked.” He reached over, resting his large hand on your knee. “Relax, babe. You’ll like it.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t press further.

Eventually the roads narrowed, leading to a secluded stretch of land. The house came into view first–tucked away from the main road, sitting against a backdrop of trees and open sky. Your brows lifted. “You rented this?”

Thanos cut the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Just for the weekend.” he shot you a wink, “Figured you deserved a little getaway.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. You bit your lip to keep from smiling. He noticed, of course he did.

“Come on,” he said, opening his door. You followed him inside, taking in the open floor plan and floor to ceiling windows. Everything smelled faintly like cedarwood, the air crisp from the countryside.

You plopped onto the couch with a sigh, stretching out. “This is kinda nice.” Thanos dropped beside you, picking up your legs and resting them on his lap when he sat down. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. It felt…normal. There was a few minutes of comfortable silence before Thanos spoke up.

“Give me your phone.” You blinked. “Huh?” Thanos held out his hand, expectantly. “I’m deleting those pictures.” you didn’t speak, frozen. “You don’t need that shit sitting on your phone.”

Slowly, you placed it in his palm. Thanos scrolled through the messages, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say anything. He just started deleting. One by one, he deleted anything and everything that was attached to that guy.

You exhaled, a strange mix of relief and unease washing over you. Once he was done, Thanos smirked. “Y’know, we should replace ‘em.” You frowned. “What?” He held up your phone. “Take new ones. Good ones. Of us.” Your cheeks warmed. “You’re ridiculous.” He shrugged. “I’m right.”

Before you could argue, he pulled you to his side, angling the camera. “Smile, baby.” You couldn’t help it–you laughed as he snapped the photo. Then another. And another. Before long, you were both tangled together, making stupid faces, teasing, playing.

The playful pictures quickly turned into something else. Thanos, always one to push boundaries, tugged you closer, tilting his head as he snapped another picture. This time, his lips were right at your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“Gotta get some better ones than those shitty ones he took, right?” he murmured. You felt your heart picking up speed. “T-thanos–” He flipped the camera, his grip steady on your phone, his free hand finding your jaw as he turned your face toward his. “Look at me.” You did.

The click of the camera felt deafening. Another picture. Then another. His fingers brushed your thigh, pushing your legs apart just enough to make your breath hitch.

He smirked. “You nervous, baby?” You huffed, trying to make your reaction. “Shut up.” He chuckled, tapping through the photos. “Damn. These are real nice.” You reached for your phone, but he held it away, laughing. “Uh-uh. I think we need a few more.”

Before you could protest, he shifted, pulling you fully into his lap. His hand found your waist, gripping firmly as he leaned in, pressing his lips just below your ear. Click. You shivered. Click. His fingers trailed lower. Click.

The playful photo session took a more daring turn as Thanos pulled you up from the couch, his hands skimming over your sides. “Let’s get some real shots, babe,” he said with a glint in his eye, his voice low and teasing.

You looked at him, biting your lip, but a challenge gleamed in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He grinned, pulling you toward the bedroom, then towards the floor length mirror in the corner. He snapped a picture of the two of you, your bodies close but not touching. His gaze flicked between the phone screen and your reflection.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, his breath tickling your neck as he adjusted you. “Let’s make it a little more…fun.”

You raised a brow but didn't pull away when he guided your hands up to tug your shirt over your head. The fabric slid off, he snapped a quick picture, the camera capturing your bare shoulders and his hand resting lightly on your waist. He was quick to peel his own shirt off.

The heat between you two was undeniable as his other hand found its way down to your butt, fingers lightly squeezing. The picture came out blurry at first–too much movement– but when he steadied his grip on you, the next shot was perfect.

It was only a minute before Thanos had you both out of your pants. You left in your bra and underwear, him in his boxers. His chest was pressed against your back as he took a few more pictures, his free hand placed in suggestive places on your body. Around your neck, groping one of your breasts, fisting the side of your underwear.

“You know,” Thanos whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. “If you weren’t so damn irresistible, I might actually be able to stop myself.” You fought the heat rising in your cheeks.

The next shot was from the bed, the two of you lying side by side, bodies tangled together. The camera caught your smiles, your hands tracing his tattoos, as you shifted, getting more comfortable. You couldn’t deny the electric tension between you–playful, teasing, and full of unspoken promise. Thanos snapped one picture of you on your knees on the floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. That was his favorite one. The last picture was of you two sharing a kiss. He looked at it with a satisfied smirk, leaning back on the pillows.

“I think we’ve got some damn good memories to replace the others,” he said. Then tension in the room wasn’t heavy, but it was hot. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you found yourself squeezing your thighs together trying to relieve some tension you felt.

A mischievous grin curled his lips as he looked over at you. “You know,” he began, “I should probably have these pictures saved for myself–you never know when a little reminder of this will come in handy.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny the heat flushing your skin and the tingles you felt throughout your body. “Oh, please. You really gonna hold them over my head?” “Not like that,” he said, shrugging. “Just think I might need some personal motivation later on.”

You shot him a teasing look. “You want them for when you’re lonely, huh?” He laughed, his cocky grin widening. “If I’m ever feeling bored, sure. But I think it’d be hard to get bored with these.” He sent himself the pictures from your phone before handing it back to you.

The playful tension in the air felt thick, the heat between you two palpable, and Thanos let out a low sigh, stretching his arms above his head. “Anyway,” he said, suddenly standing up from the bed. “I’m gonna grab a shower–feel like I need to cool down for a bit.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching his move across the room, his movements slow but purposeful. “Yeah? You sure you’re not running from me?” He looked over his shoulder, smirking as he entered the bathroom. “Nah, just trying to be respectful of your boundaries, baby.”

You were left in the dim room, the air still heavy with the scent of him and the lingering heat of the photos you’d taken. You sat there, your thoughts racing. It was clear he was affected–hell, so were you–but the playful tension shifted, leaving something more raw, more intense in its wake. After a moment of hesitation, you stood up, almost without thinking. You couldn’t just let him get away with that teasing, could you?

The bathroom door was cracked open, and you caught a glimpse of him, standing under the spray of the shower, steam curling up from the floor. You saw his hand fisting his cock, and heard the quiet panting sounds he made. You knew exactly what you were doing as you stepped inside without knocking.

Thanos froze when he saw you. His trailing up and down your now naked frame. His hand stopped its movements, and he leaned back against the shower wall. “Babe, what are you doing?” he asked, though his voice was laced with something else.

You stepped closer, eyes never leaving his. “I think you’re the one who started this.” You reached out, brushing your fingers against his chest, the warm water cascading over him.

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you with a heavy gaze, as if considering whether or not to step back–or to pull you closer.

But he didn’t move away. He let you inch closer until your lips were inches from his. “You really wanna test me right now?”

“Maybe,” you whispered, hand resting on top of his. “Maybe I just like to see if you can resist me.”

He grinned then. “I can, baby,’ he said quietly, but it didn’t sound very convincing. “But you’re about to make me break that.” That’s when a sense of urgency took over your body. Your lips crashed to his and you removed his hand from his cock to take it in your own.

Neither of your movements were slow or cautious. As you pumped his cock in your fist, his fingers snuck between your legs. They worked quickly against your clit before he pushed two inside you. You let out a breathy gasp at the feeling.

It didn’t take very long for you two to become whiny messes under each other's touches. Each other's names falling from the others lips like a prayer. Whines and moans vibrated off the shower walls. Before you knew it your head was spinning. The two of you came at the same time, and something about that made the whole thing seem even more intimate.

The rest of the weekend was spent teasing, joking, and laughing. Thanos made sure you didn’t think about anything except the two of you. That you were enjoying yourself fully, and hopefully healing. He blocked the guy’s number from your phone and you thanked him for it, not sure if you would’ve been able to do it yourself. Before you knew it the two of you were driving back into the city. You weren’t saddened because you felt the shift of the air between the two of you. Things would be different from now on.

The music thumped through the walls of Nam Gyu’s place, a stark contrast to the quieter, more intimate atmosphere you and Thanos had shared just hours before. You could still feel the heat of your bodies together on your skin.

Thanos had insisted on coming to the party. “You need to loosen up a little, babe,” he;d said, pulling you out of the car and toward the front door. “We’re all done moping around. We’re having fun, okay?”

Against your better judgment, you’d agreed, but you weren’t really sure if you were ready for the noise, the chaos, the crowds of people who had no idea what was going on behind your walls. Yet, as soon as you stepped inside Nam Gyu’s apartment, you felt like you were stepping into a different world.

Nam Gyu was in the middle of a conversation with a couple of his friends when he spotted you and Thanos. He smirked and immediately made his way over to you, clapping Thanos on the back as he winked at you.

“Damn, Thanos,” Nam Gyu said, his tone light but teasing. “You look like you’re about to eat her alive.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck, but it was hard when Thanos didn’t exactly make it easy. His arm was draped around your waist, a possessive but gentle hold that made everyone around you notice.

“She’s been a handful lately,” he said teasingly. “But I’m making sure she’s having fun.” Thanos licked his lips, staring at you and you felt your body burn under his gaze.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol you had begun sipping on or the way Thanos’ words made your heart flutter,mm but you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Nam Gyu raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “I’m not one to judge, but…damn, you two are practically joined at the hip tonight. You’re looking like more than just friends now.”

You froze at his words, a small pang of uncertainty tightening in your chest. Was that how it looked? You couldn’t even really think about it because everything still felt so complicated, but there was something undeniable between you and Thanos. Something unspoken.

Thanos noticed your discomfort, his fingers gently grazing your back, soothing you. “Shut up, Nam Gyum” he said, his voice lighter but still protective. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have anyone who looks at you the way she looks at me.”

The comment made you smile, the small flirtation doing exactly what it was meant to do–ease the tension you hadn’t even realized had built up.

Nam Gyu held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you two have your moment. But if you get too cozy, I’ll have to kick you out.”

You laughed, the sound feeling good, almost reigned to you after everything. Thanos leaned down, kissing your forehead softly. “You okay, babe?” You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest you hadn’t felt in a long while. You were okay. Maybe not perfect, but you were here, and that meant something.

The night went on, and you allowed yourself to get caught up in the energy around you. You danced. You laughed. You allowed yourself a little escape from the weight that had been on your shoulders. And Thanos never let you go too far, always keeping you close, watching over you like a silent guardian.

As the night went on and the party started to wind down with people slowly trickling out, you found yourself standing by the door with Thanos, his hand still on your back, guiding you. “You sure you’re ready to go?” he asked, his voice soft yet serious. You looked up at him. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

He smiled and led out the door, but before you left, he turned to you. “Just so you know, no matter what happens, I’ve got you babe. Always.”

You swallowed, emotions swirling in your chest. This was more than you’d ever expected from anyone, and you weren’t sure how you got so lucky, but for the first time in a long time, you felt a little lighter.

The rest of the night was quiet. You two drove back to his apartment, the weight of everything that had happened slowly lifting as you realized how much you meant to each other. In that moment, it didn’t matter if it was complicated. It didn’t matter if you didn’t have all the answers. You had each other. And that was enough.

#squid game #squid game x y/n #alternate universe #squid game imagines #squid game fanfic #thanos x y/n #thanos imagine #thanos squid game #thanos smut #thanos x reader #player 230 x reader #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #choi seunghyun #t.o.p x reader #t.o.p #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p fanfic

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leejenowrld · 3 months ago

Text

back to you - three

pairing - lee jeno x reader

word count - 58k words… oops

genre - smut, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

synopsis — jeno has become your eclipse, a quiet, breathtaking phenomenon that darkened everything else and left you transfixed. your nights with jeno turn more electric by the day—heated motel sessions, stolen kisses in empty hallways, and whispered confessions as you lie breathless beside him. the secrecy only fuels the tension, each shared touch brighter and more addictive than the last. but with every secret call or coded text, a sharper guilt settles in your chest. you juggle the thrill of being wanted so deeply with the dread of getting caught—each risky step edging you both toward a moment that could unravel everything. and still, you go back for more.

chapter warnings/contents — college au, small town vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content(18+), explicit themes, one tree hill inspired, early 2000s vibe, power play, dom reader/sub jeno dynamics (both switches tbh), rough sex, explicit language, sex montage, these freaks are fucking everywhere, a lot of sex, half of this chapter is basically smut, dirty talk, oral (both giving and receiving), wall sex, floor sex, bathroom sex, sex against a window, hot tub sex, cock bouncing, jeno eating reader’s ass, both getting high together, jeno doing lines from reader’s ass and body, nipple play, jeno giving reader a tattoo, big smut scenes throughout, riverside date scene, you’ll feel their connection deep in your chest, a lot happens this chapter, this chapter is very sex driven, a lot of physical moments, intimacy, growing connections + feelings, dare i say honeymoon phase, y/n + mark tension, secrets start to unravel, jeno house party scene like always, a lot of jealousy, and impulsive decisions that may evoke discomfort, this is truly a high before the low lol, shotaro is gonna become your favourite chapter, nahyun is a bitch

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN

[fic ml]

Jeno had become an eclipse—a quiet, breathtaking phenomenon that darkened everything else and left you transfixed. He wasn’t a disruption; he was a shift, altering the way you saw the world without you even realizing it. His touch lingered like a whisper on your skin, subtle yet impossible to forget, and his gaze carried a weight that stripped you of every defense, leaving only your barest truths. He didn’t demand space in your life—he simply became it, filling every unspoken thought and occupying moments that used to belong only to yourself. He wasn’t just someone you desired; he was a presence so consuming that he rewrote the shape of your days, making it impossible to imagine a life where he wasn’t there, drawing you closer without ever having to try.

Three months had passed since you had become exclusive, and in that time, your dynamic with Jeno had transformed into something all-consuming. The intensity that once lived solely in stolen glances and rough encounters had evolved into an obsession neither of you could shake. He was everywhere now, and you found yourself surrendering to it with an ease that terrified and thrilled you in equal measure. It wasn’t just about the sex—though that was frequent, uninhibited, and utterly addicting. It was about the way he’d quietly slipped into your routine, filling spaces in your life you hadn’t realized were empty. You woke up with him more often than not, your mornings a tangled mess of sheets and limbs, his lips pressed to your neck as he mumbled something teasing about your messy hair or the fact that you were late for class again because of him. He’d bring you coffee after late nights, his hoodie draped over your shoulders as you worked on assignments you were always a little behind on because of how much time you spent with him.

The shift was subtle at first, almost imperceptible. He started showing up at your apartment unannounced, claiming he was in the area but never leaving until the sun came up. You stopped asking why he didn’t just stay at his place and instead began setting out an extra toothbrush, leaving your fridge stocked with his favorite snacks. Each encounter with him felt like a montage of moments strung together by your mutual need, interspersed with stolen fragments of intimacy that hinted at something deeper. In the quiet between kisses and breathless gasps, he’d rest his forehead against yours, his hand trailing absentmindedly down your spine as he asked about your day or teased you about how much matcha you drank. You’d laugh, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered on you, as if committing every detail to memory.

And then there were the nights he insisted on taking you somewhere—anywhere—just for the thrill of being alone with you in a different setting. One night, it was a sleek city apartment he’d somehow gotten access to, its floor-to-ceiling windows framing the skyline like a masterpiece. Another time, it was an impulsive drive to a secluded cabin, where you spent the weekend discovering just how much of each other you could take. The places didn’t matter; it was the quiet thrill of being somewhere that felt like it existed only for the two of you. A world away from campus, from responsibilities, from the version of yourself you thought you were supposed to be.

But even in those softer moments, there was always an undercurrent of tension, a push-and-pull that neither of you could fully surrender. Jeno still had that edge to him, that need to be in control, but more often than not, he let you take the reins, watching with a mix of awe and desire as you unraveled him piece by piece. It wasn’t just physical domination; it was the way you’d call him out on his smugness, the way you’d brush him off when he tried to bait you into an argument, only to have him chasing after you, desperate to close the distance.

The days bled into nights, and somewhere along the way, the lines between lust and something heavier began to blur. It wasn’t just the way he touched you or the way he made you feel. It was the way he looked at you in those quiet moments, as if he saw something you weren’t ready to see yourself. It was in the way he asked questions that no one else bothered to ask, the way he remembered details you barely thought were important, and the way he’d linger just a little longer than necessary when he kissed you goodbye. You were both still hiding, still pretending that this was nothing more than an arrangement born out of convenience and desire. But the truth was written in every stolen glance, every shared laugh, every quiet sigh in the middle of the night when he thought you were asleep. The intensity that had once been purely physical had become something else entirely—a fire that burned too brightly to ignore, consuming everything in its path.

And yet, neither of you spoke about it. You let the silence stretch between you, thick with unspoken truths and charged with a tension that neither dared to name. It was safer this way—to let the weight of your shared glances and lingering touches carry the meaning, to surrender to the pull without asking where it might lead. Because saying it aloud would shatter the fragile illusion of control you clung to, exposing the depth of what this had become. And losing control to Jeno, to the way he unraveled you so effortlessly, was a truth far more terrifying than anything you were willing to confront.

The stress gnawed at you as you stared down at the scattered pages of your music composition notes, the melody you’d been working on refusing to take shape. Your hands tangled in your hair, pulling lightly at the roots as if that would help the ideas fall into place. The weight of impending deadlines pressed against your shoulders, and you sighed, slumping forward onto your desk. This piece wasn’t just an assignment; it was a performance, one that demanded perfection. But no amount of rewrites or revisions could shake the hollow echo of notes that refused to harmonize. Your phone vibrated, dragging you from the mess in your head. The screen lit up with a message from Jeno.

jeno — i’m five minutes away now

You blinked, the tension easing slightly from your chest, replaced with a spark of something warmer, steadier. Your fingers moved quickly over the keyboard.

y/n — hi baby

y/n — i left my apartment unlocked. just come up when you��re here <3

The reply came almost instantly, a simple okay, but the promise in it felt like a lifeline. Five minutes stretched into eternity as you tried to focus, scribbling half-hearted notes in the margins of your sheet music. When the faint creak of your door opening reached your ears, your heart skipped a beat. Jeno stepped into your room like second nature, his presence filling the space with an ease that left you breathless. His jacket hung loosely off his shoulders, his hair slightly tousled, and the faint scent of his cologne curled around you. His smile was small but devastatingly warm, and your own lips curved without thought. He leaned down, his hands finding the edge of your chair as he kissed you, soft and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer as you hummed against his lips, the stress in your chest unraveling bit by bit. “I’ll be finished really soon,” you murmured, your fingers curling into the soft strands at the nape of his neck. “Once I’m done with this, you’ll have my full attention.”

The words carried more weight than you expected, and in the quiet of your mind, you were already planning the night ahead—finishing your work, cooking dinner together, the slow descent into something warmer, then sex, and maybe a movie after. And then more sex, because there was no version of being with Jeno that didn’t end in a tangle of sheets and sweat and whispers.

But Jeno didn’t respond the way you’d anticipated. His lips curved into something mischievous, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he pulled back enough to look at you. “You won’t need to cook tonight,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with excitement. “We’re not staying here.”

You frowned slightly, confusion knitting your brow. “What do you mean?”

“I booked us a place,” he admitted, his eyes glittering with barely contained anticipation. “Just me and you. Just for the weekend.”

You blinked, the words not registering at first. “Wait, what?”

“I’m serious,” he said, laughing at the disbelief in your voice. “I wanted to surprise you. Pack a bag. We’re leaving as soon as you’re ready.”

The sheer spontaneity of it made your stomach twist—not with anxiety, but with an excitement you hadn’t felt in years. This wasn’t you. You didn’t drop everything for impulsive getaways or let someone else dictate the course of your night. But Jeno made you want to abandon all your rules, to chase the thrill of the unknown if it meant chasing it with him.

“Jeno,” you began, half-laughing, half-exasperated as you stood from your chair, “you can’t just spring this on me.”

“Why not?” he countered, his grin widening as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist. “I’m giving you a break from this,” he nodded toward the desk, “and a chance to actually enjoy yourself for once.”

“Because you’re selfish,” you teased, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you let your hands drift down to his wrists, holding him gently but firmly in place. “You come in here all sweet, pretending this is about me, when really you just can’t go one night without pulling me away from everything else.” You tilted your head, your gaze locking with his as your voice softened, carrying just a hint of challenge. “Admit it, Jen—you don’t just want me to take a break. You want me all to yourself, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and unbothered, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you just a little closer as his eyes locked onto yours, unwavering. “I don’t want to share you. Is that so bad?”

You shook your head with a soft laugh, your voice quieter than you expected. “No, it’s not.”

Another hour slipped by as you finished your project, the glow of your laptop screen reflecting off the polished surface of the desk. Behind you, Jeno’s weight shifted on the bed, the quiet rustle of sheets making it impossible to ignore him. He wasn’t doing anything, just lounging there like he belonged in every corner of your world, but his presence burned at the edges of your focus. Every time you glanced over your shoulder, his gaze met yours—steady, unshaken, like he could see right through your attempts to stay composed. It wasn’t fair how effortlessly he commanded your attention without a single word.

When you leaned back, finally closing your laptop with a soft sigh, he didn’t say anything at first. His smile came slowly, the kind of smile that didn’t just curve his lips but softened his entire face, making your chest tighten. It wasn’t just a smile—it was acknowledgment, like he’d been waiting all along for you to come back to him.

You barely had the chance to stand before he crossed the room, his hands finding your waist with a familiarity that made your pulse skip. His lips brushed yours first, a teasing graze that sent warmth curling through you, but you didn’t let him keep control for long. You pressed closer, fingers sliding around the back of his neck, anchoring him to you. The kiss deepened, slow but insistent, and for a moment, the rest of the night faded—no unfinished tasks, no packing lists, just the taste of him and the way he sighed into your mouth, like this was all he needed.

“You’re done now?” he murmured against your lips, his voice low, almost amused.

You smiled, catching your breath, and nodded. “Done. But don’t get too comfortable—I still have to pack.”

Packing turned chaotic fast. You rifled through drawers and closets while Jeno hovered far too close, his hand brushing yours every time he passed something to you. When he reached into your drawer and pulled out your favorite lace set with a smirk, you rolled your eyes, heat blooming in your cheeks.

“Are you serious?” you asked, snatching it from his hand.

“What? You’ll thank me later,” he replied smoothly, his tone rich with promise. His gaze lingered for a beat too long, and the way his lips quirked at the corner made your stomach flip.

You tried to shake your head at him, but the thought of what the weekend held made it impossible to hide your smile. The bag zipped shut with a decisive pull, and when his hand found the small of your back, guiding you toward the door, a quiet thrill sparked in your chest.

In the car, the world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow. Jeno’s hand rested on your thigh, his thumb drawing slow, lazy circles that left your skin tingling, and you found yourself watching him instead of the city rushing past the windows. His jaw was sharp in the shifting light, the slope of his nose catching the glow from the streetlamps, and his lips—soft, full, and just slightly parted—were impossible to look away from. He didn’t have to say a word; his presence alone was magnetic, pulling your focus in ways you couldn’t explain.

“This is insane,” you murmured when the car pulled to a stop in front of the high-rise. The building shimmered against the night sky, its sleek glass facade stretching impossibly high.

Jeno smirked, stepping out of the car and holding his hand out to you. His fingers laced with yours, warm and steady, as he led you forward. “You’ll love it. Trust me.” And as he led you inside, through the polished lobby and toward the elevator, you found that you did—completely.

The lobby was an expanse of polished marble and muted opulence, the kind of understated luxury that whispered exclusivity rather than shouting it. Soft, ambient lighting reflected off high ceilings and sleek surfaces, and modern art installations dotted the walls like effortless statements of wealth. Jeno led you through it all with an ease that made it impossible not to follow, his hand firmly laced with yours. His grip wasn’t possessive, but it was steady, a quiet kind of dominance that left no room for hesitation.

At the front desk, he handled the check-in with a confidence that was both casual and commanding, his voice smooth as he exchanged words with the receptionist. You stood beside him, half-trying to disappear into the background, suddenly hyper-aware of the spontaneity of it all—the hastily packed bag slung over your shoulder, the way you hadn’t even known this was the plan until an hour ago. Yet, somehow, his presence grounded you, made the unplanned feel intentional.

When the sleek black keycard was handed over, he thanked the receptionist with an easy smile before turning to you, a glint of mischief lighting his dark eyes. Holding up the card with a small, self-assured flourish, he leaned in slightly.

“High-level suite,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re going to love this.”

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and you stepped inside, the mirrored walls reflecting the faint tension vibrating between you and Jeno. The space shrank as the doors slid shut, sealing you in together. He didn’t hesitate; his eyes locked on yours, dark and heavy with intent. You could feel his restraint hanging by a thread, frayed and snapping, and when he moved toward you, it was with the kind of quiet, deliberate urgency that made your pulse spike.

His hands were on your waist before you could think, pressing you back against the cold glass with just enough force to make you gasp. The chill sent a jolt through you, sharp and startling, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as it ghosted over your jaw, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin like he already knew how you’d respond. You tilted your head instinctively, a subtle surrender that didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re not even trying to stop me,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as his fingers dug into the soft curve of your thigh. With a firm pull, he hitched your leg around his hip, pressing his body tightly against yours. The sharp, undeniable pressure of him sent a rush of heat through you, and before you could stop it, a low, needy sound escaped your throat.

“Shut up,” you bit out, your voice trembling as your hands gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer despite your words. “We haven’t even made it to the suite.”

“And?” His teeth grazed your earlobe, drawing another gasp from your lips. “Doesn’t seem like you care.”

His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate, the friction enough to have you clenching your teeth against another sound. His mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, and you swore you felt his smirk against your skin.

“Someone could walk in,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, but this time there was no protest in your tone—only a sharp edge of excitement. The thought twisted in your stomach, hot and heavy, and you didn’t even try to hide the way your breath hitched as his hands gripped your waist tighter.

Jeno moaned, his head falling to your shoulder, but the sound wasn’t one of shame—it was hunger, raw and electric, vibrating through his chest. “You’re sick,” he rasped, though the way his hands slid up, pushing your shirt higher, told you he wasn’t about to stop. “You like the idea, don’t you?”

“Maybe I do,” you shot back, gripping his hair and tugging, forcing him to meet your gaze. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted, and the sight made your stomach tighten with something feral. “What about you? Would you stop if someone walked in right now? Or would you just keep going, make them watch?”

His lips crushed against yours in a punishing kiss, his teeth catching your bottom lip before he pulled back just enough to mutter, “Keep talking like that, and I’ll make sure we find out.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not when his mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was nothing short of devastating, a clash of tongue and teeth that left you breathless and reeling. His fingers dug into your thigh, holding you in place as his hips moved against yours, each deliberate grind dragging you closer to the edge of losing yourself completely. Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. The sound reverberated through you, and you felt a sharp twist of satisfaction at the way his composure seemed to splinter beneath your touch. The mirrored walls amplified every sound—the hitch in your breath, the low rasp of his voice, the wet, desperate press of his lips against yours.

“You’re bold tonight,” you managed, your voice cutting through the heated haze as you pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were dark, nearly black, and the hunger in his gaze sent a thrill down your spine.

“Because you drive me crazy,” he countered, his grip tightening on your waist.

The elevator chimed, the sound breaking through the fog of your shared intensity. The doors slid open, and Jeno didn’t even pause, his arms sliding under your thighs as he lifted you easily. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and he carried you out of the elevator like it was the most natural thing in the world. The suite greeted you in a blur of soft light and sleek luxury, but you barely registered it. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the glittering city, the skyline stretching endlessly before you, but your focus was entirely on the man carrying you.

“Put me down,” you murmured, though your arms stayed firmly wrapped around his neck.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice low and certain, his lips brushing against your temple as he carried you toward the massive bed. “Not until I’ve had you exactly the way I want.”

When he finally laid you down, his body followed, the weight of him pressing you into the plush mattress. The air between you was electric, charged with the promise of what was to come. He hovered over you, his eyes searching yours as a slow smile curved his lips. “You planned all this,” you said softly, the realization settling over you as your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, lingering on the smooth warmth of his skin.

“For you? Always.” His voice, quieter now but no less intense, sent a different kind of shiver coursing through you, one that nestled somewhere deep and heavy. His eyes held yours, and for a brief moment, it felt like there was nothing else in the room but him—the way he looked at you, like he was memorizing every inch, every breath you took.

Your chest tightened, the weight of something unspoken pressing down, but you didn’t let yourself linger on it. Instead, you let your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him down to you. Your lips found his with a hunger that matched his own, the kiss igniting something fierce and relentless between you. His teeth caught your bottom lip, dragging a soft gasp from your throat that quickly dissolved into a moan as his tongue slid against yours, messy and desperate. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the expanse of soft sheets and heat, the city’s lights a quiet witness to the way he unraveled you, piece by piece. But you weren’t about to let him have all the control.

When he pushed you back into the bed, his hands already tugging at your shirt, you stopped him with a firm grip on his wrist. “Not so fast,” you murmured, your tone low and teasing as you rolled him onto his back, pinning his hands above his head. His eyes widened slightly, dark with surprise and anticipation, and you smirked at the way his chest rose and fell beneath you, every breath drawing you further into the madness of him.

“You’re bossy tonight,” he said, his voice rough and laced with amusement, but his body betrayed him, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.

“Like always,” you shot back, grinding down on him deliberately, savoring the way his head tipped back, his jaw tightening.

Your lips brushed against his softly at first, a stark contrast to the raw, unrestrained grind of your body against his. The deliberate way your mouths moved together, slow and savoring, was worlds away from the brutal, slick rhythm that came later—the frantic bounce of your hips that made the mattress groan and his cock disappear into you, over and over, with a lewd, wet sound that seemed to echo in the air. You kissed him like you had all the time in the world, like the fire clawing at the edges of your restraint wasn’t already threatening to consume you. But even in this brief tenderness, Jeno’s hands were restless, sliding over your back, gripping the curve of your waist, digging into the soft swell of your thighs like he was barely holding himself back from flipping you over and taking what he wanted. His touch wasn’t gentle; it was possessive, desperate, the kind of touch that promised you wouldn’t stay in control for long.

As your chest pressed to his, your fingers danced along his collarbones, tracing the sharp lines of muscle that tensed beneath your touch. “You’re so fucking pretty like this,” you murmured, your voice low and reverent, tinged with satisfaction. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his temple. Each kiss felt like a brand, deliberate and possessive, as if you were staking your claim on him with every touch. Jeno’s breathing turned ragged, his hands slipping lower to cup your ass, kneading the soft flesh as your hips started to roll. The first grind was deliberate, dragging him against the slick heat of your body until you both let out matching groans. The tension coiled tight between you, electric and unrelenting, the kind that couldn’t be ignored. You lifted yourself slightly, teasing him with another slow grind that made his hips jerk involuntarily.

“Good boy,” you purred, your nails scraping lightly down his chest as his head fell back, exposing the sharp line of his jaw. The words sent a shudder through him, his lips parting on a broken sound that made your stomach clench. You set the pace deliberately, dragging your body over his with precision, savoring the way his cock twitched beneath you, hard and throbbing.

“Do you like when I ride you, baby?” you asked, your tone sharp and teasing as you leaned down, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles bunched under your hold, as though he was barely holding himself back.

“Can’t get enough,” he groaned, his voice rough, his hands tightening on your hips. “Keep going.”

“Show it,” you demanded, your voice soft but commanding as you leaned back, your hands bracing on his chest for leverage. You ground down harder, sharper, drawing a gasp from his lips as his cock slid deeper, the obscene wetness between your thighs making every movement feel filthy. “Tell me how much you love it.”

“I love it,” he choked out, his voice breaking as he strained beneath you. “Love how you fuck me. Love when you take me like this.”

“That’s not enough,” you murmured, dragging your nails down his chest again, leaving faint red trails in your wake. “Say it, Jeno. Say what I want to hear.”

His gaze met yours, dark and filled with something raw, as the word slipped out, hesitant at first but thick with need. “Mommy,” he whispered, and the flush that spread across his cheeks made your breath hitch.

A wicked smile curled at your lips as you rolled your hips, the sound of his cock dragging against your walls sending a fresh wave of heat through you. “Good boy,” you praised, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “You like being my good boy, don’t you?”

“I love it,” he choked out, his voice trembling with the effort of holding himself back. “Love it when you’re on top of me. You’re so—fuck—you’re so good, mommy.”

You leaned down, your breasts pressing against his chest, and he didn’t hesitate. His mouth found your nipple, his tongue flicking against the hardened peak before he sucked, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp. The wet heat of his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you arched into him, your nails digging into his shoulders. “That’s it,” you murmured, your voice trembling as his lips moved to the other breast, his tongue swirling before he bit down lightly. “You’re so good for me, Jeno. So fucking good.”

He groaned around your nipple, the vibration of it making you shudder as you rode him harder, the slick slide of his cock hitting deep with every bounce. The rhythm was frantic now, animalistic, each thrust sending shocks of pleasure through you both. His lips left your breast, his head tipping back as he let out a guttural moan, his eyes dark and wild as he looked up at you.

Jeno was dominance refined, a man who carried control like a second skin, yet with you, he unraveled willingly, like thread pulled loose from the edges of something too tightly wound. He let you peel him open, surrendering every inch of himself with a trust so raw it almost felt sacred. The way his body bowed to your command, the way his eyes locked onto yours as though tethering himself to you—it was a quiet kind of reverence, a submission that wasn’t about yielding but about being known. For you, it was the crack in his armor, the way his composure fractured under your touch, revealing the man who wasn’t afraid to need you. This wasn’t a struggle for power; it was an exchange of something deeper, something primal and consuming, leaving you both stripped bare in ways that had nothing to do with skin.

The slick drag of his cock was relentless, each thrust slamming into you with an intensity that had your entire body arching to meet him. The sound of your wetness filled the air, obscene and unyielding, matched only by the sharp, guttural groans tearing from his throat. His hands gripped your thighs like a lifeline, nails digging into the soft flesh as if anchoring himself in the sensation of you wrapped around him. You could feel it—the way he was unraveling, his control slipping with every snap of his hips.

The lush room around you blurred into the periphery—the silk sheets, the dim glow of ambient light reflecting off the glass walls, the glittering skyline beyond—everything faded into the background as the friction of his body against yours consumed you. You knew you’d barely make it out of this bed all weekend, the promise of dates and laughter overshadowed by the primal heat simmering between you. It was indulgent, unrestrained, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Switch with me,” he growled suddenly, his voice rough and commanding. Without waiting for an answer, his grip tightened on your hips, and with a force that left you breathless, he flipped you onto your back. The abrupt motion made you gasp, but it was the weight of him pressing you into the mattress that stole your breath entirely.

His cock slid back inside you with a force that had your eyes rolling back, the stretch impossibly deep, the familiar burn making your thighs tremble. “You’re fucking mine,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear, the words punctuated by the sharp snap of his hips. “Every inch of you, baby.”

“Prove it,” you shot back, your nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks, your voice a breathless challenge. “Don’t hold back, Jeno.”

And he didn’t. His pace was brutal, each thrust harder, deeper, until the room echoed with the sound of skin against skin. His forehead pressed to yours, his dark eyes locked on you, watching every moan, every gasp that escaped your lips. It was addictive—the way he lost himself in you, the way you matched his every movement, your bodies tangling in a rhythm that felt as inevitable as gravity.

“You love this,” he rasped, his voice shaking with the effort of keeping himself from losing it. “The way I fuck you—the way I fill you up every time.”

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, your heels digging into his back to pull him even deeper. “You know I love it. You know I need it—need you.”

His groan was animalistic, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. The words didn’t matter anymore; they were lost in the overwhelming sensation of him pounding into you, the drag of his cock against your walls leaving you trembling, raw. You could feel it building, that familiar tension coiling low in your stomach, sharp and consuming.

“Come inside me,” you demanded, your voice breaking as your climax hovered just out of reach. “You know you want to—you always do.”

His hips stuttered, a sharp inhale tearing from his throat as he buried himself deeper, his cock throbbing against your walls. “Fuck,” he growled, his hands cradling your face, his eyes wild as they searched yours. “You’re gonna take all of me—every fucking drop.” The words pushed you over the edge, your body arching as your orgasm slammed through you, leaving you gasping and shaking beneath him. The way your walls clamped down on him was enough to send him spiraling, his groan low and wrecked as he came, his release spilling into you in thick, hot waves. He didn’t stop, didn’t pull away, his hips grinding against yours as if he wanted to bury himself deeper, as if he never wanted to leave.

The silence was thick and consuming, a blanket of warmth that bound you together in the stillness. His forehead rested against yours, his weight pressing you into the bed in a way that left no space between your bodies, your breaths mingling in an unspoken rhythm. Your legs clung to him, holding him close, as his thumb brushed over your cheek in slow, deliberate strokes, reverence in every touch. Your fingers threaded through his damp hair, tugging just enough to draw his gaze to yours. No words passed between you—there was no need. The way he stayed, the way he touched, said everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

With a quiet determination, he slipped his arms beneath you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. Your legs loosened from his waist but still draped around him, the contact unbroken as he moved through the dimly lit suite. His steps were careful, deliberate, the air between you heavy with the fragile intimacy of the moment. The faint brush of his lips against your temple broke the silence, soft and grounding, an unspoken promise that lingered long after.

The bathroom was a sanctuary of indulgence—marble floors cool underfoot, the walls veined with onyx that shimmered in the dim, ambient lighting. A glass-walled shower stood at the center, large enough to fit both of you with space to spare, steam curling from its edges. Jeno guided you there with gentle hands, his touch grounding as you stepped under the rainfall showerhead. Warm water cascaded over you, soothing your sore muscles, washing away the evidence of your earlier chaos. His hands followed the path of the water, a soft, deliberate caress as he cleaned you. The soap lathered against his palms before he worked it over your body, the intimacy of the act making your breath hitch. His touch lingered, sliding over your hips, up the curve of your back, before coming to rest at your waist. You leaned into him, your head tilting back against his chest as his fingers grazed the undersides of your breasts.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, the words a whisper against the shell of your ear, his lips pressing a soft kiss there.

But the softness didn’t last. The moment your eyes fluttered closed, his hands tightened on your hips, spinning you to face the shower wall. The sharp contrast of the cool tile against your chest made you gasp, but he didn’t give you time to adjust. His cock pressed against you, sliding through the slickness of your folds before he pushed into you with a force that stole your breath.

“Couldn’t wait,” he growled, his voice rough, his teeth grazing the curve of your neck as he set a brutal pace. The sound of your bodies colliding echoed in the tiled space, your moans mingling with the rush of water. His grip on your hips was bruising, holding you in place as he drove into you over and over, the angle leaving you trembling. By the time he came, spilling inside you with a guttural moan, you were boneless against the wall, his arms circling your waist to hold you upright.

He dried you off with careful, deliberate motions, his hands moving over your skin with a softness that left you feeling cherished, even in the haze of exhaustion. The towel skimmed over your curves as he worked in silence, his gaze steady and intent, like every inch of you deserved his undivided attention. When he was satisfied, he handed you his oversized top—the one you always stole—watching as you slipped it over your head, the fabric brushing your thighs. You paired it with his favorite black panties, a quiet nod to the way his eyes darkened whenever you wore them. He lingered close, pulling on his boxers and letting his hand settle at the small of your back, as if tethering you to him.

The bedroom felt different now, the quiet intimacy stretching between you like a tether, fragile but undeniable. He reached for your hand, his fingers lacing with yours, a silent gesture that grounded you both. Wordlessly, he let you guide him out of the room, your bare feet padding softly across the cool floor. The suite unfolded around you, the space was indulgent, sprawling with polished wood floors, sleek modern furniture, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the glittering skyline. You trailed your fingers along the marble countertop in the kitchenette, admired the oversized sectional that practically begged to be ruined, and glanced toward the balcony, the faint hum of the city audible through the glass.

You moved further into the space, your eyes drawn inevitably to the farthest wall, where floor-to-ceiling windows framed the cityscape like a living masterpiece. The world stretched out endlessly, glittering in the night’s quiet pulse, each light a tiny fragment of life below. You let go of his hand and stepped forward, drawn to the view, your palm finding the cool surface of the glass. The contrast of its chill against your skin sent a shiver through you, though you couldn’t tear your gaze from the sprawling skyline, your reflection merging with the expanse of neon beyond.

Your hand reached back instinctively, searching for him, the absence of his touch sparking a quiet ache that twisted low in your stomach. Then he was there, solid and warm, his chest pressing against your back as his fingers wrapped around yours, guiding it to your hip. His other hand followed, sliding over your waist with deliberate slowness, his grip firm but teasing as though reminding you who was behind you. All you could feel was him—his breath warm against your temple, his lips brushing over your hair in a kiss that was as possessive as it was tender. The weight of his presence settled you, yet it stoked something deeper, the heat of his body against yours making your thighs clench as his hands stayed low, anchoring you to the moment.

The city stretched beneath you like an electric constellation beneath you but it might as well have been invisible. Your focus was entirely on him, the man pressed against your back, his body radiating heat that seeped into your skin even as the cool glass of the window bit into your front. Every breath you took fogged the surface in bursts, the faint imprint of your exhale a testament to the way your chest rose and fell, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach.

Jeno’s hands moved with purpose, dragging up your sides and teasing the curve of your waist before sliding lower to grip your hips. His lips were at your neck, brushing just enough to make your pulse stutter, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. His teeth grazed the tender spot beneath your jaw, a quiet hum of approval vibrating in his chest when you pressed back against him deliberately, grinding against the unmistakable hardness at your lower back. “Do you think anyone can see us?” he murmured, his voice a low, rough growl that seemed to vibrate straight through you. The question wasn’t hesitant—it was teasing, his tone full of wicked amusement as his fingers tightened their hold on your hips.

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your lips curving into a smirk even as your hands splayed against the glass for balance. “Maybe,” you answered, your voice equally taunting as you pushed back harder, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan low in his throat. “Do you care?”

“Not even a little,” he said without hesitation, his grip shifting as he slid his hands to your thighs, spreading them wider with a deliberate motion. His breath hitched as he pressed closer, his cock grinding against the curve of your ass. “If anything, I like the idea.”

“Me too,” you admitted, the confession spilling out easily, the thrill of it making your skin flush. The idea of being exposed, of someone catching a glimpse of the silhouettes moving against the glass, sent a spark of exhilaration straight through you. “Let them watch.”

Jeno’s lips twitched into a grin against your neck, his teeth scraping the delicate skin before he kissed over the mark. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust, his hips rolling to match your rhythm. “So fucking dangerous.”

“Show me,” you demanded, your voice low but steady, thick with your own desire. You tilted your head, catching his gaze in the window’s reflection, your smirk daring him to go further. The spark in his eyes was instantaneous, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed you harder into the glass, your naked body fully visible against the glowing city backdrop.

Your nipples pebbled at the contact, your breath fogging the window. The city stretched out below, glittering and alive, but none of it mattered—not when Jeno was right behind you, his body firm and unrelenting as he pressed you closer to the window with every roll of his hips. His cock slid between your thighs, thick and demanding, teasing at your entrance as his hands gripped your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “You like the view, baby?” you teased, your voice low and dripping with challenge as your palms pressed flat against the glass, your body arching deliberately. The city lights stretched out endlessly below you, but it wasn’t the skyline you were talking about, and you both knew it.

Jeno’s laugh was low, rough, and sent a shiver down your spine. “The view’s good,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he pushed you harder against the glass, your body arching under his touch. “But nothing compares to this,” he added, his cock sliding between your slick folds, the heat of him pressing into you like he wanted to burn the moment into memory. His eyes stayed locked on your reflection, dark and unrelenting. “You’re the only thing worth looking at.”

His hands slid up your thighs, squeezing possessively before he pressed himself against you, his cock hard and insistent against your soaked folds. The deliberate roll of his hips made you gasp, a sharp, breathless sound that only spurred him on. “You think you’re in charge tonight?” he rasped, his teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder.

You tilted your head, catching his dark, heated gaze in the reflection. “I know I am,” you shot back, pushing your hips back just enough to make him hiss, his grip tightening on your waist.

Jeno’s smirk deepened, his hands sliding higher to grip your hips. “We’ll see about that,” he growled, his voice a low, wicked promise as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “But keep teasing me, princess—see how long you last.”

Instead of answering, you arched your back, the movement deliberate as you spread your legs wider, grinding against him in slow, teasing circles. The way his hands tightened on your waist, the sharp inhale that escaped him—it was exactly what you wanted. “Don’t act like you’re not obsessed with it,” you murmured, your voice dripping with challenge. “With me.”

Jeno didn’t bother with words. His grip on your hips shifted, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, pinning you lightly against the window as his cock fully pushed into you, inch by inch, stretching you in a way that left you gasping. The obscene slickness of it, the way your body gave way for him, made your eyes flutter shut as he buried himself completely. “God,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his hips snapped forward again, driving deeper. “You’re so fucking tight. Always.”

Your nails scraped against the glass, your body jolting with the force of his thrusts as he set a brutal, unrelenting rhythm. The sound of your wetness and skin meeting skin filled the space, drowning out even the hum of the city below. The glass rattled faintly with every impact, each movement sending tremors through you as you pushed back against him, refusing to let him take all the control. “You can do better than that,” you gasped, your words breathy but laced with fire.

Jeno growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing the back of your shoulder before biting down just enough to leave a mark. “Keep talking, baby,” he challenged, his voice rough. “See how long you last.”

“Shut up,” you managed, your nails curling into fists against the glass.

Your walls clenched around him, your legs trembling as his pace grew faster, harder, each thrust driving you higher. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, the pleasure building like a storm ready to break.

“Say it,” he demanded, his other hand trailing up your body to cup your breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple with just enough force to make you arch. “Say you’re mine. Tell me who owns you.”

Your head dropped against the window, your body shuddering as you gasped, “Fuck, Jeno—yes—yes, I’m yours.”

His groan was guttural, raw, his hips slamming into you as he chased his release, pulling you with him in a dizzying spiral of heat and need. The glass fogged further, your reflections blurred and hazy, but the sight of his body pressed against yours, fucking into you with abandon, was seared into your memory.

The tension snapped, unraveling in a rush of heat and electricity as your climax tore through you, leaving you trembling against the glass. Your nails dragged faint streaks across the cool surface, desperate for something to anchor you as Jeno’s name spilled from your lips in a broken cry. His response came seconds later, a guttural groan reverberating against the curve of your neck as his hips stuttered. He buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in thick, hot waves, each pulse making your body shudder in response.

For a moment, the world stilled. Neither of you moved, the weight of him pressing you firmly to the glass, grounding you in the aftermath of the chaos you’d just created. His breath was ragged against your shoulder, the faint tremble in his chest mirroring your own as the heat between you lingered, wrapping around you like a second skin. His hands loosened their bruising grip on your hips, sliding slowly up your sides as if reluctant to let go, his touch softer now but no less possessive.

The city lights sparkled beyond the window, an endless sea of gold and white, but the view barely registered. All you could see was the faint reflection of his body curved over yours, his forehead pressing gently against the back of your head, the imprint of your hands on the glass a testament to what had just unfolded. All you could feel was him—the heat of his chest against your back, the steady rhythm of his breathing slowing to match your own. And in that moment, nothing else mattered but the way he held you, as if you were the only thing in the world worth holding on to.

The two of you stumbled to the sofa, your bodies still thrumming with the residual heat of what had unfolded by the window. The oversized top you’d borrowed from Jeno clung to your damp skin, riding high on your thighs, while his boxers hung dangerously low on his hips, teasing glimpses of the hardness that hadn’t entirely faded. Every glance between you was loaded, every accidental touch sparking like flint against steel. You collapsed onto the plush cushions, both pretending the hunger had abated when it hadn’t, ordering enough room service to distract yourselves, though you both knew nothing could.

Plates arrived in waves—decadent pasta, syrupy desserts, crispy fries—and you devoured them with the kind of reckless abandon that only came after hours spent burning through every ounce of energy. You sat cross-legged on the sofa between his legs, your back resting against his chest, the warmth of his body wrapping around you as his thighs bracketed your sides. Without hesitation, you reached for his fork, swiping a bite of tiramisu before he could stop you, laughing at the quiet scoff that escaped him. His hand fell to your shoulder, his thumb tracing idle circles against your collarbone, and despite the lightness of your laughter, the heat between you remained, humming just beneath the surface.

The conversation flowed easily, though the tension between you simmered just below the surface. Jeno talked about his upcoming matches, the weight of expectations, and the thrill of the court, his voice low and steady as his fingers worked through your hair. You didn’t care much for basketball, but the way his eyes lit up and his expression sharpened with every detail made you listen intently, captivated by the passion that radiated from him. His hand paused briefly, brushing the nape of your neck, and a shiver danced down your spine, though you hid it well. The fire in his voice, the quiet determination shaping his words, twisted something deep in your chest, leaving you far more invested in him than the game itself.

But that tension—raw, insatiable—never left. It flared again the moment you caught his gaze mid-sentence, your smile softening into something more vulnerable, more telling. His voice faltered, his eyes darkening as they dragged over your face, taking in the slight flush to your cheeks, the way your lips parted as if you were about to say something. But you didn’t need to. The silence between you said it all.

Before you could process it, Jeno had shifted, his hands slipping under your thighs, pinning you beneath him. The weight of him was overwhelming, his lips crashing into yours with a force that left you breathless, his need spilling into every movement. His hands were everywhere—pushing up the hem of your borrowed top, tracing the lines of your body as if he could map you by touch alone. His mouth moved lower, trailing fire down your stomach, his teeth grazing your skin as he spread your thighs wide. The reverence in the way he worshipped you, the slow drag of his tongue and the muffled groans that vibrated against your skin, left you trembling, your fingers clawing at the cushions for something to hold onto.

But you weren’t content to let him take control—not entirely. When the teasing edge of his smirk became too much, you pushed against his shoulders, flipping him onto his back with a force that surprised even him. Straddling his waist, you dragged your nails down his chest, leaving faint red lines that made him hiss through his teeth. His hands gripped your hips, his control teetering between guiding and surrendering as you rolled your body against him, the friction maddening.

It wasn’t just about dominance—it was about the way you unraveled each other, piece by piece, trading control like a challenge neither of you wanted to lose. The air around you felt electric, charged with a desperation that neither of you could ignore. Every gasp, every moan, every sharp thrust of your hips felt like a declaration, a reminder that no matter how much time passed, you would never get enough of each other.

Hours later, you found yourselves wandering up to the rooftop terrace. The semi-private lounge was bathed in the glow of ambient lighting, the night breeze brushing against your skin as you settled on a secluded chaise. The city stretched infinitely around you, stars barely visible against the overwhelming glitter of skyscrapers and distant traffic.

The rooftop air was crisp, tinged with the faint smell of rain on concrete, and the glow of the city below made everything shimmer—your skin, his sweat-slick chest, the faint sheen of your thighs as they flexed with each movement. The chaise lounge creaked softly beneath you, the only other sound the low hum of the distant city and the muffled gasps you both tried to keep quiet. But restraint was slipping with every roll of your hips, every desperate pull of his hands as he guided you deeper, harder, onto his cock.

The rhythm between you was intoxicating—slow enough to draw out the pleasure, rough enough to make your breath catch. Your nails dragged down his chest, leaving faint red trails over his skin as you leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear. “Look at you,” you whispered, your voice dark and laced with satisfaction. “You’d let the whole city watch, wouldn’t you? Let them see how fucking wrecked you are for me.”

His head tipped back against the cushions, his jaw tight as his grip on your hips tightened to the point of bruising. “If they saw,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with arousal, “they’d know you’re mine. Every fucking inch of you.” His words were punctuated by the sharp thrust of his hips, meeting your movements with a force that sent shockwaves through your body.

The city lights blurred as your eyes fluttered shut, the stars overhead forgotten in the heat of the moment. The cool breeze licked at your overheated skin, contrasting sharply with the molten friction of his cock stretching you with every bounce. You gasped, your body arching as his hands moved to cup your ass, spreading you wider to take him even deeper. His name fell from your lips in broken syllables, your control fracturing with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck, Jeno,” you breathed, your forehead pressing against his, sweat slicking your skin. “You feel so—” The words were swallowed by a sharp cry as he hit the perfect angle, driving deeper, harder, until your nails dug into his shoulders.

His teeth grazed your jawline, a low growl escaping him as he whispered against your skin. “You’re so tight, baby. So fucking perfect for me.” The praise sent a shiver through you, your thighs trembling as the pleasure coiled tighter, threatening to snap.

The chaise creaked louder as the pace quickened, the risk of being seen only fueling the heat between you. You tilted your head back, your gaze catching the faint reflection of your bodies in the glass railing behind you—his hands gripping your hips, your dress bunched around your waist, the flex of his abs as he fucked into you with a desperation that left you both breathless.

When his hand slid between your thighs, finding your clit with practiced ease, your body jerked, a gasp tearing from your throat. “You’re gonna come,” he growled, his voice a dangerous mix of command and promise. “I can feel it. Don’t hold back, baby. Let me feel you.”

Your walls clenched around him, your climax barreling through you with a force that left you trembling, your nails digging into his chest as your cries were swallowed by his mouth. He wasn’t far behind, his grip on your hips bruising as he thrust into you one final time, spilling into you with a low, guttural groan. The breeze cooled your skin as the aftershocks left you both trembling, your bodies still entangled. His forehead pressed to yours as his hands smoothed over your thighs, grounding you as the city lights continued to glitter around you. Neither of you spoke, but the way his fingers laced with yours, the faint smile tugging at his lips, said everything.

By the time you reached the hotel’s private spa, the edge of your hunger had softened into something more languid. The low lighting and warmth of the room wrapped around you as you slipped into the oversized tub. Jeno pulled you into his lap, the water lapping softly around you as your legs wrapped around his waist. The champagne flute balanced precariously on the edge of the tub went ignored as his lips found the damp curve of your shoulder. Jeno’s grip on your hips was firm yet tender, his fingers pressing into the slick heat of your skin as he guided your movements. The water amplified everything—the slick drag of his cock as he filled you completely, the soft slap of your bodies meeting, the low, guttural noises he made every time you rolled your hips just so. You arched your back, your head tipping against the tile as his lips trailed down the curve of your neck, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint as his forehead dropped to yours. His gaze burned into you, dark and heavy, the reflection of the water dancing in his eyes as his hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer. The wet slide of your bodies sent a shiver racing through you, each thrust hitting so deeply it left you gasping, clinging to him as if the weight of the world would crush you without his steady presence.

The champagne flute teetered on the edge of the tub, forgotten, as the water splashed higher with every motion. Your nails scraped down his shoulders, leaving faint red marks in their wake, and his answering groan vibrated through his chest, low and possessive. “Look at me,” he said hoarsely, his hand tilting your chin up. The vulnerability in his command sent heat pooling low in your stomach, and you obeyed, your eyes locking on his as he pressed deeper, his cock stretching you in a way that felt both devastating and perfect.

The world outside the spa didn’t exist—there was only the sound of water, the rasp of your breath, the intoxicating pull of his body against yours. The pace was unhurried but relentless, each roll of his hips dragging you closer to the edge, until you were trembling, your moans caught in the quiet intimacy of the room.

“Don’t let go,” he rasped, his hand sliding down to cup the curve of your ass, pulling you tighter against him as his thrusts grew sharper, more demanding. The way he filled you, the way he moved inside you, was reverent yet possessive, and it sent you spiraling, your body clenching around him as the tension coiled tighter and tighter.

The water lapped at the edge of the tub, spilling over with the force of your movements, but neither of you cared. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him into a desperate kiss as the heat built between you, threatening to consume you both. The spa, with its soothing ambiance and quiet luxury, became a cocoon for your frenzied connection, a place where nothing existed except the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies and the fire that refused to burn out.

Back in the suite, the tension hadn’t faded—it had only deepened, stretching and evolving until it was unbearable. You didn’t speak, didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. The bed, the floor, the couch—every surface became a canvas for your desire, your need for each other leaving its mark in tangled sheets and discarded clothes. Jeno’s hands found you over and over, guiding, gripping, grounding you as he pressed you to him like you were the only thing keeping him steady. You made love until the early hours of the morning, the connection shifting between soft and wild, tender and consuming. At times, it was languid—his lips tracing over your skin as he took you apart with devastating precision. Other times, it was desperate—the sound of skin meeting skin filling the air as you both chased a release that felt endless. The suite became a world of its own, the city lights flickering through the window as your bodies intertwined, moving in perfect sync until there was nothing left but exhaustion and the quiet hum of satisfaction.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep, as you tilted your head to brush your lips against his jaw. His hand slid down to intertwine with yours, his grip as sure and comforting as the heat radiating from his skin.

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest, his smile faint but unmissable against your neck. “Morning,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly. “Let me stay like this… just a little longer.”

You didn’t argue, letting his words settle into the quiet intimacy between you. The weight of him was familiar now, the rough scrape of his jaw against your cheek, the way his breath warmed your skin—all of it was Jeno, unmistakably and irrevocably. You closed your eyes, letting the moments stretch, the night fading into memory as the world outside began to stir. But the weekend wasn’t just a memory—it had left a mark on you, one you couldn’t name, but felt deeply, an indelible shift in the spaces he occupied within you.

The hours slipped by in a blur, the sun climbing higher as the weekend drew to its inevitable close. The lingering scent of sex and Jeno’s cologne clung to your skin as you moved through the suite, gathering scattered clothes and remnants of indulgence. The chaos of the past days had left its evidence everywhere—the smudged windowpane that bore the ghost of your hands, the tousled sheets on the bed, the faint imprint of your bodies on the chaise. Everywhere you turned, there was him—his hoodie draped on the back of the couch, his laugh still echoing in the air, his touch etched into your skin. You could feel him in the quietest moments, in the way your body instinctively leaned toward his, in the way his presence filled every corner of the suite and every corner of your thoughts.

By the time you stepped out of the suite, your hand tucked into his, the weight of the weekend sat heavy between you. There was no need for words, no need to fill the silence with questions about what came next. You knew, even without saying it, that something had shifted irreparably. Jeno was no longer a disruption or even a part of your routine—he was the routine now, a gravity you couldn’t resist. And as the elevator doors slid shut, closing you both off from the luxurious escape that had been your world for two days, you knew you had surrendered completely. He had consumed you, piece by piece, until there was nothing left untouched. Whatever you had been before this weekend had blurred, softened, and dissolved, leaving only Jeno—his presence imprinted on your skin, your thoughts, your everything. And as the city opened up beyond the tinted windows of the car, you found yourself clinging to him even tighter, bracing for the reality that waited beyond this escape, but already knowing there was no turning back.

The air in Jeno’s apartment felt heavier tonight, the usual warmth muted by your growing frustration. The faint hum of your laptop blended with the soft creak of his desk chair beneath you, the glow of the screen casting shadows across scattered notes and half-drained water bottles. Your phone clattered onto the wooden surface with a dull thud as you dragged your hands through your hair, nails grazing your scalp in a futile attempt to release the tension coiling at the base of your neck. The sharp edges of unfinished thoughts pressed against your mind, refusing to take shape. With a clipped exhale, you slammed the laptop shut, the sound cutting through the muffled quiet like a splinter, ricocheting against the sleek concrete walls. The chaos in your head was unrelenting, swallowing any chance of progress.

It wasn’t that you and Mark had become distant. You still talked, still shared moments that only the two of you would understand. But lately, everything felt off. There wasn’t enough time—time for him, for you, for each other. Your schedule was filled with assignments, looming deadlines, and the secret that was Jeno. Mark didn’t know about him, and that made it harder. Meanwhile, Mark was consumed with basketball, his new spot on the team taking up his days, and Areum taking up his nights.

Areum. She didn’t even know you knew about her and Mark, but it wasn’t hard to see how compatible they were. Everything about them fit—the way she touched his arm when she laughed, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the room. It didn’t sting exactly, but it was impossible not to notice.

You were so lost in your spiraling thoughts that you didn’t notice Jeno’s presence until he was already there, his warmth radiating against your back. His arms slid around your shoulders with the kind of familiarity that spoke of countless nights like this, pulling you into his chest as he leaned down. One arm crossed firmly over your front, holding you close, while his other hand swept gently through your hair, his fingertips gliding over your scalp with an almost meditative softness. His lips brushed a featherlight kiss against your temple, his breath warm as it fanned over your skin. The weight of his touch, steady and grounding, seemed to loosen the knots of tension that had wound tightly around your frame.

“You’re a million miles away,” he murmured, his voice low and threaded with concern. His lips hovered near your ear as he spoke again, his tone firmer but still unbearably tender. “Y/N,” he repeated, his voice cutting gently through the haze clouding your thoughts.

It wasn’t until he said your name a third time, this time softer, more patient, that you blinked, the fog lifting just enough for his voice to register. “Hmm?” you hummed faintly, your body leaning into his hold as though it had been waiting for the solace of his presence all along.

Jeno’s chair scraped softly against the floor as he pulled it out and settled beside you. His hand didn’t leave you, though; it found your back, his palm moving in slow, steady circles. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone careful but curious.

You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to unpack the storm swirling in your mind. “It’s nothing,” you said finally, your voice soft but strained.

His brow lifted, but he didn’t push. He just waited, his quiet patience urging you to continue.

“It’s Mark,” you admitted after a beat, your words spilling out in a rush. “He’s just… I don’t know. It’s like ever since—” You paused, glancing at Jeno. “Ever since we became exclusive, things with Mark have been weird. It’s not like he knows or anything, but it’s caused this… distance. And now he’s acting like I’m hiding something, which I am, obviously, but he doesn’t know that. I’ve been so good at hiding what we have going on, so why has he been acting weirdly? I don’t know what he thinks is going on with me, but I know he’s overthinking it.”

Jeno listened intently, his gaze steady and unwavering, as if every word you spoke deserved the fullest weight of his attention. Without breaking his focus, he reached for a pistachio from the small bowl beside him, cracking the shell with ease. The soft snap of the split husk felt almost deliberate, a quiet punctuation to your words, before he set the nut down on the desk in front of you. It was a gesture so subtle and unassuming, yet it spoke volumes—one of the countless ways he tended to you, offering comfort without the need for acknowledgement, grounding you in the way only he could.

“How does he know you’re hiding something, though?” he asked, his tone even but curious.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “He just does. We’ve been close for so long that we can tell when something’s off, even if no one says anything.” Jeno’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable, but you caught the faint flicker of something in his eyes. He didn’t like how close you and Mark were, even if it was just platonic.

“I don’t know what he thinks I’m hiding,” you continued. “I know he has no idea about us because if he did, he wouldn’t be talking to me at all. I just… don’t know.”

Jeno stayed quiet, his hand pausing mid-circle on your back before he leaned forward, his movements careful, deliberate, as if not to startle you. He reached for the plate of food he had brought up earlier, the aroma wafting gently between you. “You haven’t eaten, have you?” he asked softly, already certain of the answer. His voice carried no judgment, only quiet concern as he pushed the plate closer to you, his knuckles brushing your arm briefly. “You can’t do this to yourself. Eat first, okay? Then we’ll deal with everything else.”

The weight of his care settled over you, leaving no room for argument. You picked up the plate, the familiar taste of your favorite meal grounding you in a way that words never could. The silence between you wasn’t empty; it felt intentional, filled with the soft clink of cutlery and the occasional press of his knee against yours, anchoring you to the moment.

When the food was gone, Jeno leaned back in his chair, his arms loose at his sides, watching you with an expression that was equal parts thoughtful and unreadable. The soft lines of his face carried a quiet patience, and for a moment, he didn’t speak, as if weighing his words before breaking the silence. “You know,” he started, his tone measured, “and I don’t want you to get mad at me for saying this.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, a silent challenge. “Go on,” you muttered, your tone flat.

His eyes widened briefly, startled by your sharpness, but he recovered quickly. “I know you’re close with him—Mark,” he clarified. “But don’t you think it’s weird that despite how close you are, he doesn’t really know much about you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Jeno leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Y/N… he thinks you’re some innocent virgin who’s never had any kind of relationship experience. He doesn’t know about the bar, about you performing, about anything. Why?”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. He wasn’t wrong, and the truth of it left you momentarily speechless. “How do you even know all of that?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Me and him have been talking. You know that. We’ve been getting closer,” Jeno said. And you should’ve been happy about that. You were, but there was a small part of you that couldn’t ignore the unease curling in your stomach. “Be careful with what you’re talking about with him. I don’t even know why you’re talking about me.”

“I’m not stupid, Y/N. I’m careful with him,” he said, his tone sharp but not unkind. “He doesn’t suspect anything. But he does talk about you a lot. It’s hard for me to hear it sometimes, to pretend I don’t know you the way I do.”

He hesitated, his gaze steady and unrelenting as he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. There was a tension in the way his fingers curled together, a quiet restraint that only heightened the weight of his words. “We were talking,” he began, his voice even but tinged with something heavier, something unsure. “And it just… went deeper than I expected. He mentioned how he assumes you’ve never dated anyone. Never been in a relationship.” He paused, letting the words settle before continuing, each one deliberate. “That told me everything I needed to know. You keep a lot from him. Not just him—everyone. Why?”

The air in the room felt heavier, the weight of Jeno’s question pressing against your chest. You shifted in your seat, your hands twisting in your lap as you glanced toward the floor, the ceiling—anywhere but at him. Your throat tightened, words threatening to bubble up but dissolving before they could form. Jeno wasn’t supposed to be doing this—to be analyzing you, to be putting you in the hot seat. But here he was, his gaze unrelenting, his eyes reading into you in a way that felt both comforting and exposing. They weren’t harsh or judgmental, but they held an intimacy that pinned you in place, as if he could see through every wall you’d built without effort.

He leaned closer, his presence filling the space between you, and when he noticed the way your fingers trembled in your lap, he kissed you softly. The press of his lips was light, grounding, and it steadied the electricity coursing through you. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and coaxing, like he already knew you would. You inhaled shakily, and for a moment, you thought about staying silent. But you couldn’t—not when he looked at you like that, like he wouldn’t stop until you unraveled.

“I don’t know,” you finally managed, but the words felt hollow, insubstantial, even to your own ears. His eyes didn’t waver, sharp and searching, and you knew he wouldn’t accept that. Not from you. “It’s not that simple,” you added, your voice quieter this time, your gaze still firmly fixed on the floor.

“Then explain it to me,” he pressed. His tone was soft, but there was an edge to it—a frustration tempered by care, by the clear desire to understand you. “I’m trying, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with having sex, with fucking around, with singing, or whatever it is you’re hiding.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Jen, I’m not hiding that I sing. We’re both music majors—he knows I sing.” You rolled your eyes, though there was no real heat behind it. “I just don’t think me performing at Jihyo’s bar is something I want people to know. It’s my life, it’s something I choose to do, and it’s something I choose to share with you. I’m not ashamed of it. Just because I hide it from other people doesn’t mean I’m ashamed.”

He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I get that,” he said simply, but there was something deeper in his voice, a weight that made it clear he truly did. “You don’t owe anyone every piece of yourself. But…” He paused, leaning closer until his fingers brushed yours, grounding but insistent. “You don’t have to keep everything locked up, either. I know you’re not afraid or ashamed, and I believe you. But you don’t need to control everything so much, you know? Just chill a bit.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. “Says you,” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips.

The moment was light, but something in it shifted. This softness, this attentive side of Jeno, wasn’t what you expected from him. He wasn’t the type to sit quietly, to listen so carefully, to weigh your words with such care. But it suited him. The caring side of him suited him so much it was almost disarming, breaking apart the version of him you thought you knew and replacing it with something better, something you wanted to hold on to.

You swallowed hard, your gaze finally lifting to meet his. His expression wasn’t angry, but it was intense—concern and determination blending into something you couldn’t look away from. “It’s just easier this way,” you admitted after a long silence, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “All the secrets. If people don’t know, they can’t use it against me. They can’t ruin it.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand closing over yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles in a rhythm that calmed the chaos in your chest. “You don’t have to protect yourself from everyone, Y/N,” he said quietly. “Not everyone is trying to hurt you.” His words were soft, but they felt like a challenge—a challenge you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

The hum lingered between you, fragile and weighted, as though it held all the words you were too afraid to say. Your gaze caught his, a silent question flickering in your eyes. “You’re not gonna hurt me, right?” The words left your lips softly, almost hesitant, but the vulnerability in them struck harder than anything louder could.

Jeno’s expression shifted, his intensity softening into something almost devastatingly tender. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your hand, grounding you in a way that made your chest tighten. His answer wasn’t rushed, the pause heavy with intent as his other hand lifted to your face, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw. “Never,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, and carrying the kind of weight that made you believe it. “You’re safe with me.”

The space between you collapsed, his lips finding yours with a pull that felt inevitable. The kiss was slow at first, testing, but quickly unraveled into something deeper, fiercer, as if he was determined to carve the promise into your skin. His hand slid to the back of your neck, firm yet careful, while his other gripped your waist, pulling you closer until the lines between you blurred. Your fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for an anchor as the intensity climbed. Each movement, each tilt of his head and drag of his lips against yours, left you breathless, the tension in your body coiling tighter as the connection grew. His mouth was demanding but not forceful, as though he needed you to understand every unspoken thing he couldn’t articulate.

The air between you felt charged, the silence filled with the sound of your breathing and the soft press of his lips against yours. It wasn’t something fleeting or casual—it was grounding, consuming, and so heavy with meaning it made your chest ache. His thumb brushed along your jaw as he deepened the kiss, his quiet persistence unraveling you further, leaving you nowhere to hide. And in that moment, as your lips moved against his and his hands held you as though you might slip through his fingers, everything else melted away. There was no fear, no hesitation—only him, and the unshakable promise that lingered in the press of his body against yours.

The sharp knock at the door was like a jolt to the system, shattering the cocoon of intimacy you’d built. The sound cut through the haze, leaving both of you frozen in place. You felt Jeno’s body tense against yours, his hold faltering as a quiet curse slipped past his lips. “Shit… it’s Jaemin,” he muttered, his voice low and tinged with frustration, the weight of the intrusion palpable.

Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Before you could say anything, Jeno reluctantly peeled away from you, his warmth leaving you cold as he moved toward the door. He turned back briefly, making sure you were out of sight, his eyes scanning you as if to ensure there was no visible trace of your presence. The knock came again, louder this time. “Jeno, man, hurry up and open the door,” Jaemin’s voice called from the other side, casual but with that unmistakable edge of amusement that Jaemin always carried. Jeno sighed, muttering something under his breath before cracking the door open just enough to slip his face through.

“What?” Jeno snapped, his voice more clipped than usual. The tension radiated off him, his shoulders tight as he faced Jaemin.

“I need my charger,” Jaemin said smoothly, and you could hear the smirk in his voice even without seeing his face. Jeno didn’t respond right away, his hand gripping the edge of the door as if debating whether to slam it shut. Instead, he turned, grabbed the charger from the desk, and tossed it toward Jaemin with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Jaemin caught it easily but didn’t move, lingering in the doorway with an infuriatingly calm expression. “Anything else?” Jeno bit out, his tone heavy with impatience.

Jaemin shook his head, his grin widening. “No, that’s all… Oh, and tell Y/N I said hi.”

The words landed like a bomb. Jeno froze, his body going rigid as his eyes darted toward you instinctively. Your mouth fell open, a mix of shock and indignation bubbling to the surface. “What?” you blurted, stepping into view despite your better judgment. Jaemin’s gaze shifted deliberately, landing on you with a slow, knowing look that made your stomach drop. His smirk deepened, the corners of his mouth curling with the kind of self-assured amusement that left no doubt—he’d known this whole time. “Hi, Y/N,” he greeted, his voice light, almost playful, but laced with an edge that made your chest tighten. There was no malice in it, no overt accusation, but the undercurrent of understanding was unmistakable.

You jabbed Jeno in the chest, your annoyance only half-hearted as you whispered fiercely, “You told Jaemin?”

Jeno held up his hands defensively, his face a picture of bewilderment. “I didn’t tell him a thing. I swear,” he said quickly, his voice low and firm, desperate to clear himself of blame.

Jaemin chuckled, leaning against the doorframe with the ease of someone thoroughly enjoying himself. “He didn’t have to tell me,” he said, his tone so casual it made your irritation spike. “You two aren’t exactly subtle. I mean, I live here.”

Your face burned, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. You glanced at Jeno, who looked just as thrown off as you felt, his jaw tightening as he muttered, “Anything else, Jaemin?”

“Nope,” Jaemin replied easily, stepping back from the door but not before throwing one last knowing look your way. “You two enjoy… whatever it is you’re doing.”

The door closed softly, leaving the air between you and Jeno charged with unspoken tension. You stood in place, arms crossed, staring at him with a mix of disbelief and something close to exasperation. “Not subtle?” you repeated, your voice quieter now but no less pointed.

Jeno sighed heavily, his hand dragging through his hair as he leaned back against the desk, his posture a mix of frustration and guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “I didn’t tell him. I wouldn’t do that without talking to you first.”

You didn’t respond immediately, just watching him as the apology hung in the air. He seemed to deflate under your silence, the tension in his shoulders loosening as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just…” He exhaled deeply, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s kind of a relief that someone knows.”

That made you blink, caught off guard by his candor. He continued before you could process it fully, his tone soft but steady. “Jaemin’s my best friend. If anyone was going to figure it out, I’m glad it was him. I trust him. You should too.”

His words lingered, heavier than they seemed, and you felt the sharp edge of your frustration dull. Jeno wasn’t defensive, wasn’t trying to justify anything—just stating a truth that, deep down, you already knew. He stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours, grounding you in the moment. “I know it’s not ideal,” he added, his voice quiet. “But doesn’t it feel… I don’t know. Easier? Like we don’t have to hide anymore in my own apartment?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to where his hand now clasped yours, the warmth of his palm anchoring you. He was right, of course. You trusted Jaemin, and the thought of someone knowing, someone who wasn’t a stranger to either of you, did feel strangely comforting. You sighed, letting your fingers curl slightly against his. “I’m not really mad,” you admitted finally, your voice softer now. “I know we can trust him. It’s not that big of a deal if he knows.”

Relief flickered across Jeno’s face, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “So, we’re okay?”

You nodded, the weight in your chest easing as you looked up at him. “We’re okay. But,” you added, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “we need to figure out how we’re handling this. We can’t keep hiding forever.”

Jeno’s lips curved into a smile that felt more genuine, a mix of relief and something deeper. “Yeah,” he agreed, stepping even closer until his forehead brushed lightly against yours. “Maybe it’s time we stop pretending we can keep this a secret. Not fully, at least.”

You held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Selective people,” you said, your tone lighter now, teasing just enough to make him grin. “But only the ones we really trust.”

“Deal,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. His eyes softened, his touch grounding, and in that moment, you realized that no matter what came next, you were both too far gone to turn back.

Jeno’s voice broke the silence that followed, his soft smile carrying a note of teasing. “I just realized… you’ve been coming here for months and still haven’t seen half the place.”

You glanced at him, your lips curling with amusement. “Your bedroom’s always been enough.” The apartment was so vast that it was almost ironic—you’d been here more times than you could count, but so much of it remained a mystery, an untouched landscape waiting to be discovered.

He chuckled, a low sound under his breath that made something flutter inside you. “True,” he admitted, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary, “but let’s fix that. I want you to see everything.”

There was a shift in the air, subtle but palpable, as his hand brushed yours, his fingers curling instinctively. The warmth of his palm spread through you, unhurried but charged, and you let him guide you from the comfort of the known into the unknown. The sunlight poured in through the vast windows of Jeno’s apartment, casting soft streaks of gold over the modern furniture. You’d been here so many times before, but the space still felt untouched by you—like a sprawling map with only one corner explored. Jeno’s bedroom, familiar and intimate, had always been your destination. The rest of his apartment was a vague impression of luxury you never felt the need to step into. Until now.

You paused as he led you further into the expansive living room, a space you’d only glimpsed in passing yet now seemed to unravel before you in greater detail. The room stretched wide and inviting, bathed in golden light spilling through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The sleek modern couch, angled perfectly toward a state-of-the-art mounted television, sat on a sprawling, textured rug that softened the edges of the space. The coffee table, made of dark wood and glass, held remnants of his life—magazines flipped open to pages about basketball stats and sleek vinyl sleeves scattered as though hastily set aside.

A bar cart gleamed in the corner, stocked with expensive liquor bottles and polished glasses, their arrangement too perfect to be accidental. It wasn’t just for personal use—it was a statement piece, a nod to the kind of guy who could host a party at a moment’s notice. On one side of the room, a massive speaker system flanked a row of neatly arranged records, suggesting he was the type to curate playlists, to set the perfect mood for nights that blurred into mornings. Nearby, a cluster of low stools surrounded a minimalist side table, where the faint scent of spiced candle wax lingered, remnants of an ambiance he’d once crafted for company.

The details felt intentional, yet not overly polished—Jeno’s fingerprints were everywhere. A basketball rested under the coffee table, a casual juxtaposition against the otherwise luxurious decor. His jacket, casually draped over the back of a chair, hinted at his tendency to straddle the line between showmanship and an almost unguarded comfort in his own space. There was a lived-in charm to the elegance, a balance between the kind of life he presented to the world and the one he lived quietly when no one was looking.

“I’ve seen this part,” you murmured, your eyes trailing over the plush, minimalist setup. The sharp edges of the couch’s modern lines softened by its inviting cushions, the gleam of sunlight catching on the brushed steel of the bar cart, the endless expanse of city lights beginning to flicker to life as dusk settled outside—it was all stunning, as always. It was the kind of room that seemed built to impress, yet as you stood there now, with Jeno at your side, you couldn’t help but think of it as just another piece of him, a larger, showier extension of what you already knew.

Jeno smiled faintly, but something flickered across his face when you added, “Remember your party after the river court showdown? The one where Mark…”

“Yeah,” he interrupted lightly, his tone breezy as he moved past the topic. His expression didn’t falter, but you caught the subtle tension in the way his lips pressed together, as though he wanted to steer the memory aside.

Instead, he gestured around the room. “This is usually where I’m supposed to lounge or have friends over, but… I kind of just drift to my room instead.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the warm space. “I guess I’ve been enabling that.”

“Hey,” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting into an easy grin, “no complaints from me.”

The tension between you simmered, subdued but ever-present. Jeno stepped closer, his hand finding the small of your back, the touch gentle yet grounding. You leaned into the warmth of him, catching the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy, with a hint of something sharp and fresh. For a fleeting moment, the thought of pushing him onto the couch, of losing yourself in him right there, crossed your mind. He steadied you with a playful grin, as if he could read your thoughts.

“There’s more to see,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, carrying a promise that made your pulse quicken.

Jeno led you into the screening room, a hidden treasure nestled within the vast expanse of his apartment. The moment the door opened, it was clear this wasn’t just a room—it was an experience. The dim lighting was warm, casting a soft glow over the plush, velvet-upholstered chairs arranged in perfect rows. The massive projector screen spanned the entire wall, a sleek marvel that immediately drew your gaze. Every detail was curated to replicate the ambiance of a high-end theater, but it was the cozy touches—thick throws draped over the armrests, the faint scent of buttered popcorn wafting from the built-in concession stand—that made it unmistakably Jeno. The room was intimate, a space where time could stretch out and everything else could fade away.

You nudged him as you stepped further inside, mock-offended. “How dare you’ve never brought me here?”

He grinned, his voice dropping just low enough to send a shiver through you. “Didn’t think I could compete with my bedroom.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You should’ve tried harder.”

Jeno’s smirk widened, his hand brushing lightly against yours as he moved past you to adjust something on the projector. “Guess I’ll make it up to you now,” he said, the teasing in his tone softened by the unspoken weight of sharing something so private.

“This is actually one of the rooms no one really knows about,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I mean, not even the people from the parties ever stumble in here. It’s just… me. And sometimes Jaemin.”

The intimacy of that admission hung in the air, making the room feel even smaller, even closer. You sank into one of the oversized chairs, the cushions swallowing you in their softness, as Jeno settled beside you. His arm draped casually over your shoulders, and though the movie he’d picked played softly on the screen, it barely registered in your mind. Every small movement he made sent a spiral of heat coursing through you—the way his fingers brushed your shoulder, the faint rumble of his laugh when you leaned closer and whispered something playful in his ear.

The tension between you thickened, like the air had grown heavier, charged with something unspoken. His hand rested on your thigh, the touch innocent yet lingering, his thumb moving in slow circles that sent your thoughts spiraling. You turned your head, lips grazing his ear as you murmured a teasing remark. His laugh was low, deep, and it settled in your chest like a steady pulse. He leaned back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a spark of amusement and something darker, but he kept things subdued, his restraint both maddening and thrilling.

The room itself was a reflection of Jeno—polished yet layered, luxurious but with an undercurrent of warmth that made it deeply personal. The LED lights along the ceiling’s edges cast a subtle glow that softened the room’s sharp lines. The concession stand gleamed in one corner, its shelves lined with snacks and a sleek, gold-accented espresso machine. Along one wall, a small cabinet displayed rare film reels and a carefully curated collection of classics, revealing a side of him you hadn’t seen before.

As you leaned against him, you couldn’t help but marvel at how much of him there still was to discover, how this space—so private, so hidden—felt like a part of him he was only just beginning to share. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he stood, his hand brushing yours. “Come on,” he said softly, the weight in his tone suggesting that what lay ahead wasn’t just another room—it was another part of himself.

The pool room was nothing short of breathtaking. The moment Jeno opened the door, the soft sound of water lapping against the edges of the pool filled the air, creating an almost hypnotic calm. The room was vast, with sleek tilework that gleamed under the subtle glow of underwater lighting. Glass walls stretched from floor to ceiling, opening up to a stunning view of the city skyline. Everything about the space felt serene, untouched, as though it existed in a separate world entirely.

You leaned against the wall, humming playfully as your eyes trailed over the pool’s shimmering surface. “You’re really just going to show me this and not let me get in?”

Jeno grinned, his head tilting slightly as he tsked at you. “Nope. Not after the last time. You and I spent the entire cabin trip naked in the pool. We’re not doing that here.”

You let out a soft whine, stepping closer to him with a pout. “Come on, I’ll behave… mostly.”

He shook his head, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “Nice try. I know you too well.”

The pool’s surface glistened under the low lighting, its gentle ripples casting mesmerizing patterns on the ceiling. You couldn’t help but let your fingers trail along his arm, your voice dipping suggestively as you hinted at slipping in for a swim. Jeno tutted again, his grin maddeningly confident, but you caught the flicker of heat in his eyes as he looked at you. When you stepped closer, your body brushing his, he caught your wrist, pulling you gently away from the water’s edge.

“Behave,” he murmured, his voice soft yet firm, though his hands lingered on you for a second longer than they needed to.

The room was stunningly designed, every detail exuding luxury. Potted palms and ferns lined the edges, their lush greenery adding warmth to the sleek, modern design. A small seating area off to the side featured loungers draped in plush towels, while a sleek bar gleamed with polished surfaces, stocked with everything you’d need for a quiet evening or a lively gathering. But despite its grandeur, the space felt undeniably intimate, a sanctuary hidden away from the rest of the world.

Jeno led you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours, his grip steady and grounding as the sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the sleek staircase. The quiet between you was filled with an anticipation that hummed like electricity, your heart beating just a little faster with every step. When he pushed open the final door, you were met with a rush of cool air that brushed against your skin. The rooftop balcony was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The moment you stepped outside, the cool night air brushed against your skin, carrying with it the faint hum of the city far below. Glass railings framed the edges, creating the illusion of standing on the very edge of the world. The city stretched endlessly before you, a sea of glittering lights that seemed to pulse with life.

“I don’t come up here as much as I should,” Jeno said softly, his voice carrying a note of reflection. He leaned against the railing beside you, his gaze sweeping over the skyline. “But… it’s nice, isn’t it?”

You nodded, your voice quiet as you replied, “It’s perfect.”

He glanced at you, the corners of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile. “You’re not going to start asking how I’ve been hiding this, are you?”

You laughed, nudging him lightly. “Oh, I’m definitely asking. How dare you?”

The space felt impossibly close despite its openness. Jeno moved behind you, his arms bracketing you on either side as you leaned against the railing. The warmth of him was steady, grounding, as his voice rumbled low in your ear. The city sparkled below, but all you could focus on was the way his hands brushed lightly against your waist, his presence surrounding you. The balcony itself was a marvel. Soft lights embedded in the floor cast a warm glow, illuminating the sleek outdoor furniture—a set of plush loungers and a firepit surrounded by low chairs. A small garden area lined the edges, flowering plants and twinkling fairy lights adding a touch of softness to the modern design. The view was endless, breathtaking, yet it was the quiet intimacy of the moment that held you.

As the stars glittered above, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything unspoken between you. It wasn’t just the beauty of the view or the grandeur of the space—it was the fact that Jeno had brought you here, let you into this private corner of his life. In the stillness of the night, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this moment. Jeno led you through his apartment, his hand never leaving yours, the warmth of his palm steadying as you climbed the soft-lit staircase. The quiet was comfortable, charged with something unspoken, the kind of anticipation that hummed in the spaces where words weren’t needed. At the top, he glanced back at you, his lips quirking into the smallest smile before he pulled you gently toward a door tucked at the end of the hallway.

You recognized the room instantly, the memory of the night you’d stumbled in here during one of his parties washing over you. That night, amidst the chaos and noise, you had wandered into this quiet, tucked-away space, and it had caught you off guard—so much so that it felt like the catalyst for everything that led to this moment, standing here now in Jeno’s arms.

“This is dangerous territory,” Jeno teased, his voice low and playful as he opened the door. “I’m not sure I should even bring you in here after what happened last time.”

You tilted your head at him, feigning innocence. “What do you mean? All I did was get lost.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar smirk that always sent warmth curling in your chest. “Lost? You found exactly what you were looking for,” he murmured, leaning just close enough to make your breath catch.

The lighting shifted as you stepped inside, softer now, with a warm glow illuminating the shelves and framed displays lining the walls. The room exuded a quiet reverence, every corner alive with history and stories waiting to be told. Framed jerseys of every size hung like tapestries, glossy photographs of Jeno mid-game capturing moments frozen in time. Polished trophies and medals glinted from a shelf, their metallic surfaces reflecting the soft overhead light. In the corner, a basketball rested beside a pair of worn sneakers, their scuffed edges a stark contrast to the pristine polish of everything else. As you lingered on a particularly worn jersey from his high school days, his arms slid around your waist, pulling you gently against him. His chin rested on your shoulder, his lips brushing lightly against the curve of your neck as he murmured stories behind each memento. “That one,” he said softly, gesturing to a photo of him mid-air, his arm outstretched for a dunk, “was my first state championship game. I think I was more terrified than excited.”

You leaned into him, his hands on your hips grounding you as his voice wrapped around you like a warm embrace. There was something electric in the way his fingers traced lazy circles through the fabric of your shirt, his touch unhurried but deliberate. Yet your eyes kept drifting back to one jersey, encased in glass, torn and frayed at the edges—a stark contrast to the polished brilliance surrounding it. “What’s the story behind that one?” you asked softly, your voice cutting through the silence as you turned in his arms to face him.

Jeno’s eyes had already followed yours, the quiet vulnerability in them deepening. He hummed, a soft sound that vibrated against you as he rested his forehead lightly against yours. “I figured you’d ask,” he said, his lips curving faintly.

He straightened slightly, his hands still resting on your waist as he glanced toward the jersey. “That’s my first little league jersey,” he began. “It’s been through hell. My dad wanted to toss it years ago—said it didn’t belong here because of how old and wrecked it looks. But my mom… she wouldn’t let him.”

A faint smile touched his lips as he leaned back against the wall, his hands trailing down to your wrists, holding them lightly. “It was my first game, and I got into a scuffle with this kid during practice. He managed to rip the jersey. When I got home, I was so mad. I told my mom it was ruined, and we should just buy a new one because—well, why not? We could afford it. But she just looked at me and said, ‘It’s not ruined.’”

His voice softened as he recalled the memory, his thumb brushing absently over your wrist. “She sat me down and showed me how to sew. I didn’t get it at first. I thought it was pointless, trying to fix something that wasn’t going to look the same again. But she said it wasn’t about making it perfect—it was about putting care into something that mattered, about taking the time to mend what you thought was broken.”

His voice grew quieter, almost wistful. “I wanted to try it myself, but I ended up pricking my finger. Got so frustrated I wanted to quit. But my mom… she patched me up, gave me this tiny little bandage, and told me to try again. ‘The art of mending takes patience,’ she said. ‘You just need to keep going, even if it stings a little.’”

The vulnerability in his expression tugged at something deep in your chest, and you reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “She sounds like an incredible woman,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

Jeno’s eyes softened as they flicked back to the jersey, lingering on the torn fabric with a reverence that spoke volumes. His thumb brushed against your wrist absently, as if grounding himself. “That jersey,” he began, his voice quieter now, the edges of his words heavy with emotion. His gaze held a depth you weren’t used to seeing, raw and unguarded. The room seemed to echo with memories, his focus on the frayed seams almost tender. His silence stretched, saying more than any explanation could—this wasn’t just another piece of his past. It was something fragile, carefully preserved, something that had survived not because it was perfect but because it mattered.

The weight of his words settled between you, the air thick with something unspoken yet undeniable. His gaze didn’t waver from yours, and for a moment, it felt as though the world outside this room had vanished. Slowly, his hand slid up your arm, brushing over the curve of your shoulder before resting at the back of your neck. His touch was firm but careful, the heat of his skin sending shivers down your spine.

“Jeno…” you whispered, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, barely audible but loaded with everything you couldn’t say.

His response wasn’t in words—his lips were on yours before you could catch another breath, the kiss firm and consuming. His hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth as the intensity hit you all at once. His tongue swept over your bottom lip, coaxing you open, and the moment you did, the kiss turned hungry, deep and desperate. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. His other hand slid down to the curve of your hip, his grip firm as he guided you back until you hit the edge of the trophy shelf. The sharp, controlled way he handled you made your knees weak, and when his teeth caught your bottom lip, a soft, breathless moan escaped you.

“Jeno,” you gasped again, and his name came out as more of a plea this time, your head tilting back as his lips left a burning trail down your jaw to your neck. He bit softly, soothing the mark with his tongue, and you felt his smirk against your skin as your nails dug into his shoulders.

The heat between you was unbearable now, the tension snapping like a live wire as you pressed your body fully against his. His hands moved to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. The friction was dizzying, and his low groan vibrated through you as he pressed his hips into yours.

He didn’t hesitate. He carried you with ease, his grip firm and possessive, his focus unrelenting. Each step felt deliberate, and before you could fully process it, you were through the doorway. He kicked the door shut behind him, the sound muffled by the rush of blood in your ears. His movements were quick and decisive. His arms tightened around you as he tossed you onto the bed, the world tilting for just a moment before the cool sheets greeted your heated skin. You landed with a soft gasp, but the reprieve was brief—Jeno was on top of you in an instant, his weight a delicious pressure that anchored you.

His lips claimed yours again, rough and demanding now, his body pressing you into the mattress. The kiss was all-consuming, a fiery clash of tongues and teeth as his hands roamed your body, leaving no space untouched. You arched beneath him, your legs still wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him closer. The heat was unbearable, and the room seemed to pulse with the sheer intensity of it as his mouth moved to your neck, biting and sucking as if he couldn’t get enough.

The air between you was suffocating in its intensity, every touch a spark igniting something too volatile to contain. His lips moved with deliberate precision, leaving a trail of heat down your collarbone, and his hands on your thighs were not just anchoring—they were binding you to a moment you couldn’t escape. Each breath you took felt like a thread being pulled tighter, a web weaving itself around you, trapping you in a collision of desire and inevitability. It wasn’t just passion; it was a storm poised on the edge of eruption, the kind that doesn’t merely pass but leaves destruction in its wake. The weight of him pressing you into the mattress felt like gravity had shifted, pulling you deeper into a world where turning back was no longer an option. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, dark and unrelenting, and in that split second, you saw everything—want, need, and a promise that whatever came next, you’d be changed.

It was as though time itself had fractured. The past, the present, and the uncertain future all folded into this moment, each heartbeat hammering like a countdown. Every kiss, every brush of his fingers, felt like the final nail in a coffin of restraint you’d both long abandoned. The tension wasn’t just in the air—it was in your very blood, coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. As his lips returned to yours, claiming you with a force that left you breathless, the realization hit you like a cold blade: there was no going back. You were standing on the precipice, and the ground had already crumbled beneath your feet. The fire between you wasn’t something that could be extinguished—it would consume, leaving nothing untouched, nothing unscorched. And yet, even as the weight of it pressed down on your chest, it wasn’t fear you felt. It was exhilaration. It was surrender. It was the kind of tension that didn’t just grip—it shattered.

The morning was cool and fresh, the early sunlight breaking through the canopy of trees lining the campus pathways. The stillness of the hour carried a soft hum of activity—students moving in scattered clusters, heads down, voices low. The world hadn’t quite woken up yet, leaving you in a bubble of calm as you walked between Jeno and Jaemin. The arrangement didn’t feel out of place; your shared academic connections made it easy to dismiss any suspicion. But the subtle closeness of Jeno, the way he stayed just a fraction nearer than necessary, his shoulder brushing yours, told a different story. His presence sent a warmth curling in your chest, though you tried not to let it show.

Jeno leaned in slightly, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear. “Hey, you sure you’re okay walking in together?”

You glanced at him, your lips curling into a soft smile. “Yeah, it’s fine. No one’s going to guess anything.”

Jaemin’s gaze flicked between you both, his grin widening as if he’d caught onto every unspoken word. “Let them guess. You two aren’t exactly subtle.”

Your heart stuttered at Jaemin’s teasing tone, but there was no malice in it—only warmth. It was reassuring, even if the mild apprehension of being seen lingered at the edges of your thoughts. You tried to act natural, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, but the thrill of Jeno’s proximity made your efforts feel futile. The conversation meandered between topics—upcoming classes, an assignment Jaemin had procrastinated on—until the three of you reached the branching path leading to the engineering building. Jeno slowed, his pace faltering as he turned to you, his expression softening.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” His voice was soft, carrying a warmth that felt entirely too personal for a public setting.

Before you could answer, his lips pressed against yours in a fleeting kiss, quick and impulsive but enough to make your breath hitch. Heat rushed to your face as you instinctively glanced around, your heart pounding at the risk of being seen.

“Jeno…” you whispered, your voice half-chiding, half-breathless. “That was risky. You shouldn’t have—”

He shrugged, his grin unapologetic. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

From your other side, Jaemin let out a muffled laugh, his smirk barely concealed. “Smooth.”

You shot him a look, but the warmth in his expression only added to the mix of emotions swirling in your chest—embarrassment, thrill, and a quiet, undeniable happiness. As Jeno turned to head inside, you lingered for a moment, watching him disappear through the building’s glass doors. Jaemin nudged you lightly. “Come on, lover girl. We’ve got a tutoring session to get to.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you fell into step beside him, heading toward the tutor center. The corridor outside the tutoring room was alive with movement. Students bustled back and forth, the sound of shuffling papers and hurried footsteps echoing through the space. You and Jaemin navigated the chaos, once inside the tutoring room, the mood shifted to something quieter.

The two of you found a quieter corner of the tutoring center, an empty table tucked away from the main hub of activity. As you pulled out your materials, Jaemin leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his features. You knew, instinctively, that the words about to leave his mouth wouldn’t be about formulas or equations.

“Listen,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “I’m not judging. If you and Jeno are together… I’m glad it’s you. I have this feeling I can’t shake that you’ll be good for him, I never felt this way when he was with Areum.”

His sincerity caught you off guard, the words settling in your chest with a warmth that spread slowly. “That means a lot, Jaem. Thank you.”

Jaemin glanced around before leaning in slightly, his voice lowering. “I’ve never seen Jeno this happy, you know? It’s a good thing. Just don’t mess it up, okay?”

For a moment, you hesitated, glancing down at the table before looking back up at him. “I’m glad you know,” you said softly. “And that you’re so… supportive. But I know not everyone’s going to feel the same way.” The words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken truth of it settling between you.

Jaemin tilted his head, his expression softening as if he could sense the weight of your thoughts. But before he could say anything, you cleared your throat and reached for your notebook, the motion deliberate and grounding.

“Alright,” you said, pulling out the materials he needed to review. “Let’s focus on this. You’ve got a lot to get through.”

Jaemin let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Fine, fine. Hit me with it.”

And just like that, the tension eased slightly as the conversation shifted back to the safe, structured rhythm of tutoring, though his words lingered quietly in the back of your mind. Time passed quickly as the session unfolded. The room filled with the sound of scribbling pens and low voices as you worked through formulas and answered Jaemin’s questions. The earlier tension seemed to fade, replaced by the familiar rhythm of tutoring.

“That’s all for today,” you said, closing your notebook as Jaemin packed up his things. “Remember to review these formulas.”

“Will do,” he replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He paused, a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, and… thanks again. For everything.”

You chuckled lightly, standing to gather your own things. “Anytime. See you around.”

Leaving the tutor center behind, you felt a renewed sense of calm, though it was fragile at best. The session with Jaemin had lifted some of the weight off your shoulders; his support was a small comfort in a storm of secrets. But the relief wasn’t without cracks, and the echoes of his warning lingered in the back of your mind, casting faint shadows over your thoughts.

Mark. The idea of him sat heavy in your chest. You knew you’d see him soon. He was in this class too—always next to you, always close enough to feel his presence even when he didn’t say a word. The thought made your steps falter slightly, though you pushed forward, your pace steadying as the sun climbed higher. Its golden light painted the campus pathways in a warm glow, but it did little to soothe the growing knot in your stomach.

By the time you reached the recording studio, the familiar hum of its world wrapped around you. Inside, the faint smell of polished wood mixed with the soft hum of machinery. Instruments stood neatly arranged along the soundproof walls, their polished surfaces gleaming under carefully angled lighting. The mixing equipment, sleek and modern, seemed to pulse faintly in the quiet, almost alive with potential. You set your bag down carefully, letting the space ground you as you prepared to lose yourself in the focus of practice. But then you saw him.

Mark was leaning casually against the edge of a mixing console, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted slightly in thought. His presence was steadying in a way that felt both comforting and alarming. You hadn’t spoken to him properly in days, and the weight of that distance settled heavily in your chest as you stood there, frozen for a moment.

“Mark?” you called out, your voice hesitant, uncertain.

His head turned sharply at the sound of your voice, and for a moment, the edges of his expression softened into something almost relieved. A small smile tugged at his lips, but there was a flicker of curiosity behind it, sharp and probing.

“Hey,” he said, his tone even. “What’s up? You look…” He trailed off, the unspoken thought hanging in the air as his smile faded slightly. “Actually, yeah, we need to talk.”

You stepped closer, the tension between you becoming something tangible, electric. “Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked, his voice quieter now but no less direct. His arms dropped to his sides, and his eyes searched yours with a kind of quiet intensity that made your breath hitch. “Why so distant?”

You sighed softly, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. “I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, your voice tinged with both honesty and deflection. The words felt heavier than you intended. “Mark, I don’t wanna fight… I hate when we fight.”

His shoulders relaxed just slightly, and the tension in his jaw eased. For a moment, he looked like the Mark you’d always known—the one who wore his heart on his sleeve, even when he didn’t mean to. “Me too,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But I feel like something’s up. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied smoothly, your lips curling into a small, practiced smile. The effort felt like swallowing glass, but you pushed through it. “You’re my best friend—if something major was going on, I’d tell you.”

He didn’t respond immediately. His eyes stayed locked on yours, searching for something beneath the surface, and the silence stretched just long enough to make your pulse quicken. Finally, he nodded, though there was a flicker of doubt still lingering in his gaze.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll trust you.” His voice dropped lower, softer. “I’ve missed you, though.”

The confession broke something in you, sharp and unrelenting. Guilt flared in your chest, heavy and suffocating, but you shoved it down, stepping closer to wrap your arms around him. His embrace was warm, familiar, and for a moment, the tension between you eased, replaced by the steady comfort of his presence.

“I’ve barely seen you in the past month,” you murmured, your voice light, forcing a teasing edge to hide the heaviness in your chest. “And I think I know why. Areum’s been taking up all your time, hasn’t she?” You tried to make it sound playful, make it about him and Areum, when in reality, you knew the truth. It wasn’t Areum pulling you apart from Mark—it was Jeno. You’d blown Mark off more times than you could count, using flimsy excuses about assignments or late-night work sessions, when in reality, Jeno had been the one filling those stolen hours. More specifically, he’d been filling you.

Mark’s arms lingered around you as he pulled back slightly, his face already cracking into a grin. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice softening. “She’s… yeah. Never felt like this before.” He was grinning so wide now it looked like it hurt, a boyish, unfiltered joy spilling over his features.

When you finally pulled back fully, his expression didn’t falter, but there was a familiar glint in his eyes—the kind that warned you something outrageous was about to leave his mouth. Mark never had any filter with you; he never saw the need for one.

“I guess I have been super busy,” he began, his tone casual but deliberate, leaning in slightly as his grin took on a mischievous edge. “Been hanging out with Areum a lot. And let’s just say… she tastes good. Really good.”

Your face flushed instantly, your brain short-circuiting as the words hit. “Mark!” you hissed, jabbing him hard in the shoulder, but he didn’t flinch—he only grinned wider, clearly reveling in your reaction.

“I’m serious!” he said, his tone unapologetic. “It’s like—God, I don’t even know how to describe it. Sweet, but… not just that. Addictive. Makes me want to go down on her for hours.”

“Mark Lee!” you gasped, your voice a mix of disbelief and embarrassment as you smacked him again. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He burst into laughter, leaning away slightly as if to avoid another hit, though his smug grin remained. “Hey, you asked how it’s going! I’m just giving you the full picture!”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” you shot back, your face burning as you glared at him.

He sobered slightly, though the mischievous spark in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But… yeah, she’s amazing. And not just, you know… physically.” His voice softened, growing quieter, more reflective. “It’s the way she looks at me, the way she makes me feel like I’m the only guy in the world when we’re together. She’s so… warm. Intense. I don’t know—it’s like she’s in my head, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

The sudden shift in his tone left you momentarily speechless, your chest tightening at the raw vulnerability in his words. “She sounds…” You paused, searching for the right response. “She sounds like she’s really something, Mark. I’m happy for you.”

He smiled, the sincerity in your voice softening the edges of his usual teasing. “Thanks,” he murmured, glancing down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “I didn’t think I could feel like this about someone. It’s… kind of terrifying, honestly.”

The honesty in his words hit harder than you expected, leaving you feeling a strange mix of joy and heaviness. Mark had always been bold, brash even, but seeing this softer, more vulnerable side of him was a reminder of how deeply he felt things when he let himself. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to revel in his happiness, even as the weight of your own secrets pressed quietly against your chest.

The studio door clicked softly behind you as you stepped into the hallway, the faint hum of instruments and muted conversations from other rooms echoing around you. Mark lingered at your side, slinging his bag over his shoulder with an ease that seemed to clash with the way his expression had shifted. Gone was the lighthearted grin from moments before, replaced by something more thoughtful, more deliberate.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, drawing your attention.

You turned to him, already arching a brow, the shift in his tone setting you on edge. “Mark…” you said cautiously, dragging his name out as though it could act as a buffer to whatever he was about to say.

There was a knowing glint in his eyes as he studied you, and you felt your chest tighten under his gaze. You could sense it coming—his concern, his curiosity, the way he always seemed to zero in on the one thing you didn’t want to talk about. And this time, you knew exactly where the conversation was headed.

He tilted his head slightly, his smile faint but tinged with something serious. “You should go on a date,” he said, his tone almost matter-of-fact, as if he were offering the most obvious solution to a problem you hadn’t even admitted to having.

You blinked at him, your heart stuttering at how wildly misplaced his concern was. “No, Mark,” you said firmly, shaking your head.

But he wasn’t one to let things go so easily. His grin widened, and he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel conspiratorial. “Come on. I’ll set you up. You’re not gonna stay single forever, are you?”

Your lips twitched, a dry laugh bubbling up despite the nervous knot forming in your stomach. If only he knew. If only he realized how ridiculous this was, trying to play matchmaker for someone who’d already spent countless nights tangled up with Jeno—sharing stolen kisses, whispered secrets, and heated moments that left you breathless.

“I don’t need a date, Mark,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Why not?” he pressed, crossing his arms as he gave you that familiar look of stubborn determination. “You deserve someone who can keep up with you. Someone who gets you.”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting closer to the truth than you cared to admit. Jeno did keep up with you. He challenged you, teased you, matched your energy in ways that left you reeling, whether it was a heated argument or the way he pressed you against a wall, his lips claiming yours like it was the only thing that mattered.

Mark wasn’t done, though. He straightened slightly, a spark of inspiration lighting his expression. “I know exactly what your type is,” he declared, his confidence practically radiating off him.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms as you met his gaze with a smirk. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

He grinned wider, stepping closer as though preparing to deliver some grand speech. “Alright, hear me out,” he began, his voice taking on a playful edge. “You need someone assertive. Not pushy, but confident. The kind of guy who can take charge without being a dick about it.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, your mind immediately conjuring the image of Jeno—the way he leaned over you when he wanted to make a point, his body crowding yours with just enough intensity to leave you breathless. The heat in his gaze was unrelenting, a silent challenge that made your heart race. But it wasn’t just his confidence or dominance that set him apart—it was the way he surrendered it to you when the moment called for it.

You could see him in your mind’s eye, his lips parted and his breath heavy as he let you take the reins. The way his hands would grip your hips, firm but not controlling, guiding you to set your own pace. His voice, low and rough, spilling quiet, desperate pleas as you pushed him past his limits. The way his head would tip back against the pillow, his throat exposed, his lips parting with a groan as you slid your hands along his chest, pinning him with the weight of your body.

“Someone who makes you laugh,” Mark continued, oblivious to the way your cheeks flushed. “But not just anyone. He has to be sharp, witty. Someone who knows how to make you smile without trying too hard, who can make you feel giddy even when you’re in the worst mood.”

Jeno’s teasing smirk flashed in your mind, the way he always had a perfect comeback, sharp enough to make you laugh and clever enough to leave you speechless. No one had ever made you laugh the way he did—deep, uncontrollable, the kind that left you breathless and aching from the sheer joy of it. He didn’t just know how to cheer you up; he anticipated it, reading you like an open book.

When you were stressed, he’d sneak up behind you, his hands sliding around your waist, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured something that was equal parts filthy and ridiculous, his voice low and filled with mischief. In those moments, the heat of his body against yours, the way his fingers traced lazy patterns along your skin, had you laughing and melting all at once. He knew just how to tip the balance—how to make you giddy with his words while his touch left you utterly undone, his playful dominance making your heart race in a way no one else ever could.

Mark noticed your small smile and silence and mistook it for encouragement. His grin turned smug as he leaned in a fraction closer. “Athletic and fit, obviously. You like that competitive edge. Someone who’s intense in the best way. The kind of guy who’s confident enough to stand out, but not cocky enough to make it about himself.”

Your heart raced as his description grew more vivid, each trait hitting closer to home. You couldn’t stop the images flooding your mind: Jeno after a game, still sweaty and breathless, his jersey clinging to his skin as he caught your eye with that unmistakable intensity. The way he leaned against you afterward, all heat and strength, his fingers brushing yours like a promise.

“But,” Mark added, his tone softening slightly, “he also has to have a softer side. You know, the kind of guy who’s tender when it counts. Someone who can read you, who knows when to push and when to just… hold you.”

Your breath hitched, the words sparking a flood of memories that made your skin tingle. Jeno’s hands tracing patterns along your back as he whispered your name, the way he slowed down when you needed him to, his lips pressing gently against your temple in the quiet moments after. You shifted your weight, pressing your thighs together as warmth pooled low in your stomach, your body betraying you with the vividness of the memories.

“Um…” you stammered, glancing away to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “That’s… interesting, Mark.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening as he caught the faint blush spreading across your face. “See? I told you I know your type. I know you so well..”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head as you struggled to keep your voice steady. “Mark, seriously. I appreciate it, but I don’t need you to play matchmaker. I’m fine.”

“Alright, fine,” he said with a shrug, though his grin didn’t waver. “But you’re missing out. I’m telling you, I could find you the perfect guy.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you adjusted the strap of your bag. “You keep your perfect athletic men to yourself, thanks.”

He laughed, nudging your shoulder playfully as the tension eased. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t try.”

As he turned to head down the hallway, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your mind was spinning, replaying every word he’d said, every trait he’d listed—and how perfectly it all described Jeno.

If only Mark knew. If only he realized how on the nose he’d been, how everything he’d said mirrored the man who’d been dominating your thoughts, your nights, your body. A quiet, guilty smile tugged at your lips as you thought about texting Jeno later, telling him about this absurd conversation. You could already hear his teasing laugh, see the way his lips curled into that smug grin that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

Mark pushed the door open, stepping aside to hold it for you with an absentminded gesture that felt second nature. The warmth of the late afternoon sun hit you immediately, the cool, climate-controlled air of the building replaced by the inviting embrace of the outdoors. The campus stretched out ahead, bathed in the golden hues of late afternoon sunlight. The grass swayed lazily in the warm breeze, patches of clover and wildflowers dotting the edges where the ground met the trees.

Students lounged in small groups across the open space, blankets and backpacks scattered like markers of impromptu gatherings. Laughter rippled through the air, carried along with the distant hum of conversation and the occasional thud of a stray soccer ball. Mark strolled beside you, his relaxed energy perfectly matching the scene, as if he belonged here more than anyone else. You tried to focus on the idyllic setting—the rustle of leaves, the faint scent of freshly cut grass—but your thoughts betrayed you, tugging relentlessly back to how you were lying to Mark.

Mark walked beside you, his steps easy and casual, exuding that effortless charm he never seemed aware of. “Finally! I’m starving,” he groaned, stretching his arms overhead, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a strip of tan skin.

“You say that every day,” you teased, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Let’s see if they left any chips for us.”

But your amusement faltered for a moment when your gaze flicked to Nahyun. She was sitting cross-legged on the blanket, her head tilted slightly toward Shotaro, who was whispering something into her ear. But her eyes weren’t on him—they were locked on Mark, unwavering and intense, as if she couldn’t help herself. The way she looked at him made something cold twist in your stomach, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was undressing him with her gaze, taking in every movement, every detail. Mark, of course, was oblivious, his attention solely on you as he ran a hand through his hair and gestured toward the blanket.

You swallowed the strange unease and forced a small smile, brushing off the sensation as you reached the group. Donghyuck was the first to spot you, his arms flailing dramatically as he waved.

“Where’ve you two been? We almost ate all the snacks!” he called out, his voice loud enough to draw a few amused glances from nearby students.

“Classic Hyuck,” Mark muttered, rolling his eyes.

Yangyang grinned, patting the empty space beside him. “Sit, sit. We saved room.”

The group greeted you with the warmth of close friends, their laughter contagious as you settled in. Shotaro, ever the sweetheart, immediately offered you a handful of chips from his bag. “Are you hungry? Take some—actually, just take all of it,” he said earnestly, his kindness so sincere it made your chest ache.

“Thanks, Tar,” you said, giving him a soft smile as you took a few chips, though your mind wasn’t entirely on the conversation around you.

As the others delved into chatter about classes and weekend plans, your eyes flicked across the blanket. You weren’t scanning for anything specific—just small details to ground yourself. The way Yangyang’s water bottle had been knocked over but not righted, the uneven spread of the blanket, the way Nahyun’s laughter seemed quieter than usual. You had a habit of noticing the little things, and today was no exception.

Donghyuck’s voice broke through your thoughts. “I had a dream last night,” he announced, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. “A prophetic dream. Something juicy is going on with someone here.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? And who’s the lucky someone?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said dramatically, drawing a laugh from Yangyang. “But I’ll figure it out. My gut never lies.”

Mark snorted, throwing a chip at him. “Your gut’s full of junk food. That’s what’s talking.”

Yangyang shifted, lounging back with a lazy grin. “So, Jeno’s party Sunday. I heard it’s gonna be wild—free drinks, no cover. Basically a disaster waiting to happen.”

Shotaro tilted his head, his tone measured but curious. “His place is big, yeah, but once it’s full? You’ll barely be able to move. I don’t get how anyone enjoys that.”

Donghyuck snorted, his smirk sharp. “That’s the whole point. Packed rooms, bad decisions, people fucking in his bathroom. Jeno’s parties always end with something good.”

Yangyang arched a brow, glancing over to Mark. “Everyone knows the cheerleaders will be there for Mark. Again.”

Mark groaned, tossing a chip at him. “God, shut up. You make it sound like I encourage them.”

“You don’t have to,” Donghyuck said with a wicked grin. “They’re all in a competition to see who gets Mark Lee into their bed first.”

Your eyes flicked to Mark, catching the faint flush on his cheeks as he rolled his eyes, though he didn’t deny it. What the others didn’t know, but you did, was that he already had someone. Areum. He hadn’t told anyone yet, but the signs were there if you knew where to look—his lingering glances, the way he slipped away when he thought no one noticed.

Your thoughts drifted with the hum of conversation around you, half-listening to Mark’s groan of protest and Yangyang’s easy laughter, when the faint sound of distant voices pulled your attention. Almost instinctively, your gaze wandered across the open field, lingering over the groups scattered under the trees, until it stopped, catching on a figure by the branches. Jeno.

He was leaning against a bench with his teammates, his body relaxed but commanding attention. The sleeveless hoodie he wore revealed the sharp lines of his arms, the muscles flexing every time he shifted. The bright sunlight kissed his skin, illuminating his sharp jawline and the subtle sheen on his skin. He laughed at something one of his friends said, the sound deep and infectious, and nudged the guy with a playful shove.

Your breath hitched. He was devastatingly attractive, every movement so effortless it was maddening, like he existed on a wavelength no one else could touch. The memories of his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your hips, the way he whispered your name in the dark—all of it hit you at once, sharp and unrelenting. Longing and adrenaline rushed through you in equal measure, pooling low in your stomach, and you had to force yourself to look away before anyone noticed the flush creeping up your skin.

“Damn,” Yangyang said, his voice pulling you back to reality. “Someone’s eyeing the basketball team.”

Your head snapped toward him, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Shut up, I’m not,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual, but the words came out too sharp.

Yangyang grinned, clearly unconvinced, leaning back like he’d just cracked the code. “Whatever you say.” His tone was teasing, but there was something deeper in his voice, something that made you falter. He was too good at this—too good at pretending his jokes were harmless, at masking keen observation behind a sly smile. It sent a flicker of unease through you, wondering how much he might actually see.

Your gaze flicked back to Jeno for just a moment, and your pulse spiked when you caught him glancing in your direction. It was fleeting, a quick look that barely lingered before he turned back to his friends, but it hit like a lightning strike. The smoothness of his movements, the subtle confidence in how he carried himself, left you breathless, aching in a way that felt impossible to hide.

Just then, one of his teammates nudged him and called out, loud enough for the whole group to hear, “Jeno, what about that secret fling, huh? Keeping it quiet these days?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, dread and paranoia twisting in your chest. Your mind raced, trying to gauge the tone—was it a joke, or did they actually know? But Jeno was as effortless as ever, brushing the comment aside with a laugh and a casual wave of his hand. His expression didn’t falter for a second, perfectly composed as if the words meant nothing at all.

You’d definitely have to question him later when you had him alone. That kind of thing couldn’t just be waved off, no matter how good he was at acting like it didn’t mean anything. And Jeno was good at it—too good. He’d mastered the art of deception, his jokes so convincing, his demeanor so composed, that it was infuriating how he could make anyone believe whatever he wanted them to. Jaemin, as smug and silent as ever, didn’t say a word, but the faint knowing look he shot your way didn’t go unnoticed. It was infuriating how he always seemed to know everything.

Just as the group’s chatter started to pick up again, Mark rose to his feet, his movements unhurried but purposeful, heading toward the bench where Jeno stood with his teammates. Your gaze followed him instinctively, trailing the easy sway of his steps until he reached the group.

The interaction was effortless, natural. Jeno spotted Mark approaching and straightened slightly, his hand lifting in a smooth, casual gesture of recognition. Mark mirrored it, a smile breaking across his face as he leaned in to clasp Jeno’s forearm, the way teammates might, firm but relaxed. Their laughter spilled into the air, unforced and warm, the kind of sound that drew people in. Jeno said something—his voice too far away to hear, but the way Mark tilted his head back in laughter made it clear it was something teasing, sharp but playful.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. The way Jeno’s hand lingered briefly on Mark’s shoulder, the confident tilt of his head as he spoke, his grin flashing in the sunlight—it was disarming, almost painfully attractive. There was a fluidity to him, a charisma that seemed to draw everyone in without effort.

And it was infuriating. Because now, watching the two of them, you were torn between a swell of pride and a bitter, gnawing jealousy. Pride because seeing Mark and Jeno together like this—relaxed, comfortable—felt like your worlds colliding in a way that somehow worked. Jealousy, though, because Jeno’s ease with Mark, his closeness, made you wish that he could stand next to you like that without all the secrecy, without all the effort it took to keep everything under wraps.

You bit your lip, forcing your focus away from the scene and back to your own group. But the warmth curling low in your stomach refused to fade, lingering with every stolen glance at the way Jeno’s frame shifted in the sunlight, how easily he seemed to connect with everyone around him. He made it impossible to look away for long.

“Damn,” Yangyang said from beside you, his voice cutting through your thoughts. You glanced at him, startled, but his gaze was fixed ahead, watching Mark and Jeno as they stood together by the bench. “Didn’t think I’d ever see those two getting along. Weird as hell.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, pulling you back to reality. You quickly forced your expression into something neutral, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. Yangyang didn’t seem to notice the brief flicker of unease on your face before he turned toward you, his grin returning.

“So,” he said, his tone lighter now, though still laced with curiosity. “How’s the project going with Jeno? You’re still working with him, right? Or did he already ditch you for some basketball thing?”

Your mouth went dry, the question hitting closer to home than Yangyang realized. “Y-yeah,” you stammered, biting your lip in a vain attempt to steady your voice. “It’s, uh, going fine.”

Yangyang raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced by your awkward response, but he let it go, instead turning his attention to another one of Donghyuck’s stories. Your relief was short-lived, though, as your gaze drifted back to Jeno just in time to catch him spinning a basketball on one finger. The move was casual, effortless, and followed by a playful jab at one of his friends, who immediately tried to snatch the ball away. It was such a small thing, but it made your stomach flip, the memory of his hands on you flashing vividly in your mind.

Jeno’s laugh carried across the lawn as he walked over with Mark, the two of them stepping in sync, their energy unexpectedly easy. You hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath until Jeno stepped fully into view, his presence cutting through everything else like a sharp inhale. “Hey,” Jeno said, his voice smooth and practiced as his eyes swept over the blanket, addressing everyone but never lingering. “Just wanted to make sure you’re all coming on Sunday. It’d be good to see everyone there.”

The group reacted with a mix of enthusiasm and teasing murmurs, but your attention locked on Jeno as his gaze finally found yours. His next words were deliberate, his tone deceptively casual. “You’ll all be there, right?”

You opened your mouth, but Mark beat you to it. “I’ll drag Y/N if I have to,” he said, grinning as he nudged your shoulder lightly.

Jeno’s eyes stayed on you, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them before he schooled his expression into neutrality. “Good,” he said, his voice dropping just enough for you to feel the weight of it. Then, as if catching himself, he coughed lightly and glanced back at the group. “I’d be happy to see you all there.”

The others didn’t seem to catch the shift in his tone, but you felt it deep in your chest. It wasn’t just an invitation; it was a quiet challenge, a reminder of everything unsaid between the two of you. Your response was a subtle raise of your brow, a silent communication he caught instantly. His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk before Mark’s voice broke the tension.

“Y/N said the project’s going well,” Mark offered, looking between you and Jeno.

Jeno tilted his head, the smirk breaking through fully now as he replied, “Yeah, she’s been holding it down. Couldn’t do it without her.” His words were so smooth, so carefully measured, that no one would’ve questioned their innocence. But you caught the edge, the underlying heat in his voice.

It was maddening how effortlessly he played his part, every movement calculated yet casual, every word perfectly placed to leave no trace of suspicion. But you stayed composed, your gaze steady as you silently reminded yourself that you held the reins, that no matter how seamlessly he maneuvered, you were the one dictating the pace.

From the blanket, the others watched the interaction with mild interest. Donghyuck nudged Yangyang, whispering something that made them both snicker. Shotaro, sitting near the edge, glanced at you briefly, his expression thoughtful but unreadable.

Before anyone could press further, Chenle stepped onto the lawn, the bold Seoul Ravens jersey catching the sunlight and drawing every gaze toward him. The clean lines and striking colors of the uniform were a sharp departure from his usual casual style, the kind of clothes he wore when he was just one of the guys at the river court. The group stilled, conversations halting mid-sentence as the sight registered, a quiet ripple of surprise passing between them.

“Holy shit,” Donghyuck blurted, his voice uncharacteristically stunned. “Is that… Chenle?”

Yangyang broke into exaggerated applause, grinning widely. “Our boy’s gone legit! Look at that jersey!”

Chenle rolled his eyes, his cheeks faintly flushed as he approached. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, trying to downplay it even though you knew it was a massive deal and would change his life forever. “I’m just filling in for an injured player.”

The group erupted in a mix of cheers and teasing commentary. Nahyun leaned forward, clapping enthusiastically. “Does this mean we’ll see you on the official court soon?”

“Maybe,” Chenle replied, fidgeting with the hem of the jersey. “Depends on how fast the guy recovers, but yeah, I’m excited.”

Donghyuck snorted, pointing at the slightly loose fit of the jersey. “There’s a spot on that team and it’s practically yours already, trust me, I’m never wrong.”

Chenle’s grin betrayed his pride, even as he shook his head. Jeno stepped forward, clapping him on the back with an approving nod. “Congrats, man. You deserve it.”

The energy around the group shifted, buzzing with excitement as everyone peppered Chenle with questions. From the corner of the lawn, Ningning appeared, her hair catching the sunlight as she strode confidently toward the group. She didn’t hesitate, gesturing for Chenle to join her with a playful beckon. Chenle stopped mid conversation and grabbed his water bottle, his grin widening as he jogged over to her.

The group fell silent as they watched Ningning lace her fingers through Chenle’s, the two walking off together, laughing softly. Donghyuck’s gasp broke the quiet. “Did that just happen?”

Yangyang smirked, nudging Donghyuck with his elbow as his eyes raked over Chenle’s jersey. “Man, I need to study what happens when guys join the official team. It’s like they step on the court and suddenly everyone’s thirsting over them. Must be the jersey.” His tone was loaded with innuendo, his grin sharp as he glanced at Nahyun, who rolled her eyes but didn’t entirely disagree.

Everything felt like it was shifting, the changes in the group dynamic subtle yet impossible to ignore. Across the field, Areum came into view, her stride confident but deliberately understated. She moved close enough for you to catch the faint flick of her eyes toward Mark, her head tilting slightly in the direction of a quieter, more secluded part of the lawn.

Mark paused, just for a beat, before rising from the blanket. “I’ll, uh, be back,” he said, his tone light, almost indifferent, as though he were just going to grab a drink. No one else seemed to notice the exchange, their attention scattered in the conversation, but your eyes trailed after him. You caught the way Areum glanced back as she walked, her pace steady, ensuring he was following her lead without hesitation.

The laugh slipped from your lips before you could hold it back, the sound low and disbelieving. If you just knew where to look, they were painfully obvious. The tilt of Areum’s head, the subtle pause in Mark’s steps—it was all there for anyone paying attention. A mirror, in some ways, of how you and Jeno must appear to the perceptive. Especially now, with his gaze dragging over you like a slow caress, undressing you inch by inch without shame, his focus so heated it left your skin tingling. For the past minute, Jeno hadn’t looked away, his gaze carving a slow path down your body as if committing every detail to memory. You fished your phone out, thumbs flying over the screen.

you — stop looking at me jeno — can’t, baby jeno — you look so good

A frustrated huff left your lips as you locked your phone, shoving it back into your pocket. Before the moment could stretch any further, Shotaro shifted beside you, glancing at his watch. “I need to get to my next class. Dance studio,” he said, his tone light as always.

You saw your chance. “I have a class too,” you announced to the group, earning a distracted hum of acknowledgment as they remained engrossed in burgers and chicken wings.

Catching up to Shotaro, you fell into step beside him. He didn’t question why you were heading toward the dance department—a part of campus you had no reason to visit. He simply smiled, nodding his head faintly to the rhythm of the music playing from his AirPods, he greeted you with that easy smile you couldn’t help but adore. He slipped out the AirPod in his ear that was closest to you, his movements unhurried and his expression as content as ever, radiating that quiet, effortless warmth you always found so comforting.

You didn’t glance back, but you felt it—Jeno’s gaze on your retreating figure, sharp and knowing. He knew your timetable better than you did, knew you had no classes left today. But even if suspicion flickered in his mind, he didn’t follow. He simply shook his head and turned back to his friends.

The dance department was hushed, an oasis of calm compared to the chaos of the main campus. The hallways were wide, gleaming, and filled with the faint hum of bass-heavy music slipping through cracks in closed studio doors. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and the remnants of someone’s citrusy body spray, the kind of details that made the space feel lived-in yet pristine. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching on scuff marks and the streaks of sweat left behind by endless rehearsals.

As you walked, the faint rhythm under your feet was grounding, almost hypnotic. Then you noticed it: a studio door slightly ajar, its interior dark except for the sharp beams of light cutting across the floor. The emptiness called to you. Without a word, you grabbed Shotaro’s wrist, his music-muted surprise softening into that familiar, comforting smile. You pulled him into the studio, the heavy door shutting behind you with a dull click that sealed you both inside.

“Y/N, what—?” Shotaro yelped, startled as he stumbled after you. He tugged his airpods off, his expression a mixture of confusion and fear. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

Okay,” you blurted out, the words slipping free before you could stop them. The weight of everything—the way Jeno’s gaze had burned through you earlier, the way his hands felt on your body, the tension that had been building for weeks—crashed over you like a tidal wave. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’m hooking up with Jeno. Yes, Jeno. You heard that right.”

Shotaro froze mid-step, his wide eyes locking on yours as his jaw went slack. “Wait… what? You and Jeno?!” His voice cracked at the end, his shock so palpable it nearly made you laugh.

“Yes!” you nearly shouted, your words spilling over in a frantic rush. “We’ve been exclusive for months. I can’t stop thinking about him, Taro—I’m obsessed. His body, his mind—everything. I crave him constantly. It’s like he’s in my skin, and I can’t shake it.”

He let out a strangled noise, stumbling back as though your confession had physically hit him. “What?! How—why—when?!” His hands flailed before he slapped them over his ears. “I don’t need details!”

You ignored him, the words spilling from you in a frantic rush. “Taro, I’m stuck on him. His body, his mind—everything. I haven’t been able to tell anyone because we’re keeping it lowkey for obvious reasons, but I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“Why are you telling me?!” he practically screeched, his hands still covering his ears.

“Because I need to tell someone, and I trust you to keep it a secret!” you shot back, your tone pleading.

His gasp was audible. “You know I’m terrible under pressure! What if Mark interrogates me? What if Donghyuck looks at me funny?!”

You pressed on, ignoring his protests. “I used to hook up with different guys every week from the bar I work at, I’d meet strangers, and it was always fun, always easy. But now it’s… different. It’s only him. He’s in my head constantly. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

His eyes widened, genuine shock washing over his face. “You work at a bar? I thought it was just Irene’s cafe?”

“I have four jobs,” you muttered, your tone casual, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Shotaro’s face flushed deep red, his hands flailing in every direction. “Listen, Y/N, I always knew you weren’t as innocent as everyone thinks, but—God, I didn’t know you were this messy!”

“Messy?” you repeated, incredulous.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You’re out here hooking up with Jeno—Jeno! And you just—what, expect me to keep this secret while you go on about his body or whatever?!”

You smiled softly, shaking your head at Shotaro’s theatrics, but there was a weight behind it—a heaviness you couldn’t quite name. “I trust you, Taro. That’s why I’m telling you. You’re one of my favorite people, and I needed to get this off my chest.”

He sighed, his shoulders lifting and falling with dramatic exaggeration as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But if anyone finds out, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” you replied quickly, the words spilling out like an exhale you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a fleeting moment, you felt lighter, but the relief was fragile, fleeting. Your thoughts wandered, unbidden, back to Jeno, igniting something deep inside that left you shaken. Even now, standing in this quiet studio with Shotaro’s shocked face in front of you, the pull of Jeno lingered, magnetic and insistent, threading its way into every corner of your mind.

You didn’t notice the silence growing between you and Shotaro until the tension in your chest became unbearable. Without thinking, you moved closer, wrapping your arms around him in a sudden, almost desperate hug. It wasn’t the kind of calculated gesture you usually allowed yourself—it was impulsive, raw, a vulnerability that surprised even you. Shotaro froze for a moment, his hands hovering awkwardly before they settled gently on your back.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice cautious, unsure. “Are you… okay?”

You didn’t answer. Your cheek pressed against the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, you focused on the steady rhythm of his breathing, grounding yourself in its simplicity. But even that couldn’t quiet the storm swirling inside you. Jeno was everything—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you like he could see straight through your carefully constructed exterior. It terrified you, the way he could dismantle the meticulous control you prided yourself on with just one glance. You were slipping, falling into something you didn’t have a name for, and it felt like trying to catch water in your hands—impossible, fleeting, maddening.

You pulled back abruptly, your arms falling to your sides as your eyes met Shotaro’s. The look on his face shifted, his usual contented warmth replaced by a quiet confusion. He searched your expression, and you could tell he didn’t recognize you in that moment, didn’t know the version of yourself you were becoming.

“I’m fine,” you said, but the words sounded hollow, even to you. You turned away, blinking back the sting of unshed tears, and let out a soft, uneven breath. How had Jeno gotten under your skin so completely? How had he unraveled you, leaving you raw and exposed in ways you hadn’t even realized were possible?

Shotaro’s voice was gentle when he spoke again. “You sure? You seem… different.”

You gave him a small, almost apologetic smile, but the truth hung heavy in the space between you, unspoken and undeniable. You weren’t sure who you were anymore—only that Jeno was the constant around which everything else seemed to orbit, and that thought both thrilled and terrified you in equal measure.

The hallway was deserted, bathed in a soft mid-afternoon glow that filtered through high windows, casting faint streaks of light across the floor. The muffled echoes of distant footsteps barely reached your ears, but the slight risk of being caught made your pulse race in tandem with the adrenaline thrumming through your veins. Jeno followed closely behind, his presence a gravitational pull that made the emptiness of the space feel electric. The classroom door creaked as you slipped inside, and he carefully closed it behind you, his movements deliberate, the faint click of the lock sealing you both in.

You stole a quick glance at him, your heart pounding at the weight of his gaze. His eyes, dark and intent, swept over you, and the desire in them was almost palpable. He didn’t have to say a word—his presence alone filled the air with a tension that left your skin buzzing. The empty room smelled faintly of chalk dust and wood polish, the scattered desks and forgotten notes creating an ordinary backdrop that sharply contrasted with the charged moment building between you.

Jeno’s lips quirked into a faint smirk as he stepped closer, closing the distance. Without a word, his hand found your waist, and he guided you back until your spine met the cool surface of the wall. The cold seeped through your shirt, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body as he pressed closer. His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your face up, and his lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.

“Hi,” you whispered against his mouth, the word barely audible, but he caught it, his lips curving into a smile before claiming yours again.

Your fingers roamed over his sleeveless arm, tracing the intricate map of veins that seemed to pulse with every movement, a testament to his strength. Each line under your touch felt alive, and you relished the way his muscles tensed and flexed, like they were responding to your caress. The attraction wasn’t just physical—it was magnetic, overwhelming, a pull you couldn’t resist. Your nails dragged lightly over his skin, lingering as though you could memorize the texture, every dip and curve of his body.

His lips consumed yours, unhurried yet hungry, the rhythm of your mouths meeting and parting sending tremors through your chest. The cool wall against your back only heightened the heat radiating from him, his body a furnace of restrained energy pressed against you. His hand braced above your head, a subtle assertion of control, while the other rested at your waist, firm yet tender, his thumb skimming the bare skin just under your top with infuriating precision.

Tiny gasps escaped you, dissolving into his mouth and mingling with his shallow breaths. The air between you was heady, thick with longing and the taste of each other. Every press of his lips against your jaw, every deliberate drag of his mouth down your neck, left your skin burning, a mix of anticipation and surrender.

“I missed you,” you breathed out, the words tumbling from your lips without thought, driven by the overwhelming need to say them.

He paused for a fraction of a second, his lips hovering just above your skin, before murmuring, “I missed you too.” The words were low, almost growled, and the raw sincerity in his voice sent a rush of warmth through you.

Without breaking contact, Jeno reached for the edge of a nearby desk, his arm flexing as he cleared a small space. With ease, he lifted you onto it, stepping between your legs as they instinctively wrapped around his waist. Your hands found their way under his hoodie, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his torso as you pulled him impossibly closer. The heat of him pressed against you, the subtle friction of your bodies moving together sending jolts of electricity through you both.

His voice dropped, a rough whisper that tickled your ear and made your stomach flip. “You taste too good, you know that?” he murmured, his tone teasing but heavy with meaning. “Missed this. Missed you.” The words carried a weight that pulled at something deep inside you, sparking a possessiveness that matched the way his hands tightened on your waist.

Your whimper broke into the charged air, soft but filled with need, as your fingers clasped his shoulder, pulling him closer. His lips moved against your neck, deliberate and hot, leaving a trail that made your entire body tighten with anticipation. Your hand slid down his arm, fingers brushing the taut muscle, savoring the way his veins flexed beneath your touch. You took his hand in yours, holding it tightly, desperate to ground yourself against the fire building between you both.

But the moment shifted when he flinched, barely perceptible, as your grip pressed into his knuckles. You froze, the haze clearing slightly as you pulled back just enough to see the faint bruises darkening his skin.

“Jeno…” you whispered, your thumb grazing the discolored area as concern flickered in your chest. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, leaning forward to recapture your lips, his voice low and steady as if trying to distract you. But you stopped him, cupping his jaw and bringing his gaze to yours. You pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth, feeling the way his breath hitched at the tenderness of it.

“Baby,” you whispered against his lips, your tone coaxing but edged with quiet urgency. “Tell me.”

Jeno exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to yours for a beat before he sighed. “Just a rough practice. I’m fine, I promise.”

His words were too smooth, too practiced, and though your chest clenched at the idea of him brushing off something more serious, you chose not to push him further. Instead, you kissed him again, slower this time, letting your lips linger on his before brushing them over the bruised area on his hand.

His response was instant—a quiet, shaky breath that you felt more than heard. “You don’t have to worry,” he murmured, but the way his fingers tightened on your waist said otherwise.

The moment lingered, your forehead resting against his, your fingers tracing his arm with feather-light touches. The tension shifted, less about the heat coursing through your body and more about the weight of emotions simmering just beneath the surface.

Jeno kissed you again, softly at first, then deeper, the intensity returning in waves. “Are you gonna come to the bar tonight?” he murmured, his lips brushing yours with each word. “Need a performance from you to keep me sane.”

You smirked, your fingers teasingly slipping under his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Not tonight,” you said, your voice low but firm. You let the corner of your lips tilt upward. “But you can still get a performance from me. Do you want a private viewing?”

Jeno’s breath stilled for a moment, the teasing glint in your eyes holding him captive. His grip on your waist tightened, his body leaning further into yours until the heat of him became overwhelming. “A private viewing,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with need. “You know I’m the only one who gets those, right?”

Your smirk deepened, fingers slipping further under his hoodie, your nails dragging lightly against the hard planes of his stomach. “Of course you are,” you whispered, your lips brushing just beneath his jaw. “I don’t give out personal performances to just anyone.”

Jeno groaned, his head tilting slightly as your hands explored, his body responding to every deliberate touch. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered, his tone edged with amusement but heavy with desire. “What’s the catch?”

Your lips curved into a sly smile as you pressed closer, your breath hot against his ear. “No catch. Just me… in something new. Only for you.” You let the words hang in the air, the weight of your promise sending a shiver down his spine.

His hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “And when do I get to see this exclusive performance?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

You tilted your head, your lips ghosting over his as you teased, “Maybe I’ll give you a sneak peek right now… if you ask nicely.”

Jeno’s laugh was deep, vibrating against your chest. “Nicely, huh?” he whispered, his tone edged with playful defiance. His hand slid higher up your thigh, his touch electrifying. “You’re forgetting, baby—I don’t ask. I take.”

You let out a soft gasp, his words setting every nerve in your body on fire. But you didn’t back down. Your fingers trailed up his chest, under the fabric of his hoodie, until you were tracing the curve of his collarbone. “Then take it,” you challenged, your eyes locked on his. “But I make the rules.”

His grin was pure sin, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. Between heated gasps and teasing bites of your lower lip, he murmured against your mouth, “Show me. Right here. Right now.”

Jeno’s thumb grazed over your bottom lip, and instinctively, your mouth parted, catching the tip of his finger between your lips. Slowly, you pressed your tongue against it, a deliberate, teasing motion that had his breath stalling above you. Your eyes stayed locked on his as you sucked softly, hollowing your cheeks with a rhythm that felt as intimate as it was electrifying.

His grip on your waist tightened, his knuckles whitening as he tried to stay grounded, but the low sound that rumbled in his chest betrayed him. You let your tongue flick over the pad of his finger, tasting him, savoring the way his body reacted with every subtle movement. Heat radiated from him, his free hand flexing like he was moments from losing all restraint.

When your teeth grazed the edge of his finger, just enough to make him shudder, his head tipped back slightly, exposing the tension rippling through his body. Your tongue traced a slow circle but then, like a flash of lightning, a thought burst through the haze clouding your mind, and you suddenly straightened, releasing him and pulling back just enough to meet his confused, heated eyes. “Wait,” you said, your tone sharp and unexpected, breaking the sensual rhythm that had wrapped itself around the two of you. Jeno froze, blinking as though coming out of a trance.

“What?” he asked, his voice rough and tinged with frustration. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face as you remembered. “Jihyo’s bar,” you said, your voice bright and breathless, entirely different from the sultry tone moments before. “She’s closing it this Sunday, and she’s gonna give me the keys.”

Jeno stared at you, his brows furrowed, his chest still rising and falling heavily. “The keys?” he repeated, clearly struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in energy.

“Yes,” you said, nearly bouncing on your toes now. “She knows about us—she hears us every time we’re there, by the way—and she thinks I’ve been doing such a great job recently with all my performances. So she’s letting me have the place all to myself—and she suggested I enjoy it with you.”

His lips parted, a slow grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just us?” he asked, his voice softening, though the tension in his body didn’t entirely dissipate.

You nodded eagerly, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned closer, your excitement radiating through every word. “I was thinking we could have a date there—just me and you. I’ll make you your favorite drinks, we’ll have the whole bar to ourselves… We can do anything we want.” You kissed him softly, punctuating each word with a gentle peck on his lips, your fingers toying with the hem of his hoodie. “Anything.”

The suggestion lingered, thick with temptation, the possibilities wrapping around your thoughts like a slow burn. You pictured yourself on the empty stage, the spotlight casting shadows as you peeled away each piece of clothing, his gaze devouring every inch of your skin. The idea of swaying your hips just for him, performing in nothing but the heat of his stare, sent a shiver coursing through you. Your mind wandered further—to his hands gripping your waist as you tangled together behind the bar, his lips marking trails down your neck in the dim light, your bodies pressing against the cold counter, unapologetically lost in each other. The thought of that much space, that much freedom to surrender to him without restraint, made your breath hitch and your thighs clench. Every inch of you ached to turn that fantasy into reality.

Jeno’s hands slid down to your back, his grip tightening. He groaned appreciatively, his gaze darkening with interest, but then he hesitated, the briefest flicker of guilt crossing his face. “That sounds incredible,” he said, his voice low, “but my party’s this Sunday, baby. I’ve been planning it for weeks.”

Your excitement deflated slightly, and you huffed, crossing your arms as you gave him a mock glare. “You’d rather hang out with those annoying people, especially those girls who throw themselves at you, than me?” you teased, your tone light but carrying just enough of an edge to show your true feelings.

Jeno smirked, tilting his head as he looked at you. “I’m still gonna spend time with you because you’re going to be there. You know you’re the only one I actually care about being there, right?” His tone was smooth, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made your chest tighten.

The weight of the conversation pressed on you, a necessary shift from the lingering heat between you. You sighed, breaking the silence first, your voice softer, reflective. “None of them there know that you’re mine,” you murmured, your fingers moving absently through the strands of his hair, soft and slightly tousled from the day, as you spoke.

Jeno’s response was immediate, his voice steady and unwavering as his eyes met yours. “But I do,” he said, the simplicity of his words holding a depth that tightened something in your chest.

Your breath steadied as you leaned closer, every movement deliberate, measured, like the calculated steps of a chessboard. You didn’t speak without weighing the consequences, without first dissecting every possible outcome in your head, analyzing how each piece would fall. The proximity was strategic, your voice softened but unwavering, meant to disarm, to guide the conversation in your favor. Words weren’t released carelessly; they were chosen with purpose, crafted to leave no room for misunderstanding.

“Where we’re going, though,” you began, your voice carrying a precision sharpened by your meticulous nature, “this—keeping it a secret forever—it’s going to do more harm than good.” You studied his reaction, your eyes tracing the slight furrow of his brow, cataloging it as a sign of resistance. “I think we should start slowly becoming more public, I want people to know you’re mine. Seeing girls all over the campus actively trying to get with you isn’t something I can bear to see anymore.” You let the word linger, watching how it settled in the air between you. “It doesn’t seem useful anymore to hide this. It doesn’t benefit us.”

There was no flourish in your tone, no overstep. Every syllable reflected the logic of someone who didn’t make decisions on a whim. You had already analyzed how this secrecy left cracks—moments of unnecessary tension, fleeting paranoia, a strain on both of you that, in the long run, served no purpose. And now, you were presenting your findings, offering the solution like a carefully prepared argument, your mind already tracing the next step forward, ready for his reply.

Jeno’s expression shifted, his brows knitting as he leaned back slightly, studying your face with an unreadable look. “It’s true,” he began carefully, his voice low, as though he were testing the weight of each word. “I’ve turned down every single girl who’s tried to get with me, and yeah, that’s raised suspicions. That’s why there’s a rumor going around that I’m secretly seeing someone.” His gaze flickered, not out of insecurity, but out of the heaviness of what he was about to say. “But you do know that for some of these girls, even if they knew I was exclusive with someone—or serious—it wouldn’t stop them. It happened when I was with Areum for all those years and she was my girlfriend.”

It hung in the air like a blow you couldn’t quite dodge. The implication was there, his sentence unfinished, unspoken and heavy. And you’re not.

You didn’t react outwardly. You never did. Calculations ran in the background of your mind, sorting through every possible reaction and discarding anything that might betray the smallest hint of insecurity. But it didn’t stop the thought from cutting through. You’d wondered before, more than you’d care to admit, if you would ever mean enough to him for that title. Girlfriend.

He hadn’t ever asked. You hadn’t discussed it. And somewhere, buried under every carefully laid layer of reason, there was a small, pathetic certainty that he wasn’t going to ask at all. It stung. Not enough to shake you, but enough to harden something inside of you. If he wasn’t going to offer you that title, you’d take something else. You’d make sure this wasn’t a relationship buried in shadows, suffocating under the weight of secrecy. Your next words were sharp, cutting through the tension like glass breaking.

“It’s not my problem if girls will still try to get with you, it’s more of a reflection on them then me. I really don’t give a fuck about those types of girls.” The bluntness of your tone caught him off guard, his brows knitting slightly as he blinked at you, but you didn’t falter. You couldn’t afford to falter.

“This isn’t about them. It’s not about what they’ll do, or what they’ll say. It’s not about whether they’ll stop, because I know they won’t. They didn’t when you were with her, and they won’t now.” You took a breath, your voice sharpening like a blade with every word. “This is about me. Becoming public with you is something I want to do for me.”

You didn’t say it out of malice, or to hurt him, but the selfishness in your words felt justified. You weren’t thinking about him, or the rumors, or the way people would whisper behind your backs. You were thinking about what it would mean to you.

It wasn’t just about claiming him—it was about claiming yourself. About stepping out from behind the wall you’d built to protect yourself, to make sure no one ever saw how vulnerable you could be when it came to him. Keeping this hidden no longer felt like a shield; it felt like a shackle.

“You’re mine, Jeno. And it’s getting harder and harder to hide that.” The conviction in your voice didn’t waver, though your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “I don’t care about how this ends, or how people will react, or what it’ll cost. I just want this to be something I don’t have to hide anymore.”

You exhaled sharply, the words hanging between you like an unspoken challenge. But even as you stood firm, staring at him with a defiant glint in your eyes, that quiet, unrelenting ache gnawed at the edges of your resolve. The same question that had haunted you for weeks returned, sharper now: Would he ever choose to give you the thing you wanted most without you having to ask?

He nodded, but you didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the way they darted to the side for a split second before locking back on yours. That momentary pause—so brief it would’ve been invisible to anyone else—was enough to make your chest tighten. “What about Mark?” he asked carefully, his tone light but too measured, like he was bracing himself for the fallout.

You groaned inwardly, biting down on the sharp reply that hovered on your tongue. That’s really what you want to ask me right now?

A heavier sigh escaped your lips, the weight of his question pressing down on you more than you wanted to admit. You shook your head slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’ll deal with him,” you said, your voice steady and low, but carrying enough weight to make your stance clear.

You leaned in slightly, your gaze unwavering, challenging. “I’m a grown woman, Jeno. I can handle him being bitter. He doesn’t control me, and he sure as hell doesn’t control how I feel about you.” The firmness in your tone softened at the edges, but the steel remained. “There’s nothing he can do—nothing anyone can do—to change the way I feel about you. I don’t care how he reacts. Not about him, not about anyone else.”

Your words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown, daring him to challenge you further. But even as your exterior remained composed, a small part of you braced for his response, for any sign that he didn’t share the same conviction you were willing to risk everything for.

Jeno’s hand lingered on your thigh, his touch deliberate yet uncharacteristically gentle. His thumb traced slow circles over the fabric of your jeans, grounding you even as his words set your nerves alight. “Being able to kiss you, hold you without worrying who’s looking… not having to hide around—it’s very tempting,” he murmured, his voice low, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. But that smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was something else there—something heavy, lingering, and it made your breath hitch in a way you couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening, but you forced yourself to speak, your voice quieter than you intended. “Is that the only reason?”

For a moment, he didn’t react. His hand stilled against your thigh, the room thick with the weight of unspoken truths. His gaze, usually so sure, seemed to falter, his eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name—hesitation, guilt, maybe even fear. His jaw tensed, a muscle feathering beneath his skin, and when he finally lifted his gaze to yours, it was darker, more conflicted, like he was caught between wanting to tell you something and keeping it locked away.

Then, slowly, he shook his head, his lashes lowering as he closed his eyes, exhaling deeply through his nose. It wasn’t a sharp denial, nor was it a clear admission. It was restrained, quiet, loaded with a tension that pressed against your chest like a vice. His head dipped forward slightly, the faintest brush of his forehead against yours, as though the closeness might absolve him of what he wasn’t saying.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stayed there, your breathing shallow and your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything left unsaid. You weren’t sure if you wanted to break the silence or let it stretch, afraid of what either choice might reveal.

But then Jeno’s breath hitched as he lifted his head slightly, his eyes fluttering open. They burned with something raw and unguarded, a fight raging behind them that he couldn’t fully conceal. His gaze locked on yours, heavy with unspoken words, and when he finally spoke, his voice was uneven, trembling with restrained intensity.

“You know you’re mine, right?” he rasped, the words spilling out like they carried the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

The vulnerability in his tone, in the way his fingers flexed at his sides as if trying to steady himself, left you breathless. Your heart hammered, but you didn’t falter. You nodded, your voice soft yet certain. “I know.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours, searching for something—reassurance, absolution, maybe even control he no longer had. Then he shook his head, exhaling deeply before his lips curved into the faintest smile. His next words came out quieter, lower, as if they were just for you.

“My girl.”

The way he said it, low and possessive, sent a shiver through you, your chest tightening with an ache that was equal parts yearning and relief. It wasn’t just a claim—it was a promise, a possession spoken not out of dominance but out of need. His gaze softened slightly, but the tension remained, the moment so charged it was as if the air had been pulled from the room.

This wasn’t just a declaration; it was him laying himself bare, a rare and sacred thing that he handed to you without reserve. And you, in return, held it as tightly as you could.

Jeno called your name, his voice a low thread pulling you from the haze of your thoughts, unraveling the composure you clung to. When your eyes met his, the world narrowed to just him—his gaze, heavy with an emotion you couldn’t name, yet it settled in your chest like a weight and a spark all at once. It was disarming, like finding a crack in the armor you’d spent years forging, his vulnerability pressing against your own. You felt exposed, as though he’d peeled back the layers you didn’t even know you had, leaving you defenseless in a way that was both terrifying and achingly intimate. For a moment, you didn’t recognize him—or maybe it was you who felt unfamiliar, reflected in the rawness of his expression.

You coughed, breaking the moment with an awkwardness that wasn’t characteristic of you, before dragging the conversation in a safer direction. “So,” you began, adjusting your position as if the shift in topic could steady you, “I told Shotaro… about us.”

Jeno blinked, surprised. “Really?” His brow arched slightly, his tone laced with curiosity. “Why him?”

You nodded, your fingers brushing against his as you spoke, grounding yourself in his soft touch. “I had to tell someone, and he was the safest option. I can’t tell Mark—not yet. And the others would make it a thing, and I can’t deal with that right now. Shotaro’s different. He’s supportive and understanding. He’s good at listening, at making sense of things. I knew he’d hear me out without turning it into some… spectacle.”

Jeno exhaled, his lips curving into a small smile, something warm yet restrained. “I’m glad it’s slowly getting off your chest.”

Relief flickered through you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “I feel a bit bad, though. I kind of cornered him. He screamed a lot.” You paused, a wry laugh slipping through. “I might’ve traumatized him.”

Jeno’s chuckle was low and smooth, his hand sliding up to settle lightly against your arm. “Poor Shotaro. Bet he’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“He’s never gonna look at me the same,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “I told him how many people I’ve been with… and now he knows what I really do at the bar.”

Jeno raised a brow, feigning offense. “Hey, that was supposed to be my secret, I love being the only one who knows,” he teased lightly. “Now you’re just giving it away?”

The humor lightened the air between you, easing the weight of the confession. Still, there was a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface—a shared understanding that this wasn’t just about Shotaro knowing. This was about you taking a step toward making your relationship something real, something that couldn’t be hidden forever.

“Jen…” His name slipped from your lips in a whisper before you could stop yourself. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say, but his name lingered in the space between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. You hesitated, searching for the right words, but nothing came.

Jeno noticed your pause, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing your eyelids in the softest kiss. “Look at me,” he murmured, his voice so low it felt like a secret meant only for you.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for one last second before obeying. The moment felt fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter it entirely. When your gaze met his again, your chest tightened. His touch, his presence—it all felt too much, like a truth you weren’t ready to fully face. But there was no running from it now. Not when he was right here, grounding you in a way that only he could.

Jeno’s hand fell to your charm bracelet, his thumb brushing over the delicate trinkets that dangled from it. “You’re going to need another one soon,” he teased gently, the shift in tone offering you both an escape from the intensity of the moment.

You let out a soft laugh, grateful for the reprieve. “My apartment or yours tonight?” The question was light, but the weight of everything unsaid lingered in the air between you.

His grin returned, slow and knowing. “Yours,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with the kind of promise that sent heat rushing through you.

The night unraveled like silk, fraying at the edges with need and care, every touch pulling you further under. As soon as the door closed behind you, the restraint you’d both carried all day evaporated. Jeno’s lips claimed yours, hot and urgent, his hands rough yet reverent as they gripped your waist and pulled you flush against him. It wasn’t gentle—it was primal, a release of every pent-up desire that had built between you. His breath was jagged, your moans swallowed by the space between you as he pushed you back against the wall, pinning you there as if afraid you’d slip away.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tipping your head back to expose the curve of your neck, where his lips found their place, biting and sucking until you whimpered his name. Your hands clawed at his hoodie, yanking it off and marveling at the heat of his skin beneath your touch. He groaned when your nails raked down his chest, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

Clothes hit the floor in a trail to the bedroom, neither of you caring where they landed. By the time you fell onto the bed, it wasn’t just desperation driving you—it was something deeper, something neither of you dared to name yet. His name spilled from your lips like a prayer as he kissed down your body, his hands mapping every inch of your skin as if committing you to memory. It was raw, messy, and consuming. When he finally sank into you, your gasp echoed in the room, and for a moment, nothing else existed. He moved like he was trying to undo you, every thrust deliberate, every whispered word in your ear driving you closer to the edge.

Afterward, when your breaths finally steadied and your bodies cooled, the intimacy shifted into something softer. Jeno helped you into a sweatshirt, his smile lazy as he tugged the hem down over your hips, and you laughed, swatting his hand away. The night wasn’t over, and the promise of something more lingered as you ventured out into the city.

The riverfront was quiet, bathed in the warm glow of streetlights reflecting on the water’s surface. The cool air bit at your exposed skin, crisp enough to raise goosebumps, but Jeno’s hand in yours anchored you, its warmth seeping through like a slow-burning ember. His fingers laced with yours in a way that felt inevitable, a quiet promise in the simple act. He gave your hand a soft squeeze, and when you looked up, the faint curve of his lips, the way his eyes softened just for you, made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t explain.

You leaned against the railing, the metal cold beneath your fingertips as you gazed at the water, its surface rippling with reflections of the city lights. The hum of the river, the faint sounds of the city in the distance—it was a quiet rhythm that made the night feel alive, like a secret shared between the two of you. “I used to come here all the time as a kid,” you murmured, your voice softer than the lapping waves. “It felt… alive. Like the city’s heartbeat. I’d sit here for hours, just watching.”

Jeno stepped behind you, his arms sliding around your waist and pulling you against his chest. His chin found its place on your shoulder, his breath fanning over the curve of your neck, warm and steady. “I can see why,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant only for you. “It’s peaceful. Feels like it belongs to you.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over his where they rested on your stomach. “It used to make me feel small, in a good way. Like no matter how loud my thoughts got, this place would drown them out.”

Jeno was quiet for a moment, his thumb drawing slow circles against your side. “I came here a lot too,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, a thread of something heavier pulling at the edges of his tone. “When I was younger. My mom loved this spot. She’d pack sandwiches and drag me and my dad here for picnics.”

You tilted your head slightly, catching the distant look in his eyes as he gazed out at the water. “I didn’t know that.”

He nodded, a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She said the river reminded her of where she grew up. She’d sit here for hours, telling me stories about her hometown, about how she’d spend her summers by the water. My dad hated it, though. He’d always stay in the car or cut the trip short.”

The shift in his voice was subtle, but you felt it. The warmth that had been there moments ago cooled slightly, and his grip on your waist tightened, as if grounding himself. “She’d laugh it off,” Jeno continued, “say he didn’t know how to appreciate the simple things. But I think it hurt her more than she let on.”

You turned in his arms, your fingers brushing his jaw gently, urging him to look at you. “Jeno…”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes made your chest ache. “I didn’t get it back then,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Why she kept bringing us here when it was clear he didn’t want to be. But now… I think she was just trying to hold on to something that made her happy. Something that felt hers.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling between you. “She sounds so loving.”

“She is.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening slightly. “She deserved more,” he said, his voice steady but distant, like the words weren’t entirely for you. His gaze lingered on the water, unmoving, the reflection of the city lights dancing in his eyes. “More than someone who only saw the inconvenience. More than someone who…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as his grip on the railing shifted, knuckles faintly paling under the strain.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was heavy, brimming with the things he wouldn’t say. You watched him, your chest tightening at the tension in his posture, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly like he was holding something in. His hand slid off the railing, falling to his side as he exhaled, the sound sharp and controlled.

It was denial, you realized—not overt, but there, laced in the way he kept his tone even, his words carefully measured, never fully opening the door to the weight he was carrying. He glanced at you then, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, and just as quickly, he turned his gaze back to the water. “She just… deserved more,” he repeated, quieter this time, as if saying it again would make it feel less personal. But you knew it was.

You turned slightly, the question forming in your mind, but he caught it before you could speak. His lips brushed yours, the kiss starting soft, tentative, as if testing the moment. Your breath hitched, your head still turned sideways, his lips fitting perfectly against yours. His hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. The world fell away, the only sound the faint rush of the river and the shared, uneven breaths that slipped between you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded and heavy with something unspoken. His breath mingled with yours, his lips brushing the faintest kiss against your temple before he leaned back just enough to meet your gaze. His hands slid under your skirt, warm and deliberate, gripping your ass through the thin fabric. His touch was firm, claiming, yet his gaze softened, as if the weight of his words could break the moment.

“It’s different with you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, the ache in your chest spreading, your heart beating a little too fast. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist as if anchoring himself. His jaw tensed, and he exhaled a shaky breath. “With Areum… I felt like I was always pretending. Like I had to keep up this version of myself to make everything seem fine. I was holding my breath, just waiting for it to fall apart.” He paused, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your skirt.

“But with you…” His voice softened, his words barely above a whisper as his eyes locked onto yours, holding you in place. It wasn’t rushed, like he wanted the moment to stretch, to last. He hesitated, searching for words that could match the feeling that lingered between you. “It feels like breathing—natural, steady, something I don’t have to think about but can’t imagine living without.

His hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate, grounding him just as much as you. “I don’t have to try, I don’t have to hold anything together. You make it feel like there’s nothing to hold, nothing to fix. Just—this.” He let out a small, uneven exhale, his lips twitching into something like a smile, soft and barely there. “Just you. I’m so good with you.”

His gaze lingered, drinking you in as though the moment could slip away if he didn’t memorize it. The way he looked at you then felt heavy but sweet, like a secret being shared, something quiet but infinite, and it left your heart aching in the best way. Your fingers brushed over his cheek, and you felt the way he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment before opening again, darker, searching. He made it so easy to believe that this was enough, that what hung unsaid between you didn’t need to be spoken aloud. His faint smile faltered, as if he could sense your hesitation, the conflict you weren’t ready to confront.

“It’s a good thing,” he said lightly, but there was something fragile in the way he said it, a tentative weight to the words that left you feeling exposed.

You wanted to say something back—something deliberate, something that would tighten the threads already weaving so carefully between you. But your mind, always calculating, always weighing the risk, refused to let your heart take the lead. You measured the distance between his vulnerability and your restraint, gauging the consequences of saying too much, of letting him see too far into you. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t unravel the carefully constructed balance you’d built? That wouldn’t tip the scales and leave you exposed?

Your silence wasn’t hesitation—it was strategy. A moment to decide whether you could afford the cost of letting him in, of giving him more than fleeting intimacy cloaked in kisses and touches. But even as you hesitated, a flicker of something darker crept in: the quiet fear that you’d already given too much, that this was careening toward something neither of you could control.

Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips capturing his in a way that said what you couldn’t. The kiss was soft at first, deliberate, but it deepened as your hands slid to his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his hoodie, the steady rhythm of his heart against your palms. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, as though he understood that this was all you could give.

Jeno wouldn’t notice, couldn’t notice, the precision of your decision. Not yet. To him, the kiss was only a kiss—soft, full of unspoken promises—but to you, it was a safeguard, a way to maintain the tenuous balance between want and surrender.

“I have something for you,” he said quietly, his voice low and warm, a stark contrast to the teasing edge it usually carried. The words caught you off guard, stealing the air from your lungs for a moment. You turned your head slightly, catching his intent expression and you smiled softly, knowing what was coming.

He brought your wrist up—the one adorned with the charm bracelet—and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your face. The soft, lingering pecks made your chest tighten, the intimacy stealing your breath more effectively than anything else he’d done that evening. Silently, he unclasped his hand to reveal a small charm resting in his palm. It gleamed under the faint glow of the streetlights, and your breath hitched when you recognized what it was: a tiny, intricate wave, its curves and lines mimicking the rippling water below. Jeno didn’t say anything at first, his eyes locked onto yours as he watched for your reaction. His gaze was steady, his expression softer than you’d ever seen, like he was offering you something much deeper than just a piece of jewelry.

The tenderness in his actions sent a surge of warmth through you, and for a moment, you felt untethered. Slowly, you turned in his hold, facing him fully now, your hands resting lightly on his chest. “You don’t know how much these mean to me,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the depth of your emotions. “Every single one… I don’t take it lightly.”

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, a kiss that felt like a promise. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his hands slid to your waist, holding you steady. “Anything for my girl,” he said, the words so quiet they were barely audible, yet they rang louder in your chest than anything else.

That feeling came again, like a foreign weight pressing against your ribs, insistent and unfamiliar. You wanted to push it away, to bury it before it took root, but the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to ignore. Still, you didn’t let it show, didn’t let it escape into the open. You simply smiled, your fingers tracing the edges of the new charm, grounding yourself in the physicality of it. “Thank you,” you whispered, kissing him again, softer this time, as if trying to convey what you couldn’t yet put into words. Jeno’s arms tightened around you, and for a moment, the world faded, leaving only the two of you suspended in the quiet night.

The moment stretched, his eyes heavy-lidded and focused entirely on you. His hands held you still, one cradling your jaw while the other gripped your waist with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, his mouth working against yours like he wanted to memorize every detail, every soft gasp you let out against him. His lips dragged over yours, parting and meeting in a rhythm that sent heat coursing through your veins, his tongue teasing just enough to leave you trembling. He kept you like that, face-to-face, his lips trailing from your mouth to your cheek, then lower to your jaw, each kiss leaving a mark you felt in your bones. But then, with a deliberate slowness that felt like a tease, his hands slid to your hips, guiding you as he turned you around.

For a moment, you felt the cool night air brush against your face as the world blurred, but it all sharpened again with the heat of his chest pressing against your back, his arms wrapping securely around you. He adjusted you slightly, pulling you flush against him, and the full weight of him against you was enough to make your breath stutter. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. His actions told the story. His hands slid down your sides, tracing every curve like they belonged to him, pausing briefly at your hips before moving lower to grip the swell of your ass through your skirt. His hold was firm, possessive, and when his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh, he gave a slow, deliberate pull, guiding you back into him.

His lips found the side of your neck, warm and insistent, and as he kissed down to your shoulder, you felt his breath hitch against your skin. His movements weren’t rushed; they were reverent, like he was savoring the moment. His hands moved again, slipping upward to gather your hair, tying it loosely and exposing the delicate curve of your neck. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth, his lips brushing over the nape of your neck with a slow intensity that made your knees weaken.

He loved this—being behind you, the way your body fit against his like a puzzle only he had the answer to. He loved the way your neck arched so perfectly when he tilted your head back, the way your hips moved instinctively when he guided them. The way your ass pressed against him with every slight shift—it wasn’t just the physicality; it was the control, the trust, the unspoken connection that made it intoxicating.

His lips grazed your temple, lingering there for a moment before brushing down to the shell of your ear. The softness of the touch was a stark contrast to the growl in his voice when he spoke, low and teasing, “You keep leaning back into me like that, baby, and I’m not gonna care who’s watching.” His hands tightened on your waist, the pressure enough to make your breath hitch. “Do you want them all to see how good you look when you fall apart for me?”

A shiver rippled through you, and you inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself against the way his words made your pulse race. “You wouldn’t,” you whispered, but there was no strength in it—only the quiet tremor of a challenge you weren’t sure you wanted to win.

“Try me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear before trailing lower, pressing deliberate, burning kisses down the curve of your neck. Each touch was slow and purposeful, like he wanted to etch himself into your skin. His hands slipped under your sweater, his calloused fingers meeting bare skin, and you gasped at the sensation, your back arching slightly into his touch.

The railing pressed against your hips as he crowded closer, his body pinning you in place with an unyielding warmth that made it impossible to think. You turned your head to meet his mouth, and the kiss that followed was anything but gentle. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his teeth grazing your bottom lip and drawing a quiet, desperate whimper from you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, and he growled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you and sinking deep into your core. His hands traveled lower, gripping your thighs and pulling you back into him, every movement calculated, claiming. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with want.

Your heart pounded, every nerve alight as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes was unrelenting, burning through every ounce of composure you thought you had. “Jeno,” you managed to breathe, your voice shaking as his lips found yours again, his grip on your body a silent promise of what was to come.

The café was bathed in a golden haze, the early evening glow filtering through the wide windows, casting soft shadows across the wooden floors. The air was rich with the familiar warmth of roasted coffee beans and the sweet, buttery aroma of pastries. It was comforting—a safe haven that always grounded you—but tonight, it felt precarious, a fragile bubble straining to contain the undercurrent of anticipation coursing through you. Jeno’s party was hours away, and the thought of seeing him again sent your mind spiraling, your thoughts darting between memories of him and the lingering tension of your secret. You stood at the espresso machine, the rhythmic hiss of steam grounding you in the present. The familiarity of the task was a lifeline, but your hands moved on autopilot. Your mind betrayed you, replaying flashes of the night before: his lips on yours, the way his hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t let go, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. The memory of it sent a flutter racing through your chest, your breath hitching as your hand wavered, nearly spilling the foam you were carefully crafting.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Irene’s voice cut through the haze, warm and curious as she stepped up beside you. “What are your plans for after the shift?”

Startled, you blinked, setting the cup down and gripping the counter to steady yourself. “Oh,” you said, stalling for a second as you fumbled for the words. “Just a… party tonight.”

Irene raised a brow, her lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. “A party, huh? Sounds fun. Who’s hosting?”

Her tone was light, casual, but the glint in her eyes was anything but. You hesitated, your heart picking up speed as you tried to decide how much to share. “A friend,” you said, a touch too quickly. The word felt foreign and inadequate, and you could tell she caught it by the way her smile widened just slightly.

“Right,” she said, the word drawn out with quiet amusement. She picked up a glass from the counter and started wiping it, her movements unhurried. “Just a ‘friend’s’ party, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed under her gaze, and you busied yourself with the cup in front of you, determined not to give anything away. But Irene’s presence was steady, unrelenting in the way she could pull answers from you without even trying. It was the kind of warmth that made people spill their secrets, but you weren’t ready for that. Not yet.

“It’s nothing big,” you said, your voice steadier this time. “Just a casual thing.”

“Casual,” Irene repeated, her tone lilting, but she didn’t press further. She set the glass down and gave your shoulder a gentle pat. “Well, whoever this ‘friend’ is, I hope they know how lucky they are.”

Her words hung in the air, light and teasing, but they settled deep in your chest, stirring something you couldn’t quite name. You nodded, offering her a faint smile before turning back to the machine, your thoughts already drifting to Jeno and what the night might bring. You passed a cappuccino to a customer with a polite smile, the weight of Irene’s words hanging in the air. She moved closer, patting your shoulder gently, her touch grounding yet maternal. She began humming softly, the familiar lullaby she always fell back on when the café slowed into its evening rhythm. It was the kind of thing that made you feel both safe and seen, a quiet reminder that Irene had always been more than just your boss.

“You’re working so hard, dear,” she said after a moment, her tone soft and affectionate. “I keep telling you to take breaks.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I know, I know. You’re the best, Irene.”

Her smile turned wistful, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Someone’s gotta look after you.”

Her words hit deeper than you expected, settling into that hollow part of you that craved care, but before you could say anything, the sound of your friends’ laughter carried across the café. You turned toward the corner booth, where Donghyuck, Chenle, Yangyang, Shotaro, and Nahyun were waving you over. Their energy filled the space, light and infectious, their presence a welcome distraction.

“Y/N!” Donghyuck called dramatically, already halfway out of his seat to gesture at you. “We need our usual fix, please!”

Nahyun grinned, resting her chin on her hand. “Something strong. We’ve got a party to get hyped for.” The corners of your lips tugged upward. You felt the warmth of excitement ripple through you—your shift was nearly over, and soon you’d be free to join them.

“Donghyuck wants a spiked caramel latte,” you muttered to Irene as you gathered ingredients, the clink of ice and the soft hum of the blender filling the air. “Chenle’s always rum-based, Yangyang goes for fruity vodka…”

“And Shotaro?” Irene prompted, her eyes twinkling.

You laughed. “A light soda with a little whiskey. I’ve got them all memorized.”

Irene chuckled, leaning against the counter as you worked. “You spoil them too much. They’re lucky to have you.”

As you poured the drinks, your thoughts veered away from the steady rhythm of the café and back to Jeno, the weight of his memory pulling you under like a tide. You didn’t mean to linger on that particular night, but the haze of it crept into your mind anyway, vivid and intoxicating. The way his grin turned sharp and boyish as he watched you mix drinks—his curiosity always piqued when you were in your element. You’d crafted your best cocktails that night, each sip drawing a deeper laugh from him, his cheeks flushed from the liquor and the heat between you.

Then came the smoke. The two of you sat sprawled on the worn leather couch in the dim light of the bar, passing a blunt back and forth, your giggles tangled with the low hum of music. You remembered how your head lolled back against the cushions, how you’d teased him about his inability to handle your “special mixes” while he playfully scolded you for making them too strong. When his fingers brushed yours, taking the blunt from your hand, the laughter faded into something heavier, slower. The air thickened with the weight of unspoken want, your bodies naturally gravitating closer, heat rising between you. His lips had found yours first, lazy and unhurried, his tongue tasting faintly of rum and smoke as his hand slid over your thigh, igniting something that left you both gasping.

The thought of his touch made your hands falter now, a splash of liquor spilling onto the counter as your grip slipped. You cursed softly under your breath, shaking your head as Irene, ever observant, raised an amused brow from across the counter. “Careful, dear. Don’t let your mind wander too far.”

By the time you carried the tray to the booth, their laughter had turned into an animated conversation about tonight’s party. You placed each drink in front of them, Donghyuck immediately raising his cup.

“Cheers to free booze later at Jeno’s party!” he declared, grinning.

“Can’t believe we’re partying two nights in a row,” Chenle added, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “My poor liver.”

Yangyang smirked. “I heard Jeno’s got some new playlist he’s dying to show off. The guy’s been hyping it up all week.”

Shotaro sat across from you, his usual playful energy dimmed, replaced by an unusual quiet. His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the edge of his drink, his gaze flicking between you and the rest of the group with a guarded hesitation that didn’t suit him. When his eyes finally met yours, there was something unspoken there—too knowing, too cautious, as though he was carrying the weight of what you’d told him earlier and couldn’t quite figure out what to do with it. You shot him a warning look, subtle but firm, the kind that said, don’t even think about it. His lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Something about the way he avoided holding your gaze for too long made your chest tighten, a ripple of unease threading through the moment.

It wasn’t until Irene’s voice cut through the chatter that your attention snapped back. “Where’s Mark?” she asked casually, her tone light but pointed. “He’s usually here with you all.”

You froze, the question hanging in the air, and then Irene smiled knowingly, her eyes locking on yours. “He’s with Areum, right?”

You blinked, startled by Irene’s words. “What?”

She gave you one of her signature smiles, soft but knowing, the kind that always made you feel like she was a step ahead. “I’m his mother. I know everything.”

The chill her words sent through you was subtle but undeniable, creeping along your spine as her gaze lingered. It wasn’t the statement itself—it was the weight behind it. The way she said it like it was obvious, like she knew more than she let on, made your chest tighten. If Irene knew about Mark and Areum, what else might she suspect?

You nodded stiffly, grabbing the empty tray and retreating to the counter under the guise of wiping it down. Her words echoed in your head, mingling with the quiet hum of the café and the lively conversation at the booth. The thought crept in, unbidden: did she know about Jeno?

The possibility felt too confusing to entertain, so you forced yourself to focus on the group. They were still laughing, passing jokes back and forth, and for a moment, the tension eased. You carried the revelation with you, though, a quiet hum beneath your thoughts as you moved back to the booth and slid into the seat beside Shotaro.

You barely had time to settle into the booth before Nahyun pushed her chair back, the screech of metal against tile slicing through the café’s hum. She stood abruptly, slipping her bag over her shoulder. Her expression was pointed, sharp in a way that made your stomach twist.

“I’ll catch you all later,” she said curtly, her voice clipped. No goodbye, no lingering glance—just a straight shot to the door. The table went silent for a beat. You followed her with your eyes, your mouth opening as if to call her back, but nothing came out. You caught Shotaro’s gaze instead, and your chest tightened at what you saw there. He looked… lost. His eyes stayed fixed on Nahyun’s retreating figure, his expression hollow, like the weight of her absence had already settled into his chest.

Your instinct kicked in, gentle but firm. You reached out and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in a way that was meant to ground him. “Hey,” you said softly, leaning closer. “Don’t let her get to you, okay? You’re good.”

He gave you a small, unconvincing smile, his shoulders stiff. Chenle picked up on it immediately. “Yeah, Taro,” he chimed in, nudging his friend from across the table. “Forget about her. She’s just being her usual self.”

Yangyang joined in with an exaggerated laugh. “Exactly. Do you know how many times she’s stormed out like that? Just forget her, bro.”

Shotaro’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t enough to shake the weight you saw in his eyes. You tousled his hair again, this time more playfully. “See? We’ve got you,” you said, giving him a small smile. “Forget about her.”

For a moment, Shotaro seemed to loosen up, a small smile tugging at his lips as the table’s conversation pulled him from his thoughts. But the relief was fleeting. The café door opened again, and in walked Mia, Aisha, and Yiren—a swirl of high-pitched giggles and the sharp scent of floral perfume. Their laughter was bright, exaggerated, their movements deliberate as they swept inside, their presence cutting through the warm, inviting atmosphere like a blade.

Shotaro’s smile disappeared instantly. His eyes darted to the door, and you followed his gaze. That’s when you saw Nahyun standing with them, her laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle, casting quick glances toward your table, her gaze sharp and lingering. Your stomach twisted. It was as though she knew exactly where to aim her jabs without saying a word. The way she leaned in close to Mia, whispering something that made the others laugh harder, sent a spark of irritation through you. You didn’t know what she was saying, but you had a sinking feeling it wasn’t anything good.

Shotaro’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as his shoulders stiffened. The lost look in his eyes from earlier returned, deeper now, like a wound being prodded. You reached over and gently ran your hand through his hair, your voice soft as you tried to soothe him. “Don’t look, Taro,” you murmured, low enough for only him to hear. “She’s not worth it.”

He blinked at you, as if trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him, but his gaze kept drifting toward the door. You glanced back yourself, catching Nahyun’s smirk as she whispered something else to Mia, her eyes darting briefly in your direction. Your irritation bubbled higher, but you forced yourself to stay composed, your hand still resting on Shotaro’s shoulder as you tried to keep him grounded.

“Let it go,” you said, your tone firm but kind. For now, that was all you could do.

You turned your head sharply toward Shotaro as the bitterness in his tone caught you off guard, something so foreign to his usually lighthearted demeanor. “I dump her, and she thinks she can make fun of me,” he muttered, his jaw clenched as his eyes stayed fixed on the door where Nahyun stood.

The table stilled, stunned into silence. “Wait—” Yangyang started, his brows furrowing, “You dumped her? Since when?”

Shotaro didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the table as his fingers fidgeted with his drink. It was such an unlike-him gesture, and your stomach twisted. He finally exhaled, shaking his head. “A while ago. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

The weight of his words hung in the air for a beat too long, but you quickly decided you weren’t going to let this moment define the rest of the night. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked. “Forget her,” you said softly, offering him a small smile. “You’ve got us, right?”

Yangyang caught on quickly, grinning as he leaned forward. “Yeah, Taro. Who needs her when you’ve got me? I’d make a way better partner anyway.”

“Better at what?” Chenle interjected with mock seriousness. “Breaking his heart? You’re terrible at commitment.”

“Okay, rude,” Yangyang shot back, his hand flying to his chest in exaggerated offense. The table erupted in laughter, the tension breaking as you all jumped into the teasing. Even Shotaro cracked a faint smile, and you kept threading your fingers through his hair, watching as his shoulders finally relaxed.

Chenle, ever the instigator, leaned closer to Shotaro. “What you really need is a makeover. New look, new you. I say we bleach your hair—completely platinum.”

Shotaro let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I think I’ll pass.”

As the laughter subsided, you all let out a collective sigh of relief when Mia, Aisha, Yiren, and Nahyun finally left the café. Their departure felt like a gust of fresh air, clearing the room of the tension they had brought in with them. You glanced at Shotaro, catching the faint flicker of ease returning to his expression, and you felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. But, of course, the peace was short-lived.

Chenle leaned back in his chair, shooting you a pointed look with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, guys,” he started, dragging out your name in a way that immediately set your nerves on edge. “Guess what rumor I heard today.” The playful tone in his voice sent a ripple of anticipation around the table, everyone leaning in slightly as you braced yourself for whatever was about to come. The distraction was en route, and you didn’t yet realize you were about to be the center of it.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along despite the flicker of anxiety in your chest. “Enlighten us.”

Yangyang’s grin widened. “They’re saying you’re hooking up with Jeno.”

You froze for a fraction of a second, but quickly recovered, forcing a laugh that sounded almost real. “Oh, come on,” you said, waving him off. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, seriously,” Chenle chimed in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Apparently, people think you’re sneaking around with him. Like, secretly dating or whatever.”

You laughed again, this time leaning into the absurdity. “Dating Jeno? Please. Do you even hear yourselves? I can’t stand the guy.”

“Exactly,” Yangyang said, smirking. “Which is why it’s so funny. It wouldn’t work. Total opposites.”

“Opposites attract,” Chenle sing-songed, earning a smack on the arm from you.

“Not in this case,” you shot back, rolling your eyes for effect. “Can we talk about something less ridiculous now?”

The jokes didn’t let up. “What if you’ve secretly had a crush on him this whole time?” Yangyang teased, his grin sharp. “Like, the classic enemies-to-lovers trope.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your seat. “Right, and in the next chapter, we’re married with kids,” you shot back dryly. The table erupted into laughter, the kind that was light and easy, and you played along as if you weren’t sitting on the exact truth they were joking about. But Shotaro wasn’t laughing. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands fidgeted in his lap.

Shotaro had been unusually fidgety all afternoon, his knee bouncing under the table, fingers twisting the hem of his sweater. At first, you chalked it up to the earlier situation with Nahyun—that bitter tone in his voice, so unlike him, had clearly unsettled him. But as the conversation spiraled into jokes about you and Jeno, you saw something shift in him. You knew him too well to miss it. It wasn’t Nahyun that had him unraveling; it was the secret he was barely keeping together. You threw him a lifeline, trying to redirect the jokes before they hit a nerve. “Right, Shotaro?” you said, nudging his arm with a forced smile. “Tell them how insane they sound.”

But instead of joining in with his usual laughter, he froze, his wide eyes darting between you and the others like a deer caught in headlights. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and then clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “Taro?” Yangyang asked, half-laughing, half-confused. “What’s wrong with you?”

Shotaro’s face flushed as he tried to hold it in, but the pressure was building, visible in the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. “You guys are—” he started, his voice too tight. He coughed, forcing a laugh that came out shaky. “You guys are ridiculous.”

It wasn’t convincing. At all. Chenle raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You okay, man? You look like you’re about to pass out.” Your stomach flipped. You could see it coming now, the inevitable crack in his composure. You shot him a warning glance, your foot nudging his under the table, silently pleading with him to hold it together. But Shotaro wasn’t looking at you anymore—his focus was entirely on the rest of the table. And then, like a dam breaking, it burst out.

“Because it’s true!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the café, startling everyone into silence. “Y/N is hooking up with Jeno!”

The table descended into an eerie silence, the kind that made the air feel heavy and stifling. Yangyang’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a sharp, unreadable stare. Chenle’s mouth fell open, his face frozen in wide-eyed disbelief. For a moment, all you could hear was the low hum of the café’s background noise—the quiet clatter of cups from Irene behind the counter and faint laughter from a distant table. But none of it mattered. The world seemed to tilt as Shotaro’s words settled over the group like a bomb.

Donghyuck’s head whipped toward you, his brows shooting up so high they almost touched his hairline. “Wait—what?” His tone was loud, incredulous, and laced with just enough amusement to make your stomach drop.

Chenle nearly choked on his drink, sputtering as he clutched the table for support. “No. No way. Are you kidding me?” Yangyang, however, stayed unnervingly calm, his sharp eyes narrowing as they flicked between you and Shotaro. His smirk was gone, replaced by a calculating expression that made your skin prickle. “Is this true?” he asked, his voice quiet but demanding, each word slicing through the tension like a blade.

Your mouth opened, but no sound followed at first, your thoughts momentarily tangled. It wasn’t that you didn’t have an excuse ready—you did. You could’ve easily lied, brushed off Shotaro’s outburst as a poorly timed joke. But a part of you hesitated, a part that didn’t mind your closest friends knowing. They were your constants, the ones who had seen every shade of you, from your worst days to your rare, unguarded moments. Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel the same urgency to hide this secret anymore. Maybe a part of you wanted the truth out in the open, at least with them. You trusted them, trusted that even in their shock and disbelief, they wouldn’t betray you. And maybe, selfishly, you wanted to share the weight of this, to stop carrying it alone.

However, beside you, Shotaro was spiraling, his guilt unraveling faster than he could catch it. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” he groaned, his voice muffled and cracking. “You were all sitting here joking about it, and I just… I couldn’t keep it in.” He finally looked up, and the regret in his wide eyes was so raw, so pitiful, that some of your anger softened despite yourself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding more like a child than the usually carefree Shotaro you knew.

Donghyuck, of course, was the first to recover, leaning back in his chair with a mix of disbelief and delight dancing across his face. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, pointing a finger between you and Shotaro. “You’re telling me you”—he paused, gesturing dramatically—“and Jeno? The guy you supposedly hate?”

“Donghyuck, shut up,” you snapped, your voice louder than intended, but your nerves were fraying.

“I’m just saying!” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “This is wild, even for you.”

Yangyang finally leaned back, his elbows resting on the table as his gaze drilled into you. “How long?” he asked, his voice low but cutting.

You hesitated, the weight of their stares pressing down on you like a physical force. You thought, briefly, about spinning the truth, about weaving a believable lie to salvage whatever was left of your dignity. But then you caught Shotaro’s guilty expression, and something shifted. You realized you couldn’t—didn’t want to—lie about any part of this anymore. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. A way to finally let go of the constant fear of being found out.

“Not long,” you said finally, your voice even but tinged with exhaustion. “But long enough.”

The admission sent the group into a new round of chaos. Chenle groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. This is insane. Jeno? Mark’s brother Jeno?”

“No, Chenle, the other Jeno I’ve been secretly hooking up with. Obviously, Mark’s brother Jeno.”

Chenle shot you an exasperated look, but your response earned a surprised snort from Yangyang, who had been quietly narrowing his eyes at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Oh, she’s still got jokes,” Yangyang muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Bold of you, considering what we just found out.”

Shotaro sat straighter, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted. His tone, softer but more at peace now, made you glance his way with suspicion. In his mind, the worst had already happened—there was no going back, no further secrets to guard. “What did Mark say when you told him?” he asked, his gaze sharper now, his voice quieter but no less pointed, like he was testing you.

The table fell silent, every pair of eyes turning to you. Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. You froze, the heaviness of the question pressing down on your chest. Shotaro’s calm facade cracked in an instant. “Wait—” His voice shot up, cracking with disbelief. “You haven’t told him?! Are you serious right now?” His shout made the others flinch.

Chenle was the first to recover, throwing his head back with a loud laugh that echoed through the café. “Oh my god, this is brilliant! You haven’t told Mark?” He leaned forward, his grin wide and incredulous. “You do know he’s gonna freak out when he finds out, right? Like, lose his mind freak out.”

At the mention of Mark, your stomach twisted painfully. “He’s not going to find out, not yet, I need to figure out how I’m gonna tell him,” you said quickly, your tone hardening. “Not unless one of you says something. And you’re not going to.”

Donghyuck let out a low whistle, his grin returning. “You think you can keep this from Mark? You really think he’s not going to figure it out?”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” you shot back, glaring at him. “This doesn’t leave this table. Do you understand me? None of you are saying anything.”

Chenle slumped in his chair, muttering under his breath, while Yangyang’s expression remained unreadable, his sharp eyes fixed on Shotaro. You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice but keeping it firm. “Taro,” you asked directly, cutting through the tension. “Can I trust you to keep it in this time?”

Shotaro groaned audibly, his head dropping back into his hands like the weight of the entire situation was crushing him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered again, his voice muffled and pitiful. “I didn’t mean to say it, I swear. I just—”

“Shotaro,” you interrupted softly but pointedly, trying to ground him. He peeked at you from between his fingers, the guilt in his wide eyes so raw it almost made you feel bad for him. Almost. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I will, I promise!” he blurted, sitting up straighter, his voice cracking with urgency. “I won’t say a word. I swear.”

Yangyang let out a dry laugh, but you ignored him, keeping your focus on Shotaro. “Good,” you said quietly, your gaze steady and unyielding. “Because if this gets back to Mark before I figure things out…”

Shotaro’s face crumpled further, but he nodded, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own mistake.

Chenle let out another dramatic sigh, throwing his head back. “My lips are sealed,” he said reluctantly. “But I want to be there when Mark finds out.” You shot him a glare and swore at him, but the tension in the air had eased just enough to let you breathe. It wasn’t perfect, but for now, it would have to be enough.

Jeno’s apartment had always felt like a chameleon, shifting effortlessly to fit the moment, the mood, the people inside it. You knew its every corner, every quiet creak and curve, like the back of your hand. Tonight, though, it felt unrecognizable, as if it had shed its usual restraint and dressed itself in reckless abandon. The once-serene living room, with its minimalist furniture and sleek, polished surfaces, was now a kaleidoscope of sound and color. Bass-heavy music throbbed against the walls, shaking the floor beneath your heels, while lights—red, blue, green—flashed and bled into one another, washing over the crowd like a fever dream.

This wasn’t just a party—it was indulgence laid bare. The apartment wore its chaos well, pulling you in with the kind of raw energy that demanded to be fed. Furniture that usually whispered elegance was shoved aside, creating space for grinding bodies and half-drunk laughter. The kitchen counter, once the epitome of spotless modernity, was now buried under bottles, mixers, and the occasional abandoned phone. Even the windows, typically pristine and reflective, were fogged with condensation, blurring the city skyline into streaks of muted light.

Your friends moved forward, merging seamlessly into the chaos, but you hesitated at the threshold, feeling the push and pull of the room. Your gaze swept over the crowd, catching flashes of movement—dancing, shouting, fleeting glances exchanged in dim corners. Despite the thrumming energy, you felt the apartment’s other personas lingering beneath the surface. You’d seen it as a sanctuary in quieter moments, a place of understated intimacy where laughter had been soft and kisses had tasted like secrets. Now, it was unrecognizable, its sleek edges drowned in decadence, as if trying to swallow you whole.

And then, there was Jeno.

He wasn’t loud or boisterous like the party raging around him; he didn’t need to be. The room seemed to shift subtly when he appeared, his presence a gravitational pull that even the chaos bent around. Dressed in black, his shirt clung to his body in a way that was both effortless and deliberate, the rolled-up sleeves revealing veins that drew your eye like a map. Jeno was smiling, the kind of effortless grin that somehow lit him up even under the dim, flashing lights. He navigated the crowd with ease, slipping between groups with a nod here, a laugh there, like he was made for moments like these. His confidence wasn’t loud or overbearing; it was woven into the way he moved, the way people naturally gravitated toward him without him having to try.

When his eyes found you, it felt like time slowed, the noise of the party fading into static. His stare was unrelenting, dark and heavy, dragging over your figure in a way that made your skin prickle. The straps of your top suddenly felt insubstantial, your mini skirt a little too short. Heat climbed up your neck, spreading across your cheeks, but you didn’t let yourself flinch. Instead, you held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than you should have before looking away, your pulse thrumming against your ribs.

His gaze lingered, deliberate and unhurried, dragging over you in a way that made your skin prickle with heat despite the crowded room. For a moment, the noise and chaos around you seemed to fade, your focus narrowing to the sharpness of his features and the weight of his attention. But then he was gone, swallowed up by the throng of people, leaving you standing there with a racing pulse and too many thoughts you couldn’t afford to entertain. Shaking off the haze, you forced yourself to look around, your eyes scanning the room until they landed on someone else entirely. Mark.

He was across the apartment, perched on the arm of a couch with his teammates clustered around him. His easy laughter carried faintly over the pounding bass, his smile bright as he sipped from a red cup. He looked so at ease, so perfectly at home in this chaos, that it made your chest tighten. You lifted a hand, offering him a small wave, but his eyes slid right past you, never once acknowledging your presence. The sting of it was sharper than you’d anticipated, cutting through the thin veil of calm you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard, trying to brush off the weight of his indifference, but it lingered, gnawing at the edges of your confidence.

You turned back to your friends, catching Yangyang’s eye as you did. He raised his cup in a silent question, and you gave him a tight smile in response. “Let’s grab a drink,” you murmured, pushing through the crowd toward the makeshift bar. Anything to distract yourself from the way Mark’s disregard had made you feel invisible in a room where you were already trying to stay hidden.

The music shifted to a faster beat, the crowd pulsating in unison under the swirling lights. The air was thick with sweat and spilled liquor, the scent of cologne and perfume mingling into something almost dizzying. You tossed back your first drink too quickly, the burn spreading warmth through your chest, and reached for another without hesitation. Anything to dull the jealousy clawing at your insides.

From across the room, you could see Jeno again. He was standing near a group of girls, one of whom was leaning far too close, her laugh high-pitched and artificial. Your grip on your cup tightened, the plastic bending slightly under your fingers. You hated this—hated how his attention on anyone else made your stomach twist. But you couldn’t blame him. You were the one who insisted on secrecy, on keeping this fragile thing between you hidden.

You looked away, swallowing hard, but the image burned behind your eyelids. And then you saw her—Areum. She was standing next to Jeno, her expression light and friendly as she said something that made him laugh. They looked comfortable together, familiar. Too familiar. Your fingers clenched around your cup, the sharp bend of the plastic grounding you for a moment. It shouldn’t have stung like this. You’d seen Areum countless times, knew her place in his past, but something about the way they stood there, unbothered and unguarded, twisted in your gut. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it shouldn’t matter. But no amount of logic could quiet the storm brewing under your skin.

He’s mine. The words repeated in your head, over and over, each one pounding like a drumbeat in time with the music. He’s mine, and they have no idea.

“Another?” Yangyang’s voice cut through the haze, his arm draping over your shoulder as he held out a shot glass.

You grabbed it without hesitation, tilting it back in one quick motion, the burn a fleeting distraction. “Keep them coming,” you muttered, your voice thick with determination, and Yangyang grinned before handing you another. The alcohol numbed the ache but heightened everything else—the music, the lights, the energy vibrating in the air.

The next shot came and went, and you felt your inhibitions slipping further away. The jealousy, the frustration, the secret tether between you and Jeno—they all dissolved into the beat of the music, into the rhythm that pulled at your body until you couldn’t resist anymore. Yangyang grabbed your hand, dragging you onto the makeshift dance floor, where bodies moved in wild, chaotic unison. You let the music take over, your hips swaying to the heavy bassline, your arms raised as you spun under the flashing lights. The room was a blur of colors and motion, and for the first time that night, you felt free.

You didn’t think about Jeno or Areum or the girls who flocked to him like moths to a flame. You didn’t think about Mark’s cold indifference or the weight of your secrets pressing down on your chest. You just let go, your movements uninhibited, your laughter spilling out as Yangyang spun you around before pulling Chenle into the fray.

You were reckless, untouchable, the center of your own little universe. For once, the storm in your chest quieted, replaced by the pounding bass and the intoxicating rush of losing control. The party had reached its breaking point—music pounding so loudly that the walls seemed to vibrate with it, bodies packed together in a crush of movement, laughter and shouting overlapping in a relentless buzz that filled your head. The apartment, once so pristine and controlled, felt like it was devouring you, every corner brimming with chaos and energy. Your breaths came shallow and quick, the air thick with the cloying mix of sweat, alcohol, and the low burn of something darker curling in your chest: jealousy.

Jeno. His name was a mantra in your head, a loop that wouldn’t quiet. Every time you caught sight of him, his easy charm radiating like a beacon, it was a fresh wound. He moved effortlessly through the crowd, laughing at something someone said, his dark shirt clinging in ways that made it impossible to look away. And then there were the girls—three of them, orbiting him, their giggles loud and syrupy as they leaned in, their hands brushing his arm or shoulder.

It was suffocating. You needed air, space—anything to escape the sight of him surrounded like that, untouchable and yet so close. You shoved through the crowd, the press of bodies grating against your nerves. Your friends’ voices faded behind you as you wove your way down a narrow hallway, the din of the party dulling to a murmur. Here, the air was cooler, the lights dimmer, casting flickering shadows that felt like a reprieve from the chaos. Leaning back against the wall, you closed your eyes, letting the cool surface ground you. Your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breaths, but it wasn’t enough. The jealousy was a gnawing thing, twisting in your gut, impossible to swallow down. The frustration of wanting him so openly, so badly, but knowing you couldn’t have him—not like this—was unbearable. You needed to calm down. You couldn’t let this spiral.

But as you tried to collect yourself, the sound of low voices reached your ears, pulling you out of your thoughts. A drunken laugh, the unmistakable smack of lips meeting—someone was kissing, tucked into the shadows just ahead of you. Your body tensed instinctively, the intimacy of it grating against your already raw nerves. You stepped back into the shadows, instinctively pressing yourself against the wall, your body tensing as the voices grew closer. Then, unmistakably, you heard Mark’s laugh—low and familiar, cutting through the muffled noise of the party.

You shifted carefully, moving further into the darkened hallway, your heart quickening—not out of fear or jealousy, but to avoid being seen. Peeking around the corner, your gaze locked onto him. Mark stood with Areum, her body angled toward his, her hand resting lightly on his chest. She said something, her voice soft but teasing, and it made him grin—lopsided, easy, unguarded. It wasn’t envy that tightened your chest but the sharp awareness of how out of place you felt. Like you were intruding on a moment that didn’t belong to you, a dynamic you weren’t a part of. You watched as they slipped into a nearby room, their laughter trailing behind them, and you exhaled softly, forcing yourself to relax. You pressed your back harder against the wall, biting the inside of your cheek. The weight of their presence faded, but the feeling lingered—displacement, a quiet, gnawing reminder of everything you were working so hard to ignore.

The hallway was silent again, the faint hum of the party fading into the background as you stood rooted in place, staring at the spot where Mark and Areum had disappeared. Your phone slipped into your hand, the screen lighting up as you prepared to text Jeno, telling him where to meet you.

“Hey.”

The sudden voice jolted you, your head snapping up. Nahyun stood a few feet away, her figure partially obscured by shadows. Her presence was so unexpected, so jarring in this quiet space, that you immediately tensed.

“Nahyun?” you said sharply, your voice edged with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer right away, her eyes darting toward the floor before flicking back up to meet yours. Her expression was unreadable, but her tone was anything but subtle. “I saw Mark and Areum.”

Your stomach twisted, your eyes narrowing. “And?”

“I followed him into the corridor,” she said, her voice dipping slightly as if to soften the blow of her next words. “I thought maybe I’d get a moment alone with him, you know, finally make a move. But then she came in, all fake laughs and clingy little touches. Honestly, what does she even have?”

Your breath caught for a moment, your fingers tightening around your phone. “You’re serious?” you choked, blinking in disbelief.

Nahyun scoffed, her lips curling in disdain. “She’s nothing special. All that caked-on makeup, those fake extensions, and that ridiculous laugh—it’s like she’s trying too hard. And Mark? He’s just sitting there, lapping it up like an idiot. It’s pathetic, honestly.” Her tone was sharp, cutting, but there was something raw buried beneath it, a bitterness she didn’t bother to hide.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, your patience rapidly unraveling. “Nahyun,” you said, your tone icy, “you didn’t see anything. Understand?”

Her brows furrowed, and she let out a humorless laugh. “What are you talking about? Everyone’s going to see them soon enough. Why does it matter if I—”

“You didn’t see anything,” you interrupted, stepping closer, your voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And if you even think about opening your mouth about what you think you saw, it won’t end well for you.”

Nahyun blinked, startled by your tone, but then her lips curved into a defiant smirk. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?”

You tilted your head, your smile razor-thin. “Remind everyone about the night you fucked Coach Suh in the supply closet? Or how you begged him not to tell anyone after? Shall I remind you about that, Nahyun?”

Her smirk dropped instantly, her mouth falling open as the blood drained from her face. “You wouldn’t,” she breathed, her voice shaking slightly.

Your gaze didn’t waver, your voice cold and unrelenting. “Try me.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Nahyun’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her earlier bravado dissolving into something much smaller, much weaker.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice low, defeated. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Good,” you said sharply, your eyes narrowing as you took a step back. “Let’s keep it that way.”

But instead of leaving, Nahyun lingered, her shoulders tense as her gaze darted to the side. Then, after a beat, she crossed her arms and looked back at you, her chin jutting forward with a mix of defiance and hesitation. “Do you think he’d ever go for me?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“Mark,” she clarified, her voice laced with bitterness, her gaze flicking to the floor before meeting yours. “Do you think he’d ever drop Areum for me?”

The question struck you like a slap, your stomach twisting at the sheer audacity. You blinked, caught between disbelief and annoyance. “What did I just say?” you asked sharply, your voice carrying a bite that even surprised you.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone rising in frustration, her jaw tightening. “Just tell me. You know him better than anyone. Would he ever… look at me like that?”

You folded your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes at her. “You really want the truth?” you asked, your words cutting through the air like a blade.

“Yes,” she snapped, the defiance in her voice almost masking the vulnerability underneath.

“Fine,” you said flatly, your patience fraying. “No. Mark wouldn’t go for you.”

Her lips parted, the words hitting her with visible force. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice rising in disbelief, indignation flashing across her face.

“You asked,” you said with a shrug, your tone devoid of apology. “Areum’s more his type. Always has been.”

Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “You don’t know that,” she bit back, her voice tight and defensive. “People change.”

“And some don’t,” you countered smoothly, your voice calm but edged with finality. “Mark’s not about shallow games or fleeting attention. He values stability, loyalty— all things you never gave Shotaro so I doubt you’d be able to give Mark what he wants.”

Nahyun scoffed, shaking her head, her laugh sharp and humorless. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “You act like you know everything about him, like you’re so much better than everyone else.”

“Maybe I do,” you replied coolly, your gaze unwavering.

Her lips twisted into a mocking smile, her tone sharpening. “You’re so weird, you know that? Always looking at everyone like you’re two steps ahead, like you have everything figured out. You think you’re untouchable, but you’re not. I know you’re hiding something.”

Her words cut through the tension like a spark to dry kindling, but you didn’t flinch. You tilted your head slightly, your expression calm but your eyes sharp. “Go ahead,” you said evenly, the weight of your words landing with precision. “Figure it out. See how far it gets you.”

Nahyun’s nostrils flared, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She glared at you for a moment longer, the tension between you taut as a wire, before she finally turned on her heel and stormed off, her movements stiff with fury. You exhaled slowly, the encounter leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. As you watched her retreating figure disappear down the hallway, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease. Whatever she thought she knew, whatever games she was planning, you’d just added fuel to a fire you weren’t sure you could put out.

You hiss through your teeth, the anger curling hot and sharp in your chest. That entire interaction left you shaken, a lingering unease burrowing under your skin, coiling tighter with every passing second. You don’t know why it’s affecting you so much, but your hands tremble as you reach for your phone, already dialing Jeno’s number. Your thumb hovers over the call button, but the string of messages on your screen freezes you in place.

jeno — go to my room, baby jeno — i’ll be there in a few minutes. jeno — don’t be late.

Relief floods you, easing some of the tension in your chest but doing nothing to quiet the storm beneath your skin. You shove the phone into your pocket and march toward his room, your steps quick and purposeful, the frustration bubbling hot and erratic. Once inside, the silence feels oppressive, wrapping around you and amplifying every thrum of impatience in your body. You pace, glancing at the door, your anger simmering into something more volatile. He said he’d be here in minutes, but each second stretches unbearably long, your mind spiraling, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

You’re so worked up, so wound tight, that tears prick at your eyes without warning. You blink them away, biting the inside of your cheek, but the raw emotion doesn’t budge. You don’t even know why you feel this way—why the frustration burns so hot, why the need to see him is so desperate it makes your chest ache. All you know is you need him now. The heat between your legs intensifies, fed by a mix of anger and need. Your body aches for him, the restless buzz of it too loud to ignore. With a bitten-off groan, your hand moves beneath your skirt, fingers finding slick heat as you press against yourself. The touch pulls a sharp moan from your lips, your head falling back against the wall as you circle your clit, trying to ease the tension clawing at you.

You barely register the sound of the door opening. Jeno steps inside, and before he can say a word, you’re on him. You grab his shirt, yanking him forward with enough force to make him stumble. The door slams shut behind him as your mouth crashes against his, your kiss rough and unrelenting. Your kiss is rough, messy, and demanding, swallowing the startled groan that rumbles in his chest. He reacts instinctively, his hands finding your waist to steady you, but you don’t let him set the pace. Your teeth graze his lower lip, tugging just hard enough to make him hiss, and you press closer, grinding against him as if you could sink into his skin.

“Lock the door,” you pant against his mouth, your voice shaking with urgency.

He fumbles for the lock, his eyes never leaving yours. The sharp click is barely audible over the sound of your heavy breaths, and before he can say anything, you grab him again, pulling him into another bruising kiss.

“Slow down—” he starts, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze narrows, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the damp lashes, the wild edge in your eyes. His brow furrows. “Have you been crying?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you yank him closer, crashing your mouth against his in a silent plea. His concern lingers, his movements slower now, as if he’s unsure whether to keep going but he pulls back just as quickly as your lips find his. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours. But you don’t have the words—only the raw, burning need to feel him, to let him tear you apart and put you back together all at once.

“Just—don’t stop,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as you grind against his hand. His gaze flickers between your face and his fingers working you, his jaw tight, his breath coming heavier now.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice a rough blend of heat and care. The words are barely more than a breath, his lips brushing against your temple with a gentleness that contradicts the tension radiating from your bodies. His hand slides higher beneath your shirt, fingers grazing the underside of your breast as his thumb sweeps deliberate circles over the curve. The tenderness of his touch feels almost unbearable, like he’s trying to soothe something raw and unspoken inside you, and it only makes the ache in your chest tighten. You don’t know whether to cry harder or beg for more.

His thumb drags over the thin fabric of your bra, the pressure firm but teasing, and your breath catches. When he finally slips his fingers beneath the material, the heat of his skin against yours sends a jolt through you. He doesn’t rush; his movements are measured, the rough pads of his fingertips tracing circles around your nipple before pinching it between his fingers. You gasp, your back arching into his touch, the sharp pleasure shooting straight through you. His eyes stay on your face, watching every reaction, every flicker of need that crosses your features.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his tone laced with something dark and intoxicating. His thumb flicks over your nipple again, the slow, deliberate motion designed to pull every sound from you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he groans low in his throat, leaning in to press his mouth to your jaw. His lips skim down the column of your throat, nipping at the skin, and the combination of his touch and his mouth has you trembling against him.

His hand slides lower, down your stomach, before disappearing beneath your skirt. His fingers trace the edge of your underwear, toying with the elastic, and you let out a choked whimper. The teasing only lasts a moment before he pushes the fabric aside, his fingers slipping through your folds. “So wet,” he mutters again, his voice low and rough, and the way his words curl around you sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. His thumb circles your clit, slow at first, almost unbearably light, and you can feel his breath against your cheek as you shudder. He presses harder, the pressure building, and you gasp, your hips jerking into his hand, chasing the friction you’ve been desperate for.

He shifts slightly, angling himself to slide his fingers deeper, and the stretch has your head falling back against the wall. His free hand finds your waist, steadying you as his thumb continues its torturous circles. Every stroke is calculated, precise, and his gaze stays locked on you, like he’s memorizing the way your body reacts to him. “Does this feel good?” he asks, his voice a low growl against your ear, and all you can do is nod, your breathless whimpers answering for you. He curls his fingers just right, the motion sending a shock of pleasure through you, and you cling to him, your body trembling as you lose yourself in the haze of his touch.

“Did you deal tonight?” Your voice comes out flushed, breathless, and trembling with the raw edge of desperation that clings to every syllable. The words spill out so frantically they’re barely coherent, your body trembling against his, your head spinning.

Jeno blinks, his brows pulling together in a deep frown. “What?” His confusion is palpable, his tone tinged with disbelief. “I don’t deal—what are you even talking about?” His hands flex against your waist, grounding you, but his narrowed gaze makes it clear he’s thrown by your question. “You know I don’t. I just know where to get stuff from.”

You’re not listening, not really. The rest of his words barely register, drowned out by the thrumming chaos in your head. “Do you have anything?” you press, the desperation in your tone sharpening into something raw and insistent. Your eyes search his face, wild and pleading, your grip on his shirt tightening as if you’re afraid he’ll leave without answering.

He hesitates for a moment, his concern warring with something else, but then he nods. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small bundle of baggies and pills. Tiny clear packets with crystalline powders, a couple of pills pressed into the shape of hearts, and even a sleek metal tin that holds a pre-rolled joint. You don’t give him time to explain, your shaking hands already snatching one of the baggies. The motion is frantic, reckless, and your fingers tremble as you tear it open. You don’t think—you barely breathe—as you dip your finger inside and press the powder to your nose, snorting sharply. The burn is instant, sharp and electric, sending a jolt through your body as your head tilts back against the wall.

“Baby…” Jeno starts, his voice low and uncertain, his brows furrowing as he watches you. He looks like he wants to stop you, but his words catch in his throat when you grab one of the pills. A small, pink heart-shaped tab rests on your palm, and you waste no time pressing it to your tongue.

“Here,” you murmur, your voice low, thick with need, the edges of your words slurred by the pulse pounding in your ears. Tilting your chin up, you let your tongue dart out slightly, the pill balanced delicately on it, a silent invitation hanging in the charged air between you.

Jeno freezes for a moment, his jaw clenching as his dark eyes flit between your face and the small heart-shaped tab on your tongue. Concern flashes across his features, a flicker of hesitation that doesn’t match the way his hands grip your waist, firm and grounding. “Baby, slow down,” he says softly, the rasp in his voice betraying the mix of unease and desire coursing through him. You don’t give him the chance to argue further. Your hands twist tighter into his shirt as you pull him down, your lips crashing into his with reckless urgency. The pill transfers between your mouths, your tongue tangling with his as his breath catches. His groan vibrates against you, low and unsteady, as he lets himself be swept into the frantic heat of your kiss.

The bitter tang of the pill lingers as the kiss deepens, consuming and frantic, each movement fueled by the energy crackling in the air. Your fingers clutch at him, desperate, almost clawing, as if anchoring yourself to the solid warmth of his body could steady the chaos swirling in your head. He doesn’t push you away, but there’s a tension in his movements—a cautious slowness to the way his hands slide up your back, as though he’s holding himself back. “Slow down,” he murmurs again, the words a broken whisper against your lips. But this time, his resolve falters, his grip on your waist tightening as his tongue brushes yours, the kiss growing hungrier. You can feel him give in, the groan that rumbles deep in his chest spilling over into the way his hands hold you.

The effects of the pill are slow at first, just a faint hum under your skin, but it builds steadily, weaving itself through your veins with an intoxicating heat. Your breaths come faster, shallower, the edges of the room blurring as your focus narrows to nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, the weight of his body pressing into yours. Jeno’s hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you deeper, slower now, like he’s trying to pace himself despite the heady haze beginning to settle over him. You feel the shudder in his breath when he pulls back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze flickers across your face, searching for something he can’t quite put into words. “You good?” he asks, his voice low, rough, and tinged with worry.

You nod quickly, too quickly, the sharp motion making your head spin. “I’m fine,” you whisper, though your voice doesn’t sound entirely convincing, even to yourself.

His eyes narrow slightly, studying you for a beat longer before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another pill. This one is blue, stamped with a tiny smiley face, and he holds it up between his fingers. “Last one,” he says, watching your reaction carefully.

You take it without hesitation, holding it to your lips before motioning for him again. He doesn’t hesitate this time, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. The kiss is slower, deeper, as if he’s trying to temper the frantic energy that’s been driving you. The pill dissolves between you, the faint bitterness mixing with the lingering taste of him. His hands roam your body, not in a heated rush, but with an almost protective urgency. One settles on your hip, grounding you as the other cups the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Baby, you’ve gotta take it easy,” he murmurs again, softer now, his forehead pressing to yours.

“I’m fine,” you insist, though the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes threaten to betray you.

Jeno exhales deeply, his hand slipping down to rest on your thigh, squeezing lightly as if to anchor you. “I’ve got you,” he says quietly, the reassurance in his tone steady and warm. “Tonight, I’ve got you. Don’t worry about anything.”

The promise in his words settles over you, a quiet comfort that steadies the chaos in your chest just enough to breathe. You nod, leaning into him, letting the weight of his hands and the steady beat of his heart against your chest pull you back from the edge. Even as the high begins to take hold, threading through your senses and making the room spin in soft, colorful waves, you feel the solid, grounding presence of him. He’s not just watching you—he’s taking care of you, his touch firm yet careful, his gaze never leaving you for too long. You don’t have to say a word to know he means it. Tonight, he won’t let you fall.

The air between you was taut, crackling with an intensity that made Jeno’s pulse hammer in his chest. He stood there, silent, watching you, taking in every sharp edge of your expression and the vulnerability you tried to mask beneath your defiance. It was so you—even like this, raw and unsteady, you clung to control with a ferocity that made it impossible for him to look away. His gaze flicked briefly to the desk, where the remnants of his stash lay scattered: crystalline powders shimmering faintly in the dim light, the edges of the baggies catching his attention like a warning. He knew it was dangerous, the way your eyes kept darting to it—restless, almost absent-minded. It wasn’t just about the drugs; it was the tension in you, the storm barely held together, and he hated that he couldn’t fix it outright. But he could feel it in his bones—tonight, you wouldn’t let him try.

“Eat me out,” you said, the words sharp and breathless, cutting through the silence with a weight that made his throat tighten.

His lips parted, but no sound came, the air between you thickening as his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He hesitated for half a second, not because he didn’t want to but because the desperation in your tone was unlike anything he’d heard before. But then your eyes met his, unwavering and wild, daring him to refuse you. He nodded, a slow and deliberate motion, his jaw clenching as he fought to steady himself.

It wasn’t enough for you. You stepped closer, your hands reaching for his wrists and guiding them with purpose. You placed them on your ass, your touch firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Eat my ass out,” you repeated, your voice softer now but filled with the same unrelenting command, the words dripping with heat.

The restraint he’d been clinging to snapped. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer with a force that made your breath hitch. His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss rough and consuming, all teeth and tongue and frustration. He groaned low in his chest, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that was almost punishing, like he needed you to feel just how far you’d pushed him. The kiss deepened, his hands sliding down to grip the back of your thighs. With effortless strength, he lifted you, his fingers digging into your skin as he maneuvered you toward the bed. The room blurred as he moved, the only thing grounding you the searing heat of his mouth and the unyielding hold of his hands.

You gasped into his mouth as he pushed you forward, the mattress dipping under your knees as he bent you over with little resistance. His hands were rough but steady, sliding over your ass and thighs as he positioned you exactly how he wanted, his body pressing against yours for a moment as though to remind you who held you in place. Your palms flattened against the sheets, your back arching instinctively, and you could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady. He was behind you now, his breath warm against the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing your skin with a possessive hunger that made your chest tighten.

Jeno’s hands were rough but sure, sliding up your thighs and over the curve of your ass as he adjusted your position. His fingers spread you wider, holding you steady as his breath ghosted over the back of your neck. “Say it again,” he rasped, his voice low and wrecked, the gravel in his tone making you shiver.

You didn’t hesitate. “Eat me out,” you said, the command in your voice clear, though it trembled at the edges. You pushed back against his hold, daring him even as you gave yourself to him.

Jeno clasps the vial in his hand, his fingers tightening around it as his jaw ticks. The tension in his body is visible—shoulders taut, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His eyes are glued to you, his gaze dark and heavy as it roams over the arch of your back, taking in the way you’re poised, waiting—your body practically begging for his attention, even if you’d never outright admit it.

“Pour it,” you say, your voice steady, firm, and laced with a heat that leaves no room for hesitation. “Along my back. Slowly.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering from your face to the vial in his hand. There’s a moment where his pride surfaces, a fleeting spark of defiance that’s quickly extinguished by the way you’re looking at him. His lips twitch into something close to a smirk as he murmurs, “You don’t need to tell me what to do.”

You roll your eyes, the motion quick and deliberate, but there’s a flicker of amusement in the way your lips curve. “I shouldn’t have to, but here we are,” you shoot back, your voice carrying just enough edge to make his jaw tighten. The teasing lilt that follows, though, is impossible for him to ignore. “What’s the matter? Need me to draw you a map, pretty boy?”

The words land like a spark to dry kindling, igniting something raw in him. His eyes drag down to the smooth expanse of your back, lingering on the way your skin glows faintly in the dim light, stretched taut with the soft arch of your body. The air between you feels heavier, hotter, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Jeno’s movements are unhurried, but there’s a palpable tension in the way his fingers grip the vial, knuckles white as though it’s the only thing grounding him. Tilting it carefully, he lets a fine stream of crystalline powder spill out, the particles catching the light as they cascade down your spine. The powder lands in a delicate line, highlighting the curve of your body as it trails lower, settling in the dip of your lower back before spilling onto the soft swell of your ass.

A low, guttural groan escapes him, raw and unrestrained, vibrating through the charged silence. He can’t help it—watching the way the powder clings to your skin, accentuating every dip and rise of your body, is intoxicating. His breath comes quicker now, uneven, and his hands twitch at his sides, his grip tightening around the vial like it’s the only thing keeping him from touching you. The sight of you, your body perfectly arched and waiting, is a torment he can barely withstand. His teeth graze his lower lip, his jaw flexing as he tries to control the ache building inside him. The heat pooling in his stomach is relentless, made worse by the way you shift slightly, the subtle movement drawing his attention to how effortlessly you hold his focus. You’re beautiful like this—devastating, deliberate, and utterly out of reach until he’s earned you.

“Keep going,” you murmur, glancing back over your shoulder, your voice low and dripping with command. “And don’t make me repeat myself.”

The sharpness in your tone sends another groan tumbling from his lips, his body reacting faster than his mind. He tips the vial again, the powder cascading down in another thin, deliberate line. His free hand continues to flex at his side, his fingers itching to touch you, but he doesn’t dare move without your permission.

“Good boy,” you purr, your lips curling into a smirk as you feel his breath hitch at the praise. The tension radiating from him is palpable now, his restraint fraying with every second. You shift slightly, the movement drawing his attention to the way the powder clings to your skin, accentuating every curve and dip.

“Now, clean it up,” you say, your voice soft but sharp, the command cutting through the tension like a blade. “And don’t waste a single bit.”

Jeno doesn’t hesitate—he can’t. The moment the vial is set aside, his focus narrows entirely to you, the curve of your back, the powder glinting faintly on your skin. His breath is heavy, uneven, as he leans in, his nose brushing along the line of powder that traces your spine. He inhales sharply, the crystalline powder disappearing as he snorts it clean, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his chest. The sound is raw, desperate, like he’s already drunk on the moment, and it vibrates against your skin, making your body jolt slightly beneath him.

He pulls back just long enough to take another line, his hands gripping your hips roughly, as if grounding himself in your body while he chases the high. The sharp inhale is followed by another groan, more wrecked this time, his lips brushing your skin as he exhales, hot and heavy. The powder is nearly gone now, but his lips and tongue take over, wet and rough as he drags his mouth along the faint trail that remains. His teeth graze the dip of your spine, biting down just hard enough to leave a sting before his tongue soothes the spot, his breath scorching as it fans over your skin.

By the time he reaches the small of your back, he’s practically trembling, the restraint in his body barely holding together. His nose presses against the powder that lingers there, snorting sharply, his groan spilling over into a growl as his fingers tighten their hold on your hips, pulling you closer to him. The sound of his breathing—harsh, animalistic—fills the room, each exhale brushing hot against your skin, each groan sending shivers racing down your spine.

When he finally snorts the last of it, his hands spread you wide, and his lips crash against the curve of your ass with a hunger that feels unrestrained. His tongue darts out immediately, rough and desperate, licking at your skin as if he’s trying to claim every inch of you. He groans louder now, the vibrations reverberating through your body as his mouth grows more frantic. He sucks at the soft flesh, his teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt, his lips pressing hard, like he’s trying to devour you.

He doesn’t stop to catch his breath—he can’t. His tongue moves lower, tracing the curve of your ass with an urgency that borders on reckless. His hands spread you wider, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh with bruising intensity, and his mouth follows, licking and sucking with wild abandon. When he reaches the sensitive skin just above your asshole, he pauses, his breath hot and ragged against you, and the anticipation makes your body tense.

“Good boy,” you purr, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction, the words cutting through the haze like a match to gasoline.

His groan is instant, guttural and wrecked, as if your praise alone has undone whatever shred of control he had left. Then he dives in, his tongue pressing flat against the tight ring of muscle before dragging upward in a long, rough stroke. He groans so deeply it feels like it shakes the air around you, his lips sealing over the spot as he sucks hard, the pressure making your breath hitch. He’s relentless, his tongue swirling, dipping, licking, sucking—you can feel the raw hunger in every movement, the desperation in the way his fingers dig into your skin, pulling you open even wider so he can bury himself deeper.

Jeno is completely lost in it now, the taste of you, the heat of you, the way your body trembles beneath him. His groans grow more guttural, more unhinged, as he works his tongue harder, his lips pressing wet and firm against you, his teeth grazing just enough to leave you gasping. He laps at you like a man starved, his hands rough as they grip and knead your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth, as though he can’t get enough.

“You taste so good,” he mutters, his voice thick and wrecked, the words trembling with a raw, unfiltered hunger as he presses deeper, harder, his breath ragged against your skin. Your body jolts as his tongue drags again, rougher now, his lips sealing over you in a way that feels possessive, desperate, his groans muffled but constant. He’s not just licking or teasing—he’s taking you, every movement filled with a hunger so raw it sends heat pooling in your stomach. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin, and when you gasp, he soothes it with another long, deep lick, his groan low and primal.

He pulls back just long enough to catch his breath, his hands spreading you even wider as his lips press against you again, wetter, rougher, hungrier. “Can’t get enough of you,” he growls, his voice thick with desperation and then his tongue is back on you, working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. Every stroke, every groan, every desperate press of his lips feels like it’s unraveling you, dragging you deeper into the haze of him, until all you can feel is the heat of his mouth and the rough, unrelenting way he worships you.

Your body trembles violently, the relentless pressure of his tongue pushing you over the edge. It’s sharp and overwhelming, a blinding heat that shoots through every nerve as your muscles tighten, your back arching instinctively. Your moans spill out in broken gasps, your fingers clawing at the sheets, barely able to ground yourself as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you raw and breathless.

Jeno doesn’t slow down, his mouth still locked on you, drawing out every last ounce of your release until your thighs quake and your body sags forward, boneless and trembling. His groans vibrate against your skin, his tongue sweeping one final time before he pulls back, his breath hot and heavy against you.

As the haze of your climax fades, you turn toward him, sitting back slightly on your heels. The sight of him steals what little breath you’ve managed to recover—his face is flushed, his lips swollen and slick, his pupils blown wide, a glassy, dazed look clouding his gaze. The high has fully claimed him now, written across every inch of his expression, but it’s the unrestrained hunger still burning in his eyes that makes your stomach twist with heat.

Reaching down, you tangle your fingers into his damp hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan softly as you guide him closer. His breath ghosts over your skin, his mouth brushing lightly against you as your voice cuts through the heated silence. “There’s more,” you murmur, your voice dripping with a dark, teasing edge as you tilt your head, reaching for the vial again. This time, you tip it with deliberate slowness, the fine powder cascading down the curve of your chest, settling perfectly between your breasts before trailing along the flat plane of your stomach. “You see that?” you taunt, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling his face just close enough to feel your warmth but not touch. “You want it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he groans, his voice raw and unsteady, thick with desperation as his gaze locks on the powder shimmering on your skin.

“Then take it,” you command, leaning back slightly, arching your chest forward just enough to push his restraint to its breaking point. “But don’t make me regret letting you.” You lower yourself to the floor, the cool surface pressing against your skin in sharp contrast to the heat coursing through your body. You slide down slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact with Jeno as you settle back on your heels. The light sheen of sweat glistening on your body catches the dim glow of the room, accentuating every curve as you shift.

You lean back against the cool tile floor, your weight supported by your hands before you let your arms relax, fully surrendering to the sensation as your head rests against the hard surface. Jeno shifts, his knees sliding between your legs until his body presses against your thighs, straddling them with a deliberate closeness that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. Your hand tugs sharply at his hair, guiding him lower, his movements grow bolder, hungrier, his mouth pressing into your skin with a heat that sends a shiver through you.

He leans forward, his breath heavy against your skin as his tongue traces the fine, glittering trail of powder down the curve of your chest. The first swipe is tentative, reverent almost, like he’s savoring every granule. He lingers at the valley between your breasts, his tongue pressing deeper as his lips graze your skin.

When he pauses, his hands trembling against your sides, you tighten your grip in his hair, pulling just enough to tilt his head up. “Suck,” you command, your voice steady and low, the authority in it leaving no room for hesitation.

His lips close over your nipple immediately, the heat of his mouth sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. A gasp escapes your lips, but you don’t let it distract you. Instead, you guide him, your fingers curling tighter in his hair. “Good boy,” you murmur, the words dripping with satisfaction as his tongue flicks against the sensitive peak. “Just like that. Suck harder—make me feel it.”

His groan vibrates against your skin, raw and desperate, as he obeys. His lips tug harder, his tongue swirling with more intent, like he’s desperate to please you, to hear you say more. You lean back, the cool tile pressing against your back as your head rests against the floor. The contrast between the cold beneath you and the heat of his mouth on your chest sends a shiver down your spine. You arch into him slightly, feeling the way his mouth works, his focus absolute.

“Use your tongue more,” you instruct, your voice soft but firm, as your grip in his hair tightens just enough to guide him. “That’s it—don’t miss a single spot.”

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin, laced with a trembling edge that feels rare, almost fragile. His lips linger, brushing lightly over you as his hands remain steady, strong, yet hesitant. “I just want to make you feel good,” he adds, the words thick with need, his breath warm against your body.

Jeno rarely questions himself—his confidence is effortless, his touch always sure. But tonight, it’s different. The need to make you feel good isn’t just a desire; it’s something deeper, something that drives every movement, every kiss, every glance. He’s hyper-focused, completely in tune with you, watching the way your body shifts, the way your breath hitches, like he’s memorizing the map of your pleasure.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to watch him, his lips glistening as he moves from one breast to the other, his tongue teasing the powder away. “You’re doing just fine, pretty boy,” you praise, letting the words slip out like silk, sending another groan from deep in his throat.

But when his hand starts to wander, his fingers brushing dangerously close to the heat between your legs, you tug sharply at his hair, pulling his head back just enough to meet his gaze. “Keep your hands where they are,” you warn, your tone sharp, your eyes narrowing as his chest heaves. “You don’t get to touch unless I say so.”

“Yes,” he breathes, his voice breaking slightly as his hands retreat back to your sides. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”

“Good boy,” you purr, tugging his head back down toward your chest. “Keep sucking. Maybe, if you’re good enough, I’ll suck your cock.”

His groan is guttural, his lips latching onto your nipple again with renewed desperation, his tongue working harder, swirling and flicking as his lips tug with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

You hum softly, arching into the heat of his mouth, your nails digging lightly into his scalp. His lips latch onto your nipple again, tugging harder this time, and the sharp pull of pleasure forces a low gasp from your lips. His hands tighten against your sides, trembling slightly as he fights the urge to move them lower, every touch filled with a desperation he can’t control.

His tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, dragging and circling before sucking deeply, and your head tips back against the tile, a quiet moan slipping free before you can stop it. “Fuck, Jeno,” you murmur, the sharp edge of approval in your voice only spurring him on.

But when his teeth graze you, a little too rough in his eagerness, you tug sharply at his hair, pulling his face back just enough to make him look at you. His lips are swollen, glistening, his pupils blown wide with need. “Not so hard,” you warn, your tone firm but low, almost a purr. His breathing stutters, his nod quick and obedient as he adjusts, leaning back in with more care.

“That’s it,” you murmur, your fingers threading through his hair again, guiding him back to your chest. His lips close over you, sucking slower now, each drag of his tongue deliberate, and a satisfied hum escapes you. “Good boy. Just like that—don’t stop.”

He groans softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, and you feel the tremor in his hands as they flex against your waist. His mouth works tirelessly, shifting from one breast to the other, his tongue circling and flicking in perfect rhythm, each movement driving you higher.

“Please,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled and raw, a tremor in his tone as his lips move to the swell of your other breast. “You taste so good… I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

Your smirk deepens, your body arching slightly as his tongue lingers too long, his groan muffled as he loses himself in the moment. “You’ve been so good for me tonight,” you murmur, tilting his head just enough to meet your gaze.

His hips jerk slightly at your words, a ragged groan spilling from his lips as he nods, his tongue swirling harder now, his lips tugging in just the right way to make your breath catch. His hands dig into your waist, his restraint fraying as he presses closer, desperate for more. Your grip tightens in his hair, pulling him back slightly, his lips parting as he pants softly, his gaze flickering with a mix of frustration and need. “Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, your voice sharp but laced with amusement, watching as his brows furrow, his pride flaring in response.

The challenge ignites something in him, and he leans back in without hesitation, his tongue flicking faster, more intentional, his lips pressing harder, drawing a sharp gasp from you. “That’s more like it,” you murmur, your nails grazing his scalp as he moans against your skin, the sound low and desperate, his every movement filled with a need to please.

“Good boy,” you purr, your voice softer now as you feel the tremble in his hands, his body completely at your mercy. He groans again, his lips and tongue working tirelessly, worshiping every inch of your chest like he’s never wanted anything more, and you let him—because tonight, he’s entirely yours.

“Did you get it all?” you ask, your voice dripping with a teasing sharpness as you tilt your hips, the curve of your body brushing firmly against his lips. The motion pulls a groan from deep in his chest, raw and muffled as his tongue falters for a moment before resuming. His mouth moves with urgency, sucking harder now, the wet heat of his tongue dragging over your skin like he’s trying to leave nothing behind. “I don’t like waste, Jeno. Make sure every bit of it’s gone.”

“Yes,” he murmurs finally, his voice wrecked and uneven, each word trembling as though it’s been dragged out of him. “I got it all.”

“Good,” you say, your tone firm but taunting, your smirk deepening as you straighten, pulling yourself back. His lips leave your skin reluctantly, his breath heavy, uneven, his hands twitching at his sides like he’s desperate to touch you. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you reach down, gripping his jaw with just enough force to keep his eyes on yours as you tilt his face up.

Jeno’s gaze softens as he looks up at you, his lips still lingering against your skin, the heat of his breath brushing over you. Even after everything, the traces of stress, the weight of your lingering emotions, haven’t fully melted away. He knows you too well, every flicker of tension etched into your features despite the haze of satisfaction clouding your eyes.

He shifts slightly, his thumb brushing against your hip, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. There’s one last idea forming in his mind, something he knows might break through the last remnants of your mood. Leaning back just enough to meet your eyes fully, he tilts his head, his voice low but teasing as he asks, “Did Jihyo still give you the keys to her bar?”

Your brows furrow for a moment, but the corner of your lips betrays you, twitching upward as you bite back a grin. “Why?” you ask, the hint of amusement creeping into your voice. “You said you wouldn’t go.”

“I changed my mind,” he replies, his chuckle warm and low, tinged with the satisfaction of watching your spirits lift. He can see the shift in your expression, the tension easing slightly as curiosity takes over.

“Seriously?” you laugh, shaking your head. “How are you gonna go now? You’re just gonna leave the party you’re throwing?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice dripping with smug confidence, the grin spreading across his face as he watches your amusement bubble over. It’s easy for him—effortless—to turn the weight of your emotions into something lighter, something brighter. And in this moment, he’d do anything to see you smile again.

The emptiness of Jihyo’s bar was striking. It had been stripped of its usual vitality, the space felt hollow, the quiet amplifying every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. The neon signs scattered across the room flickered weakly, their glow casting fragmented, saturated light on the walls. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely silent, interrupted only by the faint hum of electricity, the muted bassline of music from the far end of the bar, and the distant clink of ice settling in abandoned glasses. Jeno moved through the space like he owned it. His presence carried a kind of mischievous intensity tonight—an undercurrent of heat that buzzed between you every time he looked your way, his heavy-lidded eyes darkened with something playful yet dangerous. When he stopped in front of a small alcove off to one side, you hesitated. Jeno tilted his head, flashing you a grin as he gestured to the small, private “tattoo” station tucked away like a secret. “Come on,” he said, his voice low, inviting, and impossible to resist.

You stepped forward, the sound of your heartbeat growing louder in your ears. The station had a reclined bench that looked sturdy, supplies were scattered across the small counter beside it: gloves, ink pots, and sheets of paper with half-finished designs. The angle of his jaw caught the light, sharp and precise, as he picked up the tattoo machine. You shifted with uncertainty, lowering yourself onto the bench. The leather creaked under your weight, cool against your skin as you leaned back. Your eyes flicked to him, heart pounding in your chest as his gaze locked on you. “Jeno,” you started, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and something far more dangerous—arousal. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” he countered without missing a beat, his grin widening, dangerous and playful in equal measure.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped at his tone. “I can’t believe you don’t have a tattoo,” he continued, his words teasing as he leaned closer.

“I do have one—” you began to protest.

But he cut you off, voice dipping low as he murmured, “Baby, I’ve seen every inch of your body.” His words sent a shiver racing through you, the heat of his gaze almost unbearable. “Trust me,” he added, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk, “I’d know if you had a tattoo.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you shift on the bench, reluctantly turning to reveal the faded smiley-face tattoo just below the curve of your ass on your thigh. It’s small, old, barely noticeable, but it feels like a spotlight is shining on it under his gaze. The second his eyes catch it, his snort breaks the silence, low and teasing. “That’s such a lame tattoo,” he says, the humor in his tone biting but not cruel.

You bristle, warmth creeping up your neck as you move to turn away, your body shifting defensively. “Shut up,” you grumble, trying to pull your leg out of his view. The embarrassment prickles under your skin, but before you can get far, his hand shoots out, firm but not forceful, gripping your thigh and keeping you exactly where you are.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, tinged with something heavier that makes your stomach flip. The possessiveness in his gaze as his fingers press into your skin is almost enough to wipe away your embarrassment. Almost. “Relax,” he says, his grip steady as he leans forward slightly, his other hand finding your lower back and pressing there with just enough pressure to make you stay still. His touch burns, firm and deliberate, and the weight of it sends heat pooling low in your belly. “I know where I want to give you a real one.”

“You’re so—” you start, your words trailing off as his thumb brushes over your lower back, tracing small circles that make your breath hitch. Your body betrays you, leaning into his touch even as your mind tells you to play it cool.

“I’m what?” he asks, his smirk widening, the teasing edge in his tone almost unbearable. He tilts his head, his eyes flicking between your face and the tattoo, still visible just beneath the hem of your shorts. “Come on, baby, say it.” You don’t answer, can’t answer, the ache between your thighs making it impossible to think straight. He lets the silence hang, his grip on you unyielding, and you know that as much as you might pretend to resist, you’re already his to unravel.

Your pulse pounds, loud in your ears, as his gloved fingers skim the curve of your lower back, testing the spot with deliberate precision. Goosebumps rise across your skin, every slight shift in his touch sending sparks up your spine. You can feel his breath, warm and unsteady, fanning over you in shallow bursts. The reality of what’s about to happen—letting Jeno mark you, permanently—is both terrifying and thrilling. The permanence of it, the faint hum of the tattoo machine, the undeniable heat building between you—it’s a heady cocktail of fear, desire, and reckless surrender. “You’re shaking,” Jeno murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a softness to it that grounds you despite the tension tightening in your chest.

“Maybe because this is insane,” you manage to say, your voice trembling as much from nerves as from the heat of his hand pressing into your skin. “What if I regret it?”

“You won’t,” he replies simply, his grin tilting into something playful but dangerous, his confidence unwavering. “I know you. You’ll love it.”

Your heart stutters at his words, at the unspoken truth threading between them: he does know you. Better than anyone, better than you even want to admit to yourself. And that’s why this moment feels so heavy, so charged. It’s not just about the tattoo—it’s about the control he exerts over you, the way he knows exactly how to push you to your limits and make you crave it.

His fingers trace slow circles against your lower back, right where the tattoo will go, and your mind flashes to a memory so visceral it makes your breath hitch. “You literally had me on the floor eating your ass out and doing lines from your ass,” he says, blunt and completely unapologetic, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. He doesn’t even try to soften it—doesn’t have to. Instead, he wiggles his eyebrows with a playful cockiness that only he could pull off.

“Something I’d definitely do again,” he adds casually, the words dripping with a teasing confidence that makes your stomach flip. “But that’s not the point.” His gaze sharpens as he leans closer, his voice dipping lower, laced with intent. “The point is, I should get to tattoo you now.”

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the burn of your cheeks as you perch on the edge of the reclined bench, your back half-bare, your top pulled up just enough to expose the curve of your lower back. “Will you at least tell me what you’re going to tattoo on me?” you ask, your voice breaking slightly as you try to cling to some semblance of control.

Jeno hums, leaning closer until his breath tickles your ear, his tone smooth and maddeningly calm. “No. Just trust me,” he says softly, his lips just grazing the edge of your jaw as he pulls back. “You’ll love it.”

Your mind reels, caught between the exhilaration of what you’re about to do and the weight of knowing this is forever. But it’s Jeno. The one person who’s always known exactly how to push you, how to coax you into giving him every part of yourself without regret. The fear morphs into something else entirely, a reckless acceptance that tightens your chest as you nod, biting your lip to keep the growing smile at bay. “You’re gonna owe me for this,” you say, trying for defiance, but the tremble in your voice betrays your excitement.

Jeno’s grin sharpens, his hand pressing more firmly against your back as he tilts your chin with his other hand, forcing you to look at him. “Baby,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into something dark and honeyed, “if anything, this is me doing you a favor.”

His touch slows at the base of your back, where the curve begins just above your ass. He pauses, fingers pressing lightly, testing the spot. You glance over your shoulder, catching a flicker of concentration in his expression, his brow furrowed slightly as he leans in. His hands are steady, the lines of his forearms taut and flexing as he adjusts the angle. The sharp buzz of the machine cuts through the air, startling you. You flinch instinctively as the vibration jolts through your body, sending your nerves into overdrive. Your breath catches, chest tight, as your heart slams against your ribs. The anticipation feels overwhelming—too sharp, too much—and panic begins to bubble beneath the surface.

But then Jeno’s voice breaks through, low and steady, the softness of it grounding you instantly. “Hey,” he murmurs, leaning closer so you can feel his breath brush against your temple. “I got you, baby. Try to relax.” His words are a balm, warm and intimate, and you find yourself exhaling shakily, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. His hand moves from the machine to your lower back, gloved fingers brushing lightly over your skin, the touch firm yet gentle as though anchoring you. “Breathe for me,” he whispers, his tone impossibly delicate, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, gripping the edges of the bench with white-knuckled intensity, trying to steady yourself. The hum of the machine vibrates against your ears as the needle tip presses to your lower back, and you can’t stop the sharp intake of breath as the first sting bites into your skin. “Shhh,” Jeno soothes, his free hand sliding up to rest just above your hip, a steadying presence. His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles, a silent reassurance that you’re not alone. “It’ll only hurt for a second,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that it feels like a secret meant just for you.

The sting deepens as he begins to work, the vibration traveling through your body in waves, strange and intimate in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Each press of the needle blurs the line between pain and pleasure, sending sparks of heat low into your belly that make it impossible to focus on anything but him. You try to steady your breathing, but every sensation feels heightened: the sharp pinch of the needle, the hum of the machine that seems to echo through your bones, and the occasional swipe of his gloved hand to clear away excess ink. His touch lingers just a second too long, firm and possessive in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

Your breathing hitches, and Jeno notices instantly, leaning closer again. “You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing lightly against your ear as he speaks. His voice is calm, soothing, the teasing edge from earlier entirely replaced by something softer.

“Nearly done,” he whispers, his tone low and steady, the vibration of the machine cutting through the air. The sound mixes with the distant thrum of music from the bar, but it’s his presence—his touch, his voice—that keeps you tethered. Even as the sting deepens, the intimacy of the moment is what consumes you, leaving you breathless and raw, utterly captivated by him.

The machine falls silent as he switches it off, the sudden quiet amplifying the pounding of your heart. He sets the device aside with practiced ease, his movements deliberate, before picking up a cloth to wipe away the excess ink. His touch is careful, almost reverent, but the slight drag of the cloth over your sensitive skin makes you shiver. The sting is sharper now, the fresh ink throbbing against your skin, but it’s overshadowed by the heat of Jeno’s presence. He leans in, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the spot just above the bandage. The tenderness of the gesture sends a jolt through you, and your entire body reacts—goosebumps rising, your breath hitching.

You twist around to face him, still perched on the edge of the seat. He reaches for his phone, the movement slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. He angles the screen toward you, showing you the photo he just snapped of the fresh tattoo. The lighting is dim, streaked with the flickering red and blue neon, but the ‘23’ on your lower back is unmistakable. Jeno’s jersey number—his mark—is now etched into your skin. It’s bold yet elegant, perfectly sized, with sharp, clean lines that follow the curve of your spine. The ink sits right above the dip of your ass, a brand that’s both subtle and impossible to ignore, claiming you in a way that feels intimate and irreversible.

You stare at the image, your breath catching in your throat as your chest tightens. The realization of what you’ve done—what Jeno has done to you—hits all at once. Your lips part in a gasp, but no words come out, the weight of the moment rendering you completely still. It’s more than just a tattoo. It’s his tattoo, his number, a mark that ties you to him forever. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, the significance of it sinking in with a dizzying mix of shock and arousal.

Jeno’s gaze never leaves you. He’s attuned to every flicker of emotion that crosses your face, the subtle changes in your expression, the way your breathing quickens. For a split second, his grip on your waist tightens, his voice soft but edged with curiosity. “What is it?” he asks, his tone quieter now, laced with a tenderness that catches you off guard.

But then you smile—soft, girlish, so radiant it makes his chest tighten. The tension in the air shifts as the corners of your lips curve into a grin that feels impossibly sweet, and for a moment, Jeno forgets to breathe. The contentment that washes over him is visible in the way his shoulders relax, his eyes softening as he watches you.

“You like it,” he states, his voice low and confident, though there’s a hint of vulnerability beneath his words.

“I love it,” you whisper, your fingers brushing lightly against the fresh ink.

He leans in, pressing his lips softly to yours, the kiss unhurried but laced with meaning. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I know your birthday’s on the 23rd,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, “but this tattoo isn’t for your birthday.”

“It’s for me,” he says, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk that’s equal parts teasing and serious. His chuckle is soft, almost indulgent, as he adds, “But hey, it can mean your birthday too, if that makes you feel better. The real reason?” His fingers press into your waist, his grin widening. “I think it’s hot. I want my jersey number on you. Permanently.”

The raw honesty in his voice sends a thrill through you, your stomach flipping as the heat between you spikes. You exhale shakily, your hands slipping to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “I can’t believe I just got your number on my body,” you murmur, your voice trembling but edged with excitement.

“Believe it,” he says, his tone thick with satisfaction, his fingers tightening against your skin. His lips brush yours again, but this time, there’s an unspoken promise in the way he kisses you, slow and deliberate. When he pulls back just slightly, his eyes lock on yours, the intensity in his gaze leaving you breathless. “You’re mine,” he adds, his voice low and wrecked.

A low, broken moan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, as his words strike deep, igniting something primal and consuming in your chest. The heat between you surges, impossible to ignore, and your hand fists in his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that’s all hunger and desperation. His mouth crashes against yours, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, the kiss messy and rough as the weight of everything you’ve done vibrates between you. The sting of the fresh tattoo sharpens against your back, but it only fuels the feverish intensity, the ache blurring into pleasure as Jeno’s hands grip your waist with bruising force. His body presses against yours, heat radiating from him as his lips move with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. You bite at his bottom lip, a soft growl rumbling from his chest in response, his hands sliding lower, gripping harder as though he’s anchoring himself to you.

The neon lights overhead strobe against your skin, streaking you in flashes of red and blue, but the world beyond this bubble feels inconsequential. The only thing that matters is the way Jeno moves against you, rough and possessive, as if he’s branding you all over again, this time with his touch. The weight of his presence is suffocating in the best way, tethering you to him in a way that feels wild, reckless, and completely right. The air around you thickens, electric and heavy, every breath shared between you charged with an unspoken promise. His lips trail down to your jaw, nipping sharply before finding your neck, the scrape of his teeth followed by the searing heat of his tongue. You gasp, your back arching into him despite the sting, your nails dragging along his scalp as if to pull him closer still.

Adrenaline and desire swirl together, making your head spin, every nerve in your body buzzing with the need for more. The thought of leaving crosses your mind—a quieter place where you could rip each other apart without restraint—but even now, tangled together in this dark, neon-drenched corner, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Jeno’s mark isn’t just a tattoo—it’s a declaration, a claim that courses through you with every rough kiss, every desperate touch, binding you to him in a way that feels raw and unshakable. The permanence of it sinks in with every beat of your heart, and all you can think about is the promise etched into your skin, the unrelenting need for everything he’s willing to give you.

When the hum finally dies away, the world around you sharpens, shifting with surreal clarity. The bar like a dreamscape, unnervingly quiet but buzzing with an undercurrent of electricity that made every step feel significant. The usual chaos—the clink of glasses, bursts of laughter, the pulse of bodies moving together—was replaced with a surreal stillness. Neon lights flickered across the empty dance floor, their saturated glow reflecting off polished surfaces, painting the space in streaks of red, blue, and green. The ambient hum of electricity filled the air, soft but present, the faint bassline of a low, pulsing beat vibrating through the floor. You made a mental note to thank Jihyo endlessly for letting you have this place tonight—it felt like the entire world had been handed to you on a platter, a lawless playground meant only for you and Jeno.

“Come on,” you said, tugging Jeno by the hand, he settled on a plush lounge couch positioned just off the stage, leaning back with an ease that only amplified the heat between you. His legs spread slightly, his posture exuding a mix of dominance and unbothered confidence. He lit a cigarette—or maybe it was a joint, you couldn’t quite tell—and the curl of smoke around his lips made your stomach flip. His eyes, heavy-lidded and glinting with that feral edge you knew too well.

You didn’t hesitate as you climbed onto his lap, straddling one of his thighs. The fabric of his pants was coarse against your bare skin, the warmth radiating from his body making you shiver. Kneeling on the couch, your knees dug into the cushions as you adjusted yourself, pressing your core firmly against the thick muscle of his leg. Jeno’s free hand rested on your thigh, his fingers curling slightly, possessive, as his touch burned into you. His other hand still held the cigarette, its ember glowing faintly, but his focus was entirely on you now. The way his chest rose and fell in deliberate breaths told you just how much restraint he was clinging to.

Slowly, you began to move, your hips grinding against his thigh with a deliberate rhythm. The friction was immediate, sharp and tantalizing, as you found just the right angle to send jolts of heat spreading through your core. Jeno’s hand on your thigh tightened, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. He leaned forward slightly, his breath ghosting over your jaw as his lips brushed close but never touched.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. “So desperate, baby.”

The words made you whimper, a sound you hadn’t meant to let slip, and you buried your face in his neck to hide the flush creeping up your chest. But the sensation of his thigh flexing beneath you, firm and unyielding as you rode him, was overwhelming. The sting of the tattoo on your lower back pulsed with every movement, a reminder of the mark he’d left on you, of how much further you’d let him in. Your hands found their way to him, one bracing against his shoulder while the other slipped lower, pressing firmly against his crotch. The heat of him was undeniable, even through the fabric, and the way he twitched beneath your palm sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing over you. You squeezed him lightly, savoring the way his breath hitched against your ear.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained now, the earlier amusement in his tone replaced by raw need. “Keep going.”

You didn’t need the encouragement; you were already lost in the sensation of him, the rough texture of his pants dragging against your slickness, each grind of your hips sending sharp pulses of pleasure through you. Your hand on his cock worked in time with your movements, your fingers curling to press just enough to make him groan. His free hand trailed up your side, gliding over the curve of your waist before settling on your lower back, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of your fresh tattoo.

“You’re so fucking needy,” he whispered, though his voice cracked slightly, betraying just how much you were unraveling him. His lips finally found your jaw, grazing your skin with his teeth before he kissed the corner of your mouth, sloppy and demanding. “Always need me to ruin you, huh?”

You didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Your hips rolled harder, chasing the friction, your movements growing more erratic as the tension in your body coiled tighter. The slickness between your legs soaked through the fabric of his pants, and the faint wet sound of it only spurred you on. The bar felt far away now, the distant hum of music and the occasional crackle of the neon signs blending into the background noise of your shared breaths and low, guttural sounds.

Jeno’s cigarette had been abandoned somewhere, forgotten as his hands grabbed at you with more urgency. He hooked an arm firmly around your waist, his strength steadying you as you ground against him with increasing desperation. His other hand covered yours where it worked over his cock, his fingers pressing yours down harder, guiding you to grip him tighter. His gaze burned into yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide as he rasped, “You don’t even know how good you look right now, do you?”

His words sent a shockwave through you, and you whimpered again, pressing your forehead to his as your hand worked him faster, feeling him grow impossibly harder beneath your palm. Your movements became erratic, your breaths coming in sharp pants as the friction against his thigh sent sparks shooting up your spine. The edges of your vision blurred, your body trembling as the heat between you reached a fever pitch.

“Jeno,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your voice breaking with need.

He groaned in response, his fingers digging into your waist as his lips found yours again, desperate and consuming. The kiss was messy, full of teeth and tongue, your breaths mingling as the tension between you threatened to snap. His hand slid back to your ass, guiding your movements with a rough possessiveness that only made you push harder against him. A soft, breathy moan escaped your lips as your forehead pressed to his, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a vice. The tension in your body was unbearable, trembling under the weight of it all. “I can’t get enough,” you whispered, your voice breaking with desperation as you clung to him. “I want you everywhere.”

Jeno groaned low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist, anchoring you against him as though he feared you might slip away. “Needy girl,” he murmured, his teasing tone softened by the unsteady edge in his voice. His restraint was unraveling, a thin thread barely holding him together as he matched your fervor.

But you didn’t let him finish whatever thought was brewing behind his dark, hooded eyes. Your hand moved with purpose, pressing firmly against his crotch, feeling the heat of him through the rough fabric of his pants. He twitched beneath your touch, the hardness there growing impossibly firmer as you applied more pressure. “Jen, please,” you half-whined, half-commanded, the words spilling out with such raw need that even you were startled by them.

His thigh flexed beneath you in response, the motion deliberate and firm, sending a jolt straight to your core. You ground against him harder, each roll of your hips dragging delicious friction that made your stomach tighten with the promise of release. Jeno’s smirk faltered, his jaw tightening, his gaze darkening to something almost primal. The tension in his body was palpable, his fingers gripping your waist with enough force to leave an imprint. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breaths uneven as though grounding himself in your shared closeness.

Above you, the faint crackle of a neon sign cast fleeting glimmers of color across your skin, the flickering light giving the moment an electric, almost surreal quality. It felt like the universe itself was conspiring to amplify the charge between you. Your hand shifted, brushing against his as you reached for the cigarette he still held. The ember glowed faintly in the dim room, and you took it from him with a boldness that made his lips twitch into a faint, approving smirk.

Your fingers brushed his, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary as you brought the cigarette to your lips. Inhaling slowly, the burn of the smoke filled your lungs, sharp and intoxicating, before you exhaled, letting the haze curl between you. Your breath mingled with his as you leaned in, catching his lips in a kiss that was messy and unrestrained. It was the kind of kiss that demanded everything—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, breaths stolen in the heat of it all.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, your voice trembling with unfiltered want. “I want you on every table here,” you panted, your words almost breaking under the weight of your need. “Every chair, every surface—it’s ours tonight.”

Jeno’s response was a groan that felt more like a growl, his grip on your waist tightening as his gaze flickered briefly to the tattoo on your back. His smirk returned, sharper this time, dripping with pride and something darker, something possessive. “Then let’s do it, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with confidence, each word laced with the promise of unrestrained chaos.

The promise sent a feral surge through you, your movements growing more erratic, more desperate. You rolled your hips against his thigh harder, chasing the friction that had your breath catching with every pass. The slickness between your legs spread, soaking through the fabric of his pants, and the wet heat of it all made his jaw clench, a guttural groan slipping past his lips.

His hands roamed over your body, rough and demanding, like he couldn’t get enough of you. They slid up your sides, over the curve of your ass, pulling you tighter against him as his lips brushed along your jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. Each touch, each shift of his body beneath you, only drove you further into the haze, your mind consumed by the singular need to feel more of him.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of your words struck like a thunderclap. “About you. About us. Everywhere, Jeno.”

His reaction was instant. He groaned again, the sound low and wrecked, as his hands gripped you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself against the storm of emotions swirling between you. Your head tipped back, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you felt the full intensity of his need mirrored in your own.

For a fleeting moment, logic tried to break through the haze. A small voice in the back of your mind wondered, Did you lock the door? What were the chances of anyone walking in? But it was quickly drowned out by the all-consuming heat. At 4 a.m., the bar felt like another world entirely, its emptiness amplifying the intimacy, the lawlessness of what you were doing. Who would possibly walk in?

Jeno’s lips found your ear, his breath hot and uneven as his voice rumbled low. “Don’t stop,” he said, the words soft but loaded with unspoken promises. “I want to see you lose yourself, baby.”

And you did. The world outside the dimly lit bar faded into nothing, the tension building to something unstoppable as your bodies tangled together. Every sound, every touch, every shared breath was magnified, the raw need between you swallowing everything else. Nothing else mattered—not the past, not the future—only the unrelenting desire to take and be taken.

Jeno’s kiss faltered suddenly, a harsh cough breaking through the heavy, lust-drenched air. His hands tightened instinctively on your waist as his body stiffened beneath you, every muscle locking up. The change in him sent an immediate jolt through you, a shock that severed the intimate haze clouding your mind.

“Jeno?” you asked softly, breathless, your chest still heaving as you tried to read his expression. But his focus wasn’t on you anymore—his eyes were fixed on something just past your shoulder, wide and dark, the kind of look you’d rarely ever seen on him. Alarm.

The air in the room shifted, thickened, no longer humming with the raw heat of moments ago but now tense and brittle. You turned slowly, your pulse hammering against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to prepare for something you didn’t yet understand.

That’s when you saw her. Karina.

She was standing in the open doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Her frame was slouched, her weight shifted unevenly from one foot to the other. Disheveled, dazed, and glassy-eyed, she looked like she’d barely managed to stumble in. The edges of her mascara smudged down her cheeks, her hair tangled and damp as if she’d walked through rain—or worse.

You froze completely, your breath caught in your throat. The once-closed door stood ajar behind her, and a chill from the night air began to creep in, mingling with the charged warmth still radiating from your body. “Karina?” The word came out shaky, more a question than an address. The stark vulnerability in your voice felt foreign, wrong, in contrast to the reckless, heated energy of just moments ago.

Jeno exhaled sharply, still beneath you, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “What the hell?” He blinked once, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced she was real, his concern flashing to the surface in that split-second. “Are you—are you okay?”

Karina didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t lash out, didn’t seem angry—her wide, unfocused gaze barely acknowledged the intimate chaos she’d walked in on. Her eyes darted over your half-dressed state, Jeno’s hands still loosely on your waist, the faint sheen of sweat glinting in the dim light. But she didn’t react, not in any way that you expected. Instead, she stepped further into the room, her movements awkward, as if each step might send her sprawling to the floor. She didn’t stop until she reached the couch beside you, her knees buckling slightly as she dropped into the seat with a graceless thud. Her hand reached out, and with a surprising steadiness, she plucked the joint from where Jeno had abandoned it, bringing it to her lips and inhaling deeply. She exhaled slowly, her breath trembling but her expression distant, detached, as though she were entirely alone in the room.

Your heart was pounding now, confusion and guilt twisting in your stomach. A moment ago, you were drowning in Jeno’s touch, devouring every part of him like the rest of the world didn’t exist. And now, the world was slamming back into focus—messy, complicated, and filled with questions you weren’t ready to answer. You scrambled to cover yourself, grabbing Jeno’s jacket from the floor and tugging it over your exposed shoulders. The oversized fabric hung heavy against your flushed skin, the cool leather a jarring contrast to the warmth still coursing through your body.

Jeno’s hand slipped from your waist, his body shifting upright with a fluid ease as his focus turned entirely to Karina. You stayed still, perched awkwardly on his thigh, unsure whether to move or stay put. His attention on her felt natural, instinctive, and it left you feeling suddenly out of place. The tension in his jaw was subtle, but it gave away more than his otherwise calm exterior. He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, his gaze locked on her as though trying to piece together the fragments of her disheveled appearance.

“Karina,” he said, his voice low but firm, carrying a mix of familiarity and concern that made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach. “What’s going on? You alright?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Her head tilted back against the couch, the joint balanced between her fingers as she took a slow drag. You watched the smoke curl around her face, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. She didn’t even glance your way, her entire focus seemingly pinned on the ceiling.

You stayed quiet, unsure of your place in this unfolding scene. You didn’t know her—not really. You only knew of her in passing, from things Jeno had mentioned here and there. They were close, you knew that much, and it showed in the way his concern for her seemed effortless, instinctive.

“What happened?” he pressed, his tone softening, but there was an edge of insistence beneath it. His body leaned closer to hers, his elbows digging into his knees as he searched her face. You stayed frozen, observing. She hadn’t acknowledged you, and you didn’t know what to say even if she did. The dynamic between her and Jeno was palpable, a natural rhythm you could only watch from the outside.

Her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the joint for another inhale, her gaze still fixed somewhere far away. When she finally exhaled, her voice broke through the haze, quiet and uneven. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The admission hit like a shift in the atmosphere, a weight settling over the room that made your chest tighten. Jeno’s brows pulled together, his expression flickering between confusion and worry as he straightened slightly. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

You glanced at him, watching the way his focus remained locked on her, his voice careful but persistent. He knew how to handle her, how to coax answers out of her without pressuring too hard. Your gaze drifted to her again, taking in the smudged makeup, the tear-streaked cheeks, the glassy look in her eyes. She was a mess, and yet she didn’t seem fragile—just lost. You wondered how many times Jeno had seen her like this, how many times he’d been the one she’d run to.

The thought sent a strange pang through you, not quite jealousy but something adjacent to it. The ease between them was undeniable, a closeness you couldn’t ignore, and it made you hyper-aware of how out of place you felt now.

“Can I just… stay here for a bit?” she murmured finally, her voice trembling as she slumped further into the couch.

Jeno nodded immediately, his tone low but firm. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

A flicker of irritation sparked in your chest at his easy response. Of course? You wanted to ask why he didn’t hesitate, why he didn’t at least glance at you before offering her this space—your space. The intimacy you had claimed just moments ago now felt intruded upon, and the weight of her presence gnawed at your already frayed nerves. You stayed silent, forcing yourself to watch as he sat back slightly, his shoulders easing in a way that made your stomach twist. He reached out and plucked the joint from her fingers, setting it aside with a casual familiarity that only stoked your unease.

A bigger question loomed in your mind, cutting through the swirl of emotions. How did she even find this place? The bar was closed, locked—except for the door you’d carelessly left ajar. But what were the odds that she’d stumble across it, that she’d walk in at this exact hour, interrupting this exact moment?

Your eyes flicked between Jeno and Karina, your confusion sharpening with every breath. She didn’t even seem aware of the implications, slumping deeper into the couch like she belonged there. You tried to suppress the sting of annoyance at how comfortable she seemed, the way Jeno’s focus on her was so natural, so immediate. You crossed your arms, trying to ground yourself against the growing tension. The bar felt smaller now, its once-lawless allure replaced with a suffocating unease. You didn’t want her here. You didn’t want her tears, her drama, or the way Jeno leaned into it with such ease, cutting through the fragile bubble you had built tonight.

Jeno glanced at you fully this time, his gaze heavy with unspoken words. His eyes softened, his brow furrowing slightly in a silent plea, as if to say, Don’t get jealous. Just… understand. The shadow of his concern was etched into every line of his face, and despite the irritation bubbling in your chest, you found yourself wavering.

You and Jeno exchanged quick, uncertain glances as Karina brought the joint to her lips again, her hands steady despite the glassy sheen in her eyes. Her movements were detached, almost robotic, as though she were trying to keep herself together but was moments away from unraveling completely. The tension in the air was unbearable, a tangled mix of leftover arousal, pity, and something uncomfortably close to shame.

Karina let out a heavy sigh, noticing your restless fidgeting and Jeno’s furrowed brow. Her lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “If you want to keep fucking around, just do it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and taking another drag. “Don’t stop because I’m here.”

Jeno’s tone was soft but steady, his concern evident as he leaned toward her. “Maybe we should get you home.”

Karina let out a bitter laugh, her voice breaking at the edges. “I have no home right now… or no one waiting.” She hesitated, her lip trembling, her voice growing quieter. “I—I don’t care.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, twisting the energy between the three of you into something neither of you knew how to address. Your earlier irritation shifted, the jealousy fading into the background as concern crept in, but it was far from clear-cut. Karina’s casual acceptance of your intimacy—her flippant suggestion that you should keep going as if she weren’t even there—sparked something darker, something you couldn’t quite name.

You could see the way her eyes flicked between you and Jeno, glassy and tired but undeniably curious, as though she couldn’t decide if she was appalled or… intrigued. The way her teeth caught on her lower lip for the briefest second didn’t escape you. And as much as you hated to admit it, the realization sent a sharp, heated jolt through you, adding another layer to the tangled mess of emotions swirling in your chest.

You shifted slightly, your thigh brushing against Jeno’s, and the simple contact sent your pulse racing again, the earlier tension refusing to fully dissipate. His hand moved instinctively to your waist, a grounding gesture that reminded you of what you’d been doing not minutes ago. The ghost of his touch lingered on your skin, the memory of his lips, his hands, still burning in the back of your mind.

The conflict was sharp, visceral. The logical part of you knew you should step back, insist on figuring out what Karina needed, but there was another part—a reckless, impulsive part—that couldn’t ignore the way the room felt charged. The leftover arousal mixed with Karina’s raw vulnerability and her strange, almost detached curiosity, creating an unsteady cocktail of emotions that left you reeling.

Karina slumped back into the couch, her head tipping against the cushions as she exhaled another long trail of smoke. Her presence felt like both an intrusion and an invitation, and you hated how the line between the two was beginning to blur.

Jeno’s hand on your waist tightened slightly, a small, grounding squeeze that sent your thoughts spiraling even further. When you glanced at him, his expression mirrored your own—conflicted, uncertain, but undeniably charged. For the briefest moment, his eyes flicked toward Karina, then back to you, and the unspoken tension between the three of you became impossible to ignore.

The shift in your mind was sudden, impulsive, and laced with a recklessness you couldn’t fully name. You didn’t want her here—at least, that’s what you’d told yourself—but some twisted part of you couldn’t ignore how the dynamic had shifted. The air between the three of you was suffocating, electric, and charged with something you couldn’t place, and as you watched her squirm, her thighs pressing together like she was trying to stave off some internal battle, the jealousy that once burned in your chest morphed into something else entirely. She wasn’t a threat, wasn’t competition—she was raw, broken, and undeniably dangerous in a way that made the moment feel even more precarious.

The air in the room was suffocating, thick with the haze of smoke and the weight of unspoken desires. Neon light spilled across the three of you in erratic, uneven flashes, painting the scene in streaks of red and blue, as though the room itself couldn’t decide if it wanted to warn you or indulge you. Karina sat slouched in her corner of the couch, the joint burning low between her fingers, her glassy eyes flitting between you and Jeno, her lips trembling with an unspoken need that felt like a scream trapped in her throat.

Jeno’s arm was still around your waist, anchoring you to him, the heat of his touch an undeniable tether to the moment you’d been lost in only minutes ago. His gaze flicked to you, then to Karina, and back again, a silent conversation in the lines of his expression that you couldn’t fully read. But you didn’t need to—everything was written in the tension crackling between the three of you like a live wire.

Jeno glanced at you again, his expression dark and searching, and for a moment, everything else melted away. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as his lips found yours. The kiss was feral, his tongue sweeping past your lips, wet and hungry, a performance for her as much as it was for the both of you. You moaned softly into his mouth, your body pressing harder against him, and when you broke away, gasping for air, you caught the way Karina’s gaze snapped to your lips, her breath hitching audibly.

Her reaction jolted you—a sharp, electric pulse of adrenaline tangled with something darker, something you didn’t want to name. It was in the tremble of her parted lips, in the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. Jeno’s eyes followed yours, his lips curling into the faintest smirk as he caught the same flicker of desperation, the same unraveling that held you transfixed.

“You want this?” you whispered, the words raw and daring, slipping out before you could stop them. They weren’t for Jeno, not entirely—they weren’t even fully for Karina. They were for the moment itself, a challenge to the fragile balance holding it all together.

The silence between you stretched, unbearably taut. Karina’s gaze darted between you and Jeno, her hesitation palpable, trembling on the edge of collapse. But then, she leaned forward, her lips parting further, the subtle invitation enough to send the entire room spiraling into chaos.

You moved first, closing the distance between you and her, the kiss tentative at first, testing the waters. Her lips were soft but uncertain, tasting of smoke and salt, the bitterness of whatever had broken her lingering beneath the surface. But when she whimpered softly, the sound a mixture of surrender and need, the kiss deepened. Her hand fumbled against your arm, unsure but seeking, as if she didn’t fully trust her own body.

Behind you, Jeno groaned, the sound guttural, raw, and it vibrated through you like a second heartbeat. His hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him as the other drifted toward Karina, brushing her leg in a way that made her gasp. The tension thickened to the point of suffocation, every movement, every sound, every flicker of touch pushing you further into a frenzy you couldn’t claw your way out of.

You pulled back from Karina, your breath hitching, and turned to Jeno. His gaze was molten, dark and consuming, and when your lips met his, the kiss was hard, possessive, his teeth catching your bottom lip as his grip on you tightened. The taste of Karina lingered faintly on your tongue, and when you felt her hand brush against your thigh, tentative but growing bolder, it sent a new surge of heat through you.

Without thinking, you broke away from Jeno and turned back to Karina. Her eyes glistened, her expression caught between hesitation and hunger, and you leaned in again, your lips brushing hers with more confidence now. Her response was shaky but eager, her fingers curling against your shoulder as if trying to steady herself. Jeno’s hands roamed between you both, firm and commanding, the weight of his touch grounding you even as it stoked the fire burning wildly out of control.

The three of you moved together as though bound by an invisible thread, instinct pulling you closer. Jeno’s mouth found yours again, then hers, the rhythm chaotic and feverish. His hands were everywhere—on your hips, Karina’s thigh, gripping and guiding with a possessiveness that made your breath catch.

Logic tried to claw its way to the surface, a faint voice in the back of your mind whispering about the unlocked door, about how easily this could shatter. But it was drowned beneath the tidal wave of sensation—the heat pooling low in your belly, the raw, primal energy of the moment, the unrelenting pull of mouths and hands and desperation.

“Don’t stop,” Karina murmured, her voice trembling, her eyes wide and glassy, wet with something that wasn’t quite tears. You didn’t. The three of you tangled together on the couch, every boundary blurred, every movement an act of reckless surrender. Jeno’s grip on your hip tightened, his thumb pressing into your skin as his gaze flickered between you and Karina, his lips curling into something halfway between a smirk and a gasp.

Your pulse thundered like war drums in a fogged-out world, each throb magnified by the dizzy blur of substances coursing through your veins. Jeno’s silhouette still consumed your periphery—dark, beckoning, perilous—and now another presence, Karina, lingered just behind him, a third figure equally ensnared in this vortex of flickering neon and whispered sin. every breath tasted of smoke and heady abandon, as though the bar itself pulsed with a collective hunger. In that swirling haze of illusions, where inhibitions melted into the pounding bass of blood and bassline, you found yourself standing on the threshold of something unthinkably carnal. The night seemed to recoil in hush, conspiratorial and electric, acknowledging the triad of bodies trembling in shared heat. Jeno’s gaze darted between you both, wild and ravenous, a silent dare passing among the three of you. It was a moment steeped in raw, pulsing want: unsteady laughter, sweaty palms, tongues stained with lust. You could feel the current draw you together, the beating of your heart syncing with theirs, forging an unholy connection that promised ecstasy or oblivion—or both.

When Jeno finally moved, it was like a catalyst igniting every dormant desire in that cramped, neon-lit space. The sticky floors and flickering sign overhead rendered inconsequential by the warmth of colliding bodies and clashing breaths. One taste became two, became a frenzy of desperate hands and open mouths, each caress weighed down by the delirium of chemicals and longing. You sensed the line dissolve between fear and euphoria, realizing with a heady rush that you’d passed the point of no return. Whatever boundaries once existed had been swallowed whole by the thrum of three hearts beating in reckless unison.

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authors note — hi loves! if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! it truly means the world to me. i poured so much effort into this, so if you could take just a moment to send an ask or leave a message sharing your thoughts, it would mean everything. your interactions—whether it’s sending an ask, your feedback, a comment, or just saying hi—give me so much motivation to keep writing. i’m always so happy to respond to messages, asks and comments so don’t be shy! thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3

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