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jaeminvore · 3 months ago

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room(hate) | L.JN (M) — part II

SYNOPSIS: all you wanted was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital. All you needed was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital, but even that was considered a luxury in these trying times. A luxury blatantly stolen by your roommate, Jeno Lee, who seemed to have an endless line of bodies to fuck preventing you from getting at least an hour of shut eye. It was annoying. It was disrupting and you seriously hoped that Jeno's dick falls off one day.

PART II SUMMARY: so, you’ve slept with your roommate in spite of everything. What happens now?

PART I | PART II (you are here)

[AO3 link]

GENRE: roommate au, non-idol au, slice of life-ish, unrequited hate, roommates with benefits, domesticity, porn with plot, fluff, comedy, crack treated seriously.

WORD COUNT: 31.1K out of 50K

NOTE: ever love someone so much that you pumped out a 50K long two-parter fic? yeah me neither LMAO anyways… this has been a loooong long time coming and I’m just really glad I’ve seen through the end of this fic that has been in the works for more than a year now? My sincerest thanks goes to those who have been patiently waiting bc I wasn’t patient and wanted to finish this so bad but life had suddenly gotten in the way that it took so much of my time 😭 anywho, you might want to grab a snack and/or drink bc this one is loooong long! Lemme know what you think <3 likes and reblogs are much appreciated !

If you're tuning in from part I of room(hate), the long awaited continuation is here! And if you're new and seeing this, I highly suggest jumping to part I to have more context! It's a great read, entertaining even, I promise 🤞🏼

CONTENT WARNINGS: egregious use of the em dash and the comma, pregnancy mentioned (but no one is pregnant lol), feelings realization. sooo so much feelings it’s kinda dramatic really. Miscommunication (haha-funny kind). Jeno being the sweetest guy it’ll give you cavities I think. Idiot being idiots but they’re in love, so. [smut warnings underneath the cut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

SMUT WARNINGS: (some of the sex scenes aren't as graphic btw) car sex, mild exhibitionism, Jeno has a thing for glasses, face-fucking, couch sex, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex (PLEASE practice safe-sex unlike these two), MC cries during sex at some point (overwhelmed).

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken." — The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis

"There are times when my longing for you overwhelms me, so often I can think of you only with teeth clenched." — Franz Kafka

"I look out the window longingly. I was never this type. All along, I had it together" ... "It's annoying. Barely had any sleep but. Just pretending to be strong" — Crazy by Jinnie.

IV.

“Call it what you want it, darling.”

You were operating under a time crunch, but God forbid you’d pass this up.

“What happened to sex being a one-time thing?”

“Really? You say this now after the many times we’ve fucked so far?”

Jeno wrinkled his nose. “Could you be less crass?”

You rolled your eyes, held his face and kissed him, barely giving him any time to adjust the driver’s seat.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but when you were cursed with the knowledge of having what was essentially the human form of sexual relief residing just across your room—yeah, one could already tell where this was going.

Likewise, Jeno was just as willing as you were in seeking out for any form of release which really didn’t help your case at all. There were a handful of alternatives out there, let’s say, Pilates, when taking into consideration the numerous benefits your roommate had achieved from the consistent gym visits to dead-lift double (maybe even triple?) his body weight. But was it really worth the couple bucks you’d be spending—much less the extra energy and travel time—if you signed up for classes when you could get the same results from getting railed until you forgot what set you off at work?

Probably not.

Definitely not.

Fool you once, shame on him. Fool you twice, shame on you. Fool you thrice… well, you weren't a stranger to being shamed for the bad decisions you’ve made thus far. Fucking around with the same guy your complaints revolved around was a different ballpark, however, and the thought should have humbled you. Stopped you, even.

Really, it should have.

Though it became crystal clear that your intentions made a gradual shift when ‘this is the last time I’m letting you fuck me’ had gotten demoted to merely a thing you’d say to cancel out your conscious choice of falling into Jeno’s arms again. Defending yourself was as useless as a broken umbrella doing fuck all but shield you from the pelts of rain, and it was especially useless when getting pelted by Jeno’s thick load was just another Tuesday for you.

There was no point in it now when you’re about to ride the guy in his own car parked in the most secluded part of the hospital’s parking lot.

“Fuck,” you hissed, lowering yourself onto his cock. “You’re too fucking big, I swear. Dick so big and for what?” you said like it was the biggest inconvenience you’ve ever encountered in your life.

“You say this every time,” Jeno laughed, breathless, and pleased by the looks of it before his face scrunched up the moment the meat of your ass pressed down onto his thighs, moaning quietly at the tight squeeze of your pussy. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t you be used to it by now?”

With his obscenely large size? It’s a miracle you hadn’t split into two through a fucked mitosis process, actually. “Do you really want an anatomy lesson until you go soft?” you ground out. “Or would you rather get fucked before I clock into work?”

“Mm, I think you know what I want.”

He was looking up at you with a deceptively sweet smile. Leering, if anything, with pupils blown out so wide that they were as dark as the cup of coffee that waited for you every morning without fail.

Jeno’s eyes were one thing. Usually soft and contrasting the hard angles that make up the handsome face haunting both your dreams and more so your reality. There were no traces of the gentleness you were acquainted with as his heavy gaze raked over you, trying to peel away the soft cotton covering your skin with it alone. The mean grip he had on your hips was enough to tell you how badly he wanted this.

And you knew it was bad when you were actually looking forward to whatever Jeno’s cooking up in the more depraved parts of his brain.

A creature of habit is what you were. Staying true to a routine you’ve aged with was what you preferred, and sticking close to what you knew had less consequences to deal with in the long run. Change to you had always been a daunting idea right from when you moved to this city for your father’s job at the tender age of six and up until you shared a living space with anyone that wasn’t Mark Lee. So it really came as a shock that adapting to this arrangement with Jeno had been quick and painless.

Then again, you supposed the benefits greatly outweighed the very grievance of it being with Jeno helped. Shutting him up has been the easiest it’s ever been, for example, especially when you took the reins. Sometimes.

“That was our best one yet, don’t you think?” Jeno said once both of you recovered enough brain cells to hold an actual conversation. Unsurprisingly, he fared better than you did, insane stamina and all, though the second you picked up the barest smugness leaking from what Jeno probably thought was an unassuming sentence, you sobered up in record speed and almost smashed your skulls together when sitting up straight to scowl.

“Is it because we’re in your car? ‘That enough to stroke your ego?”

Jeno raised a manicured eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one who jumped me?”

Well, yes, but being reminded of your oversight was so unnecessary.

“Get out of me,” you took a deep breath and let it out, “right now.”

Although he pulled out without any follow up witticism, you did clock the satisfied stretch of his lips, Jeno chuckling when you gave his arm a light swat. You tried not to react much towards the emptiness as he carefully removed the filled condom, tied it up and threw it into the small waste bin stuck in the driver’s side’s door pocket. Cleaning the interior of his car sounded like a great bonding activity.

Just like how the joint effort of cleaning each other up in silence was. Wet wipes swiping here and there, you even made Jeno swear up and down that no marks were left on visible places, but it’s whatever. With how things were lined up today, everyone will be too busy with their own agenda instead of debating whether or not one of you got some that morning.

That’s what you hoped for at least. You never knew with your coworkers, honestly. They were like vultures when it came to gossip, so you’ll have to rely on your few lucky stars that they won't smell it on you.

Then again, would it really be that big of a deal? People changed their minds—like, all the time, and it wasn’t like treason was being committed canoodling with the person you had once hailed as the villain of your story. Sex was simply another thing added to normalcy, going at it like horny teenagers on nights where you should have been catching up on sleep. Which was like, most nights—if you had to be truthful—that condoms had to be strictly implemented despite your consistent ingestion of birth control. Anything to prevent unwanted miracles.

(Jeno’s hand that held the whiteboard eraser immediately shot out to shamelessly erase the word ‘condoms’ from the grocery staples list.

“I may be a slut, but I take safety very seriously,” Jeno insisted, pouting when you still wouldn’t budge, hip checking him to re-write ‘condoms’. “I get tested, like, every week. I’m as clean as a celibate!”

“Hearing ‘celibate’ coming out of your mouth just sounds so wrong.” But you’d still give him his flowers for exercising caution for both his and your health. You smacked his hand away. Half for another attempt at erasing the word ‘condoms’ and half for reminding you of his wide pool of sexual partners. “We’re still stocking up on condoms.”

‘Lube’ was also scrawled underneath. Better safe than sorry and you would like to avoid any sexual mishaps if you could).

Jeno never asked questions. Never became a point of conversation when you had unanimously claimed one side of his bed for yourself. When it was where you ended up on a frequent basis, you supposed it was way past being questioned, but accepted, that you were beginning to forget what your own bedroom looked like besides your closet and desk. Like the more you veered away from the comfort of your own room, the more you got to find out just what made Jeno tick and how much of a freak he actually was.

You’ve come to find out that prescription glasses in particular could rile him up. Tried and tested by accident.

When you had taken your attention away from your iPad and honed it towards the direction of Jeno's sharp intake of breath, you found him staring at you from where he stood underneath the awning, pink-cheeked and mouth slightly agape with his windbreaker half-way off. A disheveled version of him; a frequent result of coming back from a two to three-hour long gym session, minus the blatant ogling. Seriously, why was he looking at you like that?

You tilted your head in question, eye-glasses sliding down your nose. Jeno made a wounded noise and stumbled his way closer, almost tripping over his discarded shoes.

You narrowed your eyes at the urgency in his movements. “…what is it?”

“Glasses,” Jeno said in a way like it was punched out of him, “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Oh, these?” Your knuckle pushed them back up into place and for some reason, this caused Jeno to bump into the side table with an aborted curse. “Probably because I don’t wear them often? I wear contacts, but they get uncomfortable for a while. I could get my eyes fixed with LASIK—or something else invasive, but I have this irrational fear of getting it so… I’m stuck with these.” You explained, ending it on a coy note as you fluttered your eyelashes for shits and giggles then followed up with: “I think I look cute. Don’t you think so?”

Oh, Jeno for sure thought so. More than he should, actually, or else he wouldn’t have ended up jerking off right in front of your face. On top of you, rather.

They were the very last thing you’d think would grant you an exclusive straight out of a porno, but this was Jeno. A kink that involved you wearing glasses was probably just the tip of the iceberg concerning Jeno’s lore, and that wasn’t to say that the absolute desperation to make himself cum was any less hot. To add on that sentiment, you have never expected being used—somewhat—would be this enticing either.

Or maybe it was just Jeno and the way he made everything he did ten times more appealing for what it actually was. As one does when you’re that hot, unfortunately.

Either way, Jeno managed to tote around this artful carefulness with him even in this unhingedly horny and desperate state, making sure you were comfortable and that he wasn’t crushing you with his weight. He sat on his haunches, muscular thighs on either side of your torso to keep himself upright while tugging on his cock. And to further solidify the perfect picture of desperation he posed for, he had his dri-fit shirt rucked up high enough to sit under his armpits while biting down onto the bottom hem, tampering down most of the noises he made and exposing the milky, dewy flushed skin.

That quickly became useless the moment you thought to help him out a little; nails lightly scratching down the outrageous rack of abs just to feel him twitch underneath the pads of your fingers. The whine that followed was add bonus. Flicking your tongue against the underside of his cockhead to hear his guttural moan and letting the cloth fall from his wet mouth, his legs squeezing you until the shallow rutting of his cock in and out of the heat past your parted lips made him cum. Some of it pooling onto your tongue and the rest of it lewdly marking your face in white.

“Ugh,” you groaned, “you got cum on my glasses.”

“‘M sorry,” Jeno murmured, hastily reaching for the box of tissues. It was easier to breathe, now that he was off your chest and in between your thighs. Jeno in general made it hard to breathe sometimes, but he also knew how to ease you from it. “Sorry. I’ll clean them for you.”

You hummed your appreciation, one hand running through his hair that’s due for a cut soon and smiling when Jeno pushed himself higher to kiss you. Like he couldn’t help himself with how urgent it felt that you could taste the salty muskiness of his release, your tongue sliding against his.

The thought of getting off yourself was forgotten in the midst of the torrid kissing you were subjected to, completely content with being smothered by Jeno until he offered. Wanting to return the favor, and that’s another thing you’ve come to find out about him. Jeno liked giving more than the average male would. A giver and always eager to please. At least that’s what you thought, or it was simply a Jeno-exclusive thing.

Then again, were you really going to complain when that’s all Jeno wanted to do?

Evident in the way he clambered over you, pushing you into the plush confines of the couch that had seen way too many things to the point you had conned Jeno into getting it steamed cleaned at his expense. Thick fingers worked their magic, sinking deep into your sopping cunt, the squelching sounds becoming nastier than the last as Jeno swallowed every noise you made with each kiss.

“You’re crazy,” you said, breathless and staring in wonder when Jeno seemed just as blissed out as you felt, your thumb gently swiping over his lips. You were so deep in the troughs of post-orgasmic bliss that you didn’t have the heart to push him off of you. “Insane.”

Jeno laughed, soft and sweet, his eyes turning into gentle crescent moons, pressing a kiss to the pad of your thumb. “Thirty percent crazy to your seventy percent. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kissed you again. “You make me crazy.”

That’s fair. You were aware of your own bouts of insanity when in a rush and you supposed the frantic pitter-pat of your heart was one of the handful of quirks that came with it.

“...right?”

You blinked back into present time, finding yourself still perched on his lap, but a lot more decent compared to when you were getting your morning fill of everything Jeno and completely missing what he just said.

“Say that again?”

Jeno’s pout didn’t last for long—though long enough that you fought the urge to coo—gazing up at you with big, almost wet eyes.

“This,” he stressed, gesturing half-heartedly between you, “It’s good, right?”

The sex? Well, yes, though ‘good’ was severely underselling it. Jeno knew that. You knew that. What you didn’t know was why he was bringing up the unspoken arrangement you decidedly have now and questioning whether it was adequate or not.

“Good as in..?” you trailed off, leaving an open for him to latch on and speak.

Jeno's lips flattened into a thin line with his gaze straying to the side.

You let out a puff of breath. Cute. “C’mon, Jen,” you said almost in a crooning manner, tipping his chin up with a brush of your fingers so he would look at you. “Work with me here.”

“Good as in—I wouldn’t mind if we become exclusive,” Jeno said, shy and making an effort to keep the eye-contact, but as soon as the pink dusted the tips of his ears, the faded graphic on your T-shirt became the most interesting thing to him.

Exclusive fuck buddies? Not a terrible proposition, you might say, and it wasn’t like you had people lined up like he did, so that left you with very limited options. Option being limited to the lone man acting as your seat and currently trying his very best to not look too eager while you internally weighed your options.

One less thing to be dealt with if you’d say ‘yes’ would be the loud noises that had disturbed your night. Instead, the noises would be coming from both you and Jeno which was already the reality anyway as he hadn’t brought anyone home for a while now. Why would he when he had you? So the answer was pretty obvious, you told him, which granted you an oddly ecstatic Jeno; capturing your lips in a quick but searing kiss the moment you made your decision explicit before you rushed out of the car when you caught sight of the time on your smart watch.

The TL;DR version of it was, ever since the coffee table incident, things have been relatively smooth sailing. It’s been an easy ride with Jeno. The roommate thing, sex and even more sex.

It had gotten to the point where your peers could tell that something was up, too.

Nothing too drastic to write home about. At least that was what you thought as the change was evident enough to some, where passing comments—mostly directed towards how you appeared more well-rested than what they were used to seeing—also took a slot in what to expect from days to come post getting dicked down by your roommate. How your mood had drastically improved that smiling had been at its easiest no matter the grueling working conditions, which was completely mutually exclusive to you sleeping like a baby, by the way.

That’s what you liked to tell yourself. You know, like the awful liar you were.

“You’re also glowing,” Yizhuo added more to the pile of observations while flipping through a chart, then froze to stare at you in alarm. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No. I am not with child—don’t you have to play nurse elsewhere?”

She scanned the chart with a hum. “Not until one-thirty.”

“No need to be defensive. We all know having children is the last thing on your mind right now,” Renjun chuckled, slowly spinning on an office chair he had claimed for the day. He stopped, narrowing his eyes towards your direction in appraisal and a smidge teasing. “But for real though, you’re looking good lately. Less tense, Less stressed—no gray hair in sight—and like Yizhuo said, glowing.” He shrugged. “It’s just nice to see our headstrong nurse finally living her life outside of the hospital.”

You winced. “You make it sound like I’m a workaholic.”

“Who says you aren’t?” Renjun smiled sweetly—disarmingly, because he knew the advantage of having a pretty face. You’re less likely to get pissed off with what left his mouth whenever he did that. “What’s changed?”

You lift a shoulder to shrug. “I dunno. I’m getting laid on the regular—yeah, surprising. I know—I’ve been catching up on sleep. Life’s… good right now.”

As good as it could be, and it’s more than you could ask for, really.

“You’re ‘getting laid on the regular’?” A new voice chimed in. “I just saw pigs fly.”

Renjun threw his head back from a belly-deep laugh as a vein pulsed on your temple.

“Can I have one day—one day—without you pissing me off?”

“No can do.” There was a smile on the newcomer's face. A smile equal parts charming and grating as the current bane of your existence sauntered over with the edge of his clipboard resting on one of his broad shoulders. “So who’s the poor piece of meat stuck with you until you spit ‘em out?”

That caught your coworkers’ attention again.

“Is it someone we know?” Yizhuo pushed, with Renjun honing in as both leaned in closer, expectant.

Eh… kind of? Jeno had been an on-and-off issue you had whinged about when someone cared enough to listen. There’s this distant image of him you’ve placed in their heads that would, for the most part, make it easier for them to sympathize why his promiscuous nature was such a problem for you. And they did, considering it wasn’t a difficult choice when they were also your friends outside of work.

Coming clean with the damning fact that you slept with the very same man that had made a portion of your life hell was completely off the table. You’d never hear the end of it and public shaming wasn’t really your thing.

Sungchan, to your dismay, was a little different, delighted that you kept your mouth shut rather than providing anyone the inside scoop of a train wreck you called your life.

If there was one nurse that could take your Nurse of The Month spot, it was fellow nurse Sungchan “Channie” Jung. With impeccable bedside manner and an endearing megawatt smile, he was considered an angel and was notoriously loved by many patients who had had their hand in luck being tended by him. It wouldn’t even be a surprise if there were only good things said about him on RateMyNurses.com.

That’s what public opinion hailed him as, but to you, he was simply Sungchan—a nurse a year your junior who had somehow managed to weld himself to your side back when he was still an intern; your personal annoyance, and a hundred times worse when it came to sticking his nose into someone else’s business for his entertainment.

You rolled your eyes when he closed the distance and slung a toned arm around your shoulders with a smile far too bright for anyone to have at this time of day.

“Mind if I steal her for a bit?"

“You slept with Jeno, didn’t you?”

“What?” You exclaimed, almost breathless as you sputtered a laugh that was neither convincing to you nor to your current interrogator. Still, you might as well try and hope that God was on your side today. “In what world would I fuck the guy I don’t like?”

Sungchan, who had been pacing back-and-forth with a gait that distantly reminded you of a harrowed father coming to terms that his only daughter got knocked up, stopped dead in his tracks right in front of you, staring you down with doe eyes lacking their usual friendly sheen.

You grew more uncomfortable the longer he looked at you. “What.”

His a-hundred-and-eighty-something tall self leaned in to get a good whiff of you, face screwing up in distaste. “You reek of sex,” he supplied before you could even ask what the fuck was that about. “You smell like a man. You smell like Jeno—did you guys fuck before clocking in?”

“Quit it! What the hell.” You pushed his face away. You were sure the scrubs that you washed all to hell would mask the evidence of your morning rendezvous. “How do you even know what Jeno smells like?” You were pretty sure Jeno wasn’t the only man who douses himself in Ferrari Light Essence whenever he leaves for an errand or two.

Sungchan arched an eyebrow. “So you did, then.”

“Answer the question.”

“I’ve been to your apartment,” Sungchan answered with a shrug, which directly translated to ‘I’ve snooped around. You can’t fool me. I know all’. “He’s used up, like, half of his Ferrari Light Essence. The one on his drawers,” he explained with an almost detached cadence, like he was simply talking about today’s weather.

You frowned. “That’s an invasion of privacy,” you hissed, but Sungchan barely looked chastised by that, something your eye twitched at. “And it could be one of the residents too. Not just him.”

“Yeah, no—see, it’s basic deduction,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that even an idiot could get on with the program far above their pay grade. “I ruled out you sleeping with our superiors—or any of the hospital staff involved. You have too much self-respect for that. Not sure where it ends if your roommate’s involved, but he’s your safest bet, and you wouldn’t have to see Jeno at work either. So, less of a distraction. Also, there’s always this weird tension between you and him. Every time Jeno walks into the room, you either look like you want to kill or jump him, and we both know which choice you’ve made.”

You puffed out your cheeks with a forlorn pout. Damn it. He’s good.

“I don’t know, Chenle could be an exception,” you argued anyway, maybe a smidge petulant and just because it was fact a year or two ago when you were taken by his easy-going attitude and his penchant for taking care of anyone around him. Until you realized the trauma surgeon-in-training was better off as a friend when he couldn’t pick up any of your hints. You still thought he had killer cheekbones, though, and there was no shame in ogling every one in a while.

“You forgot to mention her inactive dating-slash-sex life.”

You shout in surprise as you whirled around to face the top bunk closest to you, a hand over your frantically beating heart.

“Oh,” Sungchan looked far too pleased with that addition. “and that too.”

“Were you just there the entire time?” you asked, almost hysterical. “Why are you here?”

“This is the on-call room.” Chenle’s raven head popped up with his cheek lined with sleep marks, appearing disgruntled from being disturbed from his cat-nap. He rested his chin on top of the bunk’s railing, eyeing you both in mild interest despite the sleepy haze. “I’m allowed to be here—and I’m flattered, really.” Chenle shot you a meaningful look. “but hard pass. I’d prefer someone less neurotic.”

Sungchan let out a loud ‘ha!’ and you were far too mortified from admitting to your questionable, yet old attraction to your past subordinate to even rebut that and spark a debate with a guy just as competitive as yourself.

Chenle cracked a lazy smile after a moment of three of you exchanging looks. “So, Jeno, huh?” If one of them says his name one more time, you fear that his namesake would appear in this very room. “Makes sense. You’ve stopped bitching about him.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” Sungchan trailed off. “I was starting to think you killed him, or something. Didn’t think he’d buy your silence with sex. How did that even happen?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?”

Chenle tipped his head back with loud peels of laughter escaping him just as Sungchan rolled his eyes so hard that you silently hoped they’d get stuck staring into the void of where his brain was supposed to be.

“Be serious—an accident, she says.” Sungchan said in disbelief. “What, like his dick miraculously shoved itself deep into you without either of you knowing? Very funny.”

“What do you want me to say? It just happened—we were arguing,” (“of course you were.”) “We ended up kissing, then he fucked me on the coffee table—“

“Does he know people eat on that?” Chenle whined. “I eat on that.”

Your cheeks were scalding to the touch as you spoke through clenched teeth, “I couldn’t exactly ask since we were busy—”

Whatever else you had to say was cut short, much to the relief of both men when your phone buzzed from the pocket of your scrubs.

Sungchan took one quick peek at the lit up screen of your phone and snickered. “Speak of the devil.”

Chenle scoffed. “Jesus Christ, did I invoke his spirit or something?”

You immediately hushed them, tapping the answer button in haste.

“Hi, Jeno.”

Your voice took on a higher pitch as you greeted said roommate (whether it was from excitement or relief, you weren’t going to think too much about it) and completely glossed over the shared glances between Sungchan and Chenle because of it. There were a couple of things you’ve done in the past that were way worse than changing how you spoke to somebody.

“Hey, honey.” Good God. You were going to kill him.“Did I call you at a bad time? You sound worked up.”

“Peachy,” you ground out. “What do you want?”

“I brought you lunch? Well, no. I brought it, then left it with Jimin.”

“You didn’t poison it, did you?” You asked, dubious and gave Chenle the middle finger when he mimed making out with the air. Unbelievable. To think you’ve fantasized sucking his dick in one of the storage rooms before. “‘Cause why the hell would you be bringing me lunch when I brought lunch myself—”

“Actually, no. You forgot to pack food this morning.”

That gave you a start. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“...really?”

Jeno hummed as an affirmative. Huh. No wonder you felt like you were forgetting something. “I was waiting for you to notice in the car, actually. Or maybe call me about it.”

You scoffed. “Why would I?”

“I’m your roommate,” he said with a sigh. Like that answered everything. “You can call me for shit like this—I mean, you could demand me to make you cum, but—“

“Uh, yeah. I think I got your point—“

“But you can’t ask me to bring you food? And not everything has to turn into an argument, by the way. I come in peace.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Jeno sighed again, followed by a gravely drawl of your name.

Your mouth twitched. “Sorry. Force of habit,” and you supposed it was a hard habit to break when Jeno had been the bane of your existence. He still was, kind of. On a lesser scale. “But seriously, you didn’t have to. Don’t you have work?”

Because it wasn’t the first time where the thought of bringing enough sustenance to last you through your shift flew over your head, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The food served at the hospital’s cafeteria wasn’t too horrible, though it would not be your first choice. Only when you were in the trenches of desperation would you consider eating what was considered a bland diet.

“I took half a day off. It’s no big deal, and I wanted to.”

Having your roommate to simply bring you food had never been an option until now. There was no need to tell him either. Jeno simply chose to make the forty-minute drive to your hospital by his own volition to make sure you’ve eaten and the unprompted courtesy was enough to tamper the possible shift in moods you’d go through for today.

“Thanks… I guess.”

“Of course.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you at home?”

“On the dot.”

“Okay. Talk soon.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead right after a softer farewell from Jeno, prompting you to tear your gaze from your phone and glower at Sungchan. Only to balk when he stared back as if you were some fucked up specimen he couldn’t for the life for him figure out. Or judging you, probably.

“What the hell was that?” Sungchan blurted out.

“What was what?”

“Girl, you were smiling back there. Like—” and Sungchan made a rather offensive impression of you smiling and fluttering your eyelashes, face falling flat right after, then raising an eyebrow to signal for an explanation.

“What? Am I not allowed to smile when my asshole roommate brings me lunch? Maybe this is his way of saying ‘hey, sorry for being an absolute moron. Would good dick and good food count as groveling?’”

“Knowing you? Probably.”

“…Maybe.” You immediately waved that thought away with a grimace before swatting at Sungchan’s arm, earning you a yelp. “Horrible impression, by the way. I do not look like that.”

Sucgchan soundlessly parroted the latter half of what you just said in a mocking manner while soothing the spot where you hit him, then his face slowly flattened to something more thoughtful.

“Ugh. What now?”

He began with a long-suffering sigh, folding his arms, “I really hope you’re being smart about this.”

You did not like how critical he sounded. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The anger didn’t deter him in the slightest as he merely offered a non-committal shrug, gaze steady. “I’m just saying. I’ve been friends with you long enough to figure out you aren’t the type to willingly get yourself into situationships.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a situationship.”

“Sounds like one to me,” Chenle butted in.

You shot him a glare, something he waved off in blithe disregard. You really missed the earlier times where these two were still cautious around you.

“Are you going through a quarter-life crisis or something?” Sungchan asked. “Because looking at Jeno’s track record, he’s definitely the last person you’d go for. I thought you hated the guy?”

“I can still fuck the guy and hate him at the same time. It’s not mutually exclusive,” you joked, then sighed at the matching deadpans you got. “Seriously, you guys, It’s not like I’m expecting anything more.”

It went silent for a while. Neither Chenle had anything to say, and he was a chronic commenter towards conversations like this; though you weren’t sure if staying mum was better than giving his needless two cents. Chenle talked mostly to defuse the growing tension, proven quite useful when the time called for it. Then there was Sungchan again, staring at you as if he knew something you didn’t. It made your skin crawl and you were about to snap again when he beat you to it.

“I know,” he said evenly. “I’m just looking out for you.”

All the simmering animosity was put to a standstill, a small pulse of guilt rattling your heart because of course he would. Sungchan meant well like any other friend who genuinely cared for your well-being, and you reciprocated the sentiment seeing that you wouldn’t think twice elbowing the next asshole who would go against any of your friends as well.

“I get that. I do, but I’m also capable of making my own decisions.”

“Sure—yeah, but there’s still a fifty percent chance of this one coming back to bite you in the ass. Should I remind you of the twenty-twenty-two incident? That one model. Starts with a ‘Y’, ends with an ‘N’—”

“Okay, but we didn’t start as fuck buddies. And I genuinely thought we had something—“ Which was crazy to admit out loud despite it being the truth. “Yeonjun was awfully clingy and sweet.”

Granted, he had been like that with everybody, but even so, you had somehow deluded yourself into believing that Yeonjun reserved a piece of himself that only you had access to. How he spoke in hushed tones with the tenderness of a lover promising you the world. How his eyes matched the words saturated in reverence like what he had sitting in front of him was a multitude of stars banding together to form into a person that would fit the puzzle of me and you. Arguably, a soulmate.

Anyone who had been indefinitely touched-starved would have reveled in the delusion meticulously curated for them, or so you’d like to say as a form of reassurance. It was truly an embarrassing time.

“You really can’t blame me for thinking he was serious about me.”

Six passion-filled months. There wasn’t a day where Yeonjun wasn’t there, and then he fucked off to fuck-knows-where without even so much as a goodbye. Ghosted you, pretty much that you almost went catatonic with the constant overthinking, whether it was a problem on your end, or a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ type of thing.

That low period to you now was a fuzzy whirlwind of your friends lending their hands to help you get back onto your feet. Grieving of what could have been was an inevitable risk you refused to entertain then, and once you had powered your way through its five stages, a sixth stage was factored in: a milder version of arson. An addition Mark took great pleasure in when he insisted on handling the fire on your behalf.

Stolen ‘boyfriend’ clothes, received gifts, tangible memories in the form of paper like movie tickets, polaroids and a receipt from a yogurt shop’s grand-opening; all burnt with the vigor of a prehistoric man discovering fire, except this all happened in the apartment’s parking lot on a muggy spring midnight.

“Which is why I’m praying to every deity out there that you’re actually using your brain for this one,” Sungchan stressed. “and not treating this as an enemies-to-lovers type of situation. This isn’t Wattpad.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Appalled that he would even associate you with that capitalistic nightmare. And calling you stupid, too, you supposed. “I literally just said I wasn’t expecting anything other than sex.”

“We’ll take your word for it, then,” Chenle said, then raised both of his hands in defense when Sungchan fixed him a stern look. “What? You heard her. It doesn’t go any deeper than sex. She’s thought about this. That’s proof enough that she’s using her brain for once.” He turned to look at you, barely apologetic. “No offense.”

Your eye twitched. “Offense taken, asshole.”

Chenle smirked. “Good.”

“I hope your next case dies on the table.”

Sungchan stared at you for a long time. Besides the unwavering gaze, there was nothing you could latch onto that would have hinted to what he could possibly be thinking in the moment as those brown doe eyes of his pierced into the most vulnerable part of your soul. But you were just as stubborn in that regard, staring right back.

Sungchan broke first with a resigned, yet irritated sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. If the sex makes you less of a bitch than usual, then be my guest.”

“Wow,” you huffed. “you both are equally dogshit at this whole talking thing, you know that?”

And it wasn’t like you were clueless, obviously. Naive was one thing you weren’t and you knew exactly what you signed up for when your gaze would unconsciously trail after Jeno’s sinewy figure padding around the apartment after bumping uglies. When you became less irritated with everything he did such as breathing too loudly, and when you slowly, but surely started seeing Jeno as a friend, too.

Labeling yourselves as roommates was one thing as it was expected to have a level of civility there with one another. Settling on friends, on the other hand, made a sizable difference when the steadily growing bond gradually fizzled out the prior awkwardness after being at your most vulnerable. Jeno never made you second guess the unspoken agreement of being at each other’s beck and call, and in fact, he has been rather sweet about it. Dare you say it, doting even.

It was an occasional thought that would pop into your head during your quieter times away from work; if your roommate had the same candied regard for any wayward soul falling into the same bed, while at the same time, all logic told you Jeno was simply like that—kind and considerate to everybody no matter who they were. So the thought was quickly put to a rest.

Your phone lit up with a resounding ping.

Jeno Lee: eat well ‎(੭.◜◡◝)੭ ᯓᡣ𐭩

“Good God,” Sungchan groaned. “We lost another promising young woman to a man.” You shoved at his shoulder.

Though, maybe one small part of you thought being roommates had put you above the rest.

Jimin continued watching you devour your lunch like an overtly curious cat. Big-eyed and non-blinking, fixated on every minute movement you’ve been making that her salad was momentarily abandoned.

“Wow,” she whispered. “You’re fucking that up real good.”

“I’m fuckin’ hungry, damn,” you snapped, bits flying out of your mouth. Jimin barely batted an eyelash at the crumbs hitting her flawless face, smiling fondly. “I’ll ‘fuck up’ anythin’ at this point.”

“Fair enough,” Jimin conceded and took a more delicate approach in eating, giving her iceberg lettuce a dainty nibble; bunny-pink lips clashing nicely against the leafy green.

Painful as it was to admit, the chicken and veggie wrap, previously wrapped in foil labeled with ‘chicken veggie wrap :)’ in Jeno’s audacious scrawl, was delicious. So delicious, in fact, that it took only two large bites to reach half its original length. No wonder Jeno had been incessant with the whole meal prep thing. The guy knew his flavors pretty damn well. You could just picture him in your kitchen; the same pink frilly disaster of an apron cinched around his lithe waist, counting down the hours while making sure not a thing was out of place in a simple wrap until he had to make the lunch-run.

There was also a granola bar thrown in there. Jeno put you up on them after he had caught you snagging a few from his stash during a midnight kitchen run-in. You remember almost pissing yourself laughing when you had walked in on him subscribing for two boxes to arrive at your doorstep with a sweet pout just so he won’t run out as quickly now you’ve taken a liking to them. A bottle of orange juice because nagging how you’re in much need of some Vitamin C wasn't enough for him and lastly—for dessert—a small packet of organic gummy bears you were sure was made for toddlers, judging by its packaging.

Not that you were complaining. They were good; you’ve eaten five packets in one sitting after not finding anything from your stock of sweets and junk food which led to Jeno ordering extra of those, too. He mentioned it was a healthier alternative to the jellies he would be tempted to reach for when he craved some extra sugar.

Goddamn. This is so good. A contented hum and a wiggle of your shoulders expressed the sentiment, much to Jimin’s amusement. Right when you were about to take another gargantuan bite out of Jeno’s then eight-incher wrap, you came to a screeching halt at the sound of Mark calling your name.

Aside from Mark’s teal Fig scrubs, he was easy to spot when his already bright smile became blinding; the sun might as well shine out of his ass when he saw Jimin sitting with you, pleased that you were on talking terms again.

Unlike Jeno, Jimin had it heaps easier when it came to your forgiveness, and like Mark, Jimin had also been with you from stepping foot into your freshmen orientation, to the last walk after securing your degree. The only difference was Jimin had already been living with a mutual friend, and instead of the distance waning your closeness, it did the exact opposite. And if that wasn’t enough, you both got placed in the same hospital as an odd sort of compensation as well. Funny how the universe worked.

Sure, Jimin may have tinged a very small part of your suffering, but that was an easily buried hatchet. Besides, with your long withstanding friendship, you wouldn’t let a man come in between you both. Even if that man was Jeno Lee.

She was also the only other person who knew of your situation with Jeno. You thought it was only right to let her in on the secret, given she also slept with the man.

“Hey girls,” he greeted once reaching your table. “What are we talking about?”

“Jeno.” Jimin gestured towards you mid-bite. “He brought her lunch like a good housewife.”

“Oh dude, really?” Mark looked absolutely thrilled at the thought and completely glazed over Jimin’s joke, grinning so hard that for a second, you considered asking him if his cheeks hurt. “Awesome. It's great to see you two getting along now. Seriously.”

That’s one way to say it, you thought, schooling your expression into something blank as you shared a furtive glance with Jimin.

“Thought I was gonna have to break up another fight soon.”

“They’re getting along just fine, or so I’ve heard. I don’t think you have to worry about her becoming a convicted felon,” Jimin went on to say, confirming your so-called truce with a grin far too giddy when not too long ago, you had resented Jeno’s presence.

Somehow, this was what Mark noticed when you caught his eyebrows slightly knit together with a head tilt, eyes darting back and forth between you girls Though, before he could nose his way into your business as usual, you quickly cut him off.

“Jeno and I are fine, Mark,” you stressed. “Are you sitting with us?”

“Ah, no.” Mark shook his head. “Dejun’s waiting on me. I just wanna confirm if you’re coming to the party next week.”

“Party?” you echoed, a little lost. “What party?”

Mark arched an eyebrow. “Our housewarming party?” You squint, trying to recall if your best friend had mentioned anything about that. Mark blinked. “I called Jeno two days ago about it. I thought he told you?”

“Oh, right! That party. Yeah, totally.”

The call you knew about, yes. You were at least mentally present enough to jerk at the shrill ringtone Jeno had set for incoming calls and ask him who the hell had the worst timing in the world to call either of you post-coital bliss, but not lucid enough to recall the details of their conversation. Not when Jeno had smoothed the wrinkles of your brain—severely compromising any neural functions in charge of forming a thought or kicking you into action—after fucking the living shit out of you, the roughness fueled by a particularly difficult work day.

Something about an entitled asshole of a client demanding more and more of his time and efforts. You weren’t too sure. Jeno hadn’t talked much after that, or at all, really; rather preoccupied with releasing his frustrations by chasing both of your orgasms with each snap of his hips. The most you got was a grunt or two—two from the times you’ve attempted taking control. A third attempt was never made. Jeno made sure of it, pinning both of your wrists above your head, a look of warning etched onto his face.

There was also the distracting sight of him, naked as the day he was born, pacing around his bedroom. He had been speaking low into the phone as he picked up after yourselves; gathering your clothes that were ripped off of each other in haste and then dumping them into his laundry basket, giving you a full view of his pale ass. Huh, there’s a mole on his left ass cheek—yeah, very distracting.

Jeno then turned around to face you, dick and balls swinging at that, still on the phone with Mark yapping about whatever and mimed drinking out of a mug with a quizzical glint in his eyes. Coffee?

You nodded slowly, curling further into the soft nest made up of the duvet, pillows and the sweet and musky scent of Jeno.

The last thing you saw before you dozed off was the gentle stretch of Jeno’s lips as he continued talking (seriously, how much did Mark have to say?) cheek and a broad shoulder holding his phone in place while pulling a clean pair of boxers up his thighs.

“If you can’t find your dog, just look for me.” That pretty much confirmed Jimin’s attendance.

Mark snickered then turned to you, expecting. “Are you and Jeno coming together then?”

“Well,” you trailed off, pretending to think long and hard about it just to mess with your ex-roommate. “Jeno is the one with a car, so…”

When Mark started to look sulky, that’s when you laughed and took a pause from pulling his leg.

“Yes. Jeno and I are coming together.”

“Mark’s housewarming party.”

Jeno, who had been in the middle of stuffing the washer with your clothes combined, looked at you with an eyebrow raised. You stared back at him. “Seriously? You’re not going to follow that up with anything else?”

“I wasn’t aware it was happening so soon.”

Both eyebrows disappeared underneath his hair. “You were literally in my room when Mark called. He was on speaker.”

Was he now? Because all you could remember was a muffled sound of something talking Jeno’s ear off. Nothing was coherent to you during that time. You were fucked too stupid, unfortunately.

“I can’t recall,” you said mostly to yourself, but it was still heard anyway, judging by the tinge of amusement lighting Jeno’s face. “I think I was distracted.”

“Were you?” The overhead light made Jeno’s teeth glint almost dangerously as he grinned. As if one sudden move from you would end up having those sharp pearly whites of his pressed against your throat. “Distracted? You? Care to elaborate?”

The thing about living under the same roof for months and counting was your roommate will inadvertently pick up on things. One of them being the hows of dealing with you and you so called riddle-speak of passive-aggressiveness—patient and kind Jeno. There was none of that now. What stood tall before you was almost like a crude version of yourself molded by long-term exposure alone. Jeno was pushing back, more than usual—posing as a challenge almost; to give you a taste of your own medicine, but you were never one to back down.

With each step you took towards Jeno, an article of clothing came off. And with each of them falling with dull thump, Jeno’s eyes grew wider, jaw dropping further until it hit the ground when you stood so so close—a hair’s breadth away that he could make out the remnants of the cloying notes of your perfume—bare as goosebumps erupted on your skin from the cool blast of the air conditioning and the dark look Jeno fixed onto you when you plop your clothes into the almost empty laundry basket he held.

“Well?” You said, biting back a laugh by chewing on your lower lip as you peered over your shoulder to find your roommate still frozen while you were already halfway across the room. “Aren’t you coming?”

You had no interest in hearing his answer (it was obvious), spinning on your heel to make the sensual trek towards his bedroom. Though, you supposed, hearing Jeno scramble and swear like a damn sailor was worth not feasting your eyes on what it was like watching Jeno Lee lose his goddamn mind.

There was a knock on your en suite and Jeno’s head popped in through the opening of the door.

“Ready when you are,” he said, beaming when he met your gaze through the mirror.

“Almost,” you said, frowning slightly when you couldn’t get your eyeliner just right. “If my eyeliner does its fucking job.”

“Want me to help?” Jeno walked in, gently taking the liquid eyeliner from your shaky fingers and patting your hip so you could turn around and face him. “I’m pretty good with my hands.”

“Mm, I bet. Is that what you say to the other girls?” you jeered, but let him cradle your cheek nevertheless for him to save your poor attempt at evening out your eyeliner. You tilted your head back to make it easier and Jeno hummed, pleased with your rare compliance.

“They were never really up for talking, if I’m being honest—close your eyes for me—thank you.” His voice was soft. As soft as the felt tip that swiped a clean line above your eyelashes that left a slight cooling sensation from the ink. “Always a one and done thing,” he said this quietly, all too quickly, which gave you quite a start. Jeno didn’t seem to pick up on (thankfully) as he continued to talk, “and I have an older sister who's notorious for sharing her hobbies. I know too much about makeup and true crime. You aren’t going to kill me after this, are you?” That made you laugh.

“She sounds really nice,” you offered instead, thinking it wouldn’t be good to nudge the crack of vulnerability wider when you had to be somewhere else soon.

“She’s the best,” Jeno switched to your other eye, “You’d get along with her, I think.”

Somehow, the notion eased you. “Tell me more about her.”

For someone who labeled himself quiet on most occasions, Jeno was rather loose-lipped when he talked about his sister, and it didn’t stop there. Not that it wasn’t welcomed—his voice was rather pleasant to the ears, you’ve observed, but it was likely due to the fact that getting Jeno to talk usually requires some coaxing, so it was a charming surprise. From what he said so far, there was this muddled, but workable silhouette of his family dancing around your head, an almost trustworthy point of reference if somehow you had to get Mr. and Mrs. Lee plus older sister Lee on your good side.

(“Just think of them as me, but in, like, different fonts,” Jeno said and he seemed quite serious about his claim, too. “You’ll be fine.”

“Ah, so you’d be easy to impress then. Got’cha.”)

Not only that, but the conversation steered towards the family cats he loved dearly, but was painfully allergic too. Either Seol or Nal would have been an exciting addition to your living situation and it took you a full minute to mourn the loss of a furry companion. Although you loved the idea and would do anything to make it a reality, Jeno’s health mattered most here. He might have given you a free trial of what hell could be like all those months ago, but you genuinely cared about his comfort and safety.

In exchange, Jeno got to know more about Mom and Dad. Mom ran a small coffee shop she had built from the ground up; a modestly sized café that sat just across the private hospital where Dad worked as a surgeon and unlike your roommate, Mom and Dad were blessed by only one daughter: you. Though you did joke that the family samoyed, Dozy, could as well be their second child from how he was loved so much as if he were their own, just like how they loved you.

“Y’know, he kind of looks like you,” you said as you handed over your phone to show your lock screen set as one of Dozy’s many pictures you had taken and went back to finish the rest of your face makeup. “Maybe it’s the eyes and how you both are so damn smiley all the time,” you chuckled. “Dozy’s always been a happy pup. I miss him.”

“Believe me, that’s not the first time I’ve been told I look like a samoyed,” Jeno said with a crooked smile as he slid back your phone to rest next to your makeup bag. “I’m pretty sure Hyuck’s convinced I am one.”

“You are quite the horndog. He’s not too far off. I won’t have to worry about you humping my leg, will I?”

“You’re not funny.” Jeno sulked, making you snicker at his pouty self.

“Is your dad why you became a nurse?”

You gave him a smile before facing the mirror to work on your eyelashes. “Kind of, but I think my aunt—Mom’s sister—was the one who influenced me, mostly. She always cared so much about people. Cared so much about me too, and she was like my second mom growing up. Especially when we moved to the city. And as much as I thought being a surgeon like Dad was cool, I wanted to be like Auntie more—more hands on with the patient’s recovery and care.”

You tubed the mascara, satisfied with the added definition to your eye-look. “I could have been like Dad though, but I never had the guts to stick my hands into people like he does.”

“Huh,” was all Jeno had to say and it made you snort.

“Yeah, I get that it’s surprising for you, given I wasn’t exactly nice to you at one point,” you said, sheepish as you stared at the clutter of make-up on the counter sink. “Sorry for being a major bitch, by the way.”

“No—no, it’s not that,” Jeno said, holding up a placating hand. “It makes sense, really—that you really care about your job. If anything, I should be apologizing.”

“Eh, it’s whatever.” You shrugged. “I’m not mad about it anymore. It’s just fun being mean to you for no reason sometimes.”

Jeno sighed in relief, and then grinned so wide that his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I can see why Hyuck and Jaemin like you so much.”

“It’s really hard not to,” you joked.

“I can agree with that, yeah.” Your roommate’s smile dimmed into something gentler, gaze slowly taking in your mirrored image, causing you to blink owlishly. Not at the blatant ogling because God knows how much of an ogler you were when Jeno wasn’t paying attention, but somehow the gleam nestled in the darkness of his eyes was starkly different from what you were used to when stripped down to your bare necessities. You supposed you should be used to it. Jeno seemed to have a bit of a staring problem.

You rid any thoughts relating to why that was with an immediate shake of your head. “What about you? What got you into cyber security?”

“Mine’s not really for a noble cause, or anything.” Jeno moved from where he stood behind you to stand to your right, resting his hip against the edge of the counter with his arms folded above his chest. “I was good with Math and computers. That evolved into programming, decided to make a career out of it and went to college while deluding myself that I’d make good money someday. Which kind of came true, I guess.”

“Sounds like you could afford an apartment by yourself then,” you said, recalling the time where Mark had told you about Jeno's exceptional credit score. Anything that fell under your roommate’s state of finances wasn’t ever mentioned and asking him point-blank was considered rude, but that alone was enough to give you an idea of how deep his pockets ran. Though the notion should have come faster to you, with how Jeno carried himself sometimes. Or his preference for the more obscure brands you haven’t heard of until him.

“You’re not trying to kick me out, are you?” He teased just as you were about to correct yourself. “I could have, yeah. I know I’m not the most social, but it can get very lonely at times.”

Now isn’t that the truth? Although the thought hadn’t crossed your mind all too much, you were no stranger to the feeling. You supposed you had to thank Mark for not letting you waste away in isolation when the guy practically viewed you as an extension of himself, always dragging you along for the ride which didn’t leave any time for you to wallow in a closed space with your hurricane of thoughts. He had always made sure you were out in the open and involved with anything under the wide umbrella of socialization. You’d be a hermit if it weren’t for Mark.

Where there was someone else acting on your behalf, there was no such thing when it came to Jeno. It's as if there was this gravitational pull drawing you into each other. You simply just found yourselves within each other’s orbit without any prompting and the silence that would usually follow hadn’t been as oppressive as you thought it would be, acting more of a companion and if anything, it reshaped your perception of it.

Sitting in silence was a form of a bonding activity you enjoyed with Jeno and it was just as gratifying disrupting the peace with breathless calls of his name.

“And now?” you pressed. “Do you still feel the same?”

“I haven’t for a long time, no.” I haven’t because of you, his smile and the tenderness that softened Jeno’s striking features seemed to say, but you didn’t let yourself hang onto the possibility. Prickly as you were, you were no exception to Jeno’s inherent sweetness. “Say, you haven’t put anything on your lips yet, right?”

“You watched me do most of my makeup.”

Jeno clicked his tongue. “Just answer my question.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh. “No, Jen, this is just lip balm.” Facing him, you peered up at him curiously. “Why? Do you want me to put on a shade that matches your tip?”

The surprised strings of laughter you pulled out of him was the loudest you’ve ever heard him, making you grin. “Jesus, shut up!” He wheezed with a playful swat to your wandering hands that almost closed in on his crotch. “I’m trying to be cute here.”

You huffed, charmed by his efforts. Like he wasn’t cute already to begin with.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bite. Why?”

When his laughter died down, Jeno’s hands moved before he spoke, warmth cradling your cheek as his other hand pulled you closer by the waist. “I really really want to kiss you right now,” he murmured as his fingers slowly trailed down to your neck, Jeno’s thumb swiping away the sticky remnants of the berry flavored lip balm and then settled into the little notch right underneath the hinge of your jaw. “It’d be a shame if I ruined it.”

Another gentle press of his thumb and fingers splaying down the side of your neck had you tipping back to watch him through half-lidded eyes. He was so close. The sweeter notes of Jeno’s perfume crossed with his minty aftershave brewed a scent so intoxicating, so Jeno. He smelled delectable that the next words he was about to say didn’t make it out when you got on your toes, wound your arms around his neck and kissed him.

It was sweet, though a little needy judging by how tightly Jeno’s hand clamped along the softness of your waist. If it weren’t for Mark and his girlfriend’s invitation hanging around your shoulders serving as a heavy reminder, you would have easily gotten swept up by the tempting idea of being ravished in your own bathroom by your handsy roommate.

“We’ll be late at this rate,” you mumbled against his mouth, dragging your hands down his shoulders then settling them on his chest.

Jeno let himself be pushed away, albeit reluctantly, with a resigned sigh. “Right,” he said with a sweet pout that would have done it for you, but you held strong to your self-control.

There’s a precious pink tinge to his cheeks as he watched you rifle through the spread of makeup on the bathroom counter with a serene smile.

“So, do you really have a lipstick color that matches my dick?”

“Man.”

To Jeno’s absolute delight, Mark’s girlfriend thought your lip shade and combo was perfect.

“It’s like the color was made for you,” she gushed as she led you inside and you looked at your roommate fighting a smug smile (that you had half the mind to swipe off, but you promised to yourself you’d be good tonight) while handing her his housewarming gift—a matching tea-set—along with yours: a pair of high-quality bathroom towels with the couple’s initials stitched onto them.

The space looked a lot more put-together than the last time you’ve visited (which was like a few days ago and now did you see the dynamic palette they were going for) and a lot livelier with everybody else ranging from your closest friends to mutual acquaintances chattering up a storm with one of Mark’s playlists breathing life and color into every nook and cranny of the apartment. It truly felt like a home now and you could never be more proud of your best friend reaching a milestone with the love of his life.

“How long do you think ‘til Mark pops the question?”

“Are we going by feeling, or logic?”

Jeno shook his head and steered you towards the kitchen for drinks, a hand splayed on your lower back. “Privilege,” he suggested. “Or logic too, yeah. Out of all of us, you’re the closest to Mark. I’m sure he’s talked to you about it at some point.”

There was a ring. That was one thing you were sure of, but the details of when Mark was going to get hitched hadn’t really become a topic for discussion. It’ll come in due time. You relayed this tidbit to Jeno which earned you a solemn nod while he poured you a glass of moscato with a thoughtful pursing of his lips.

You squeezed his bicep in silent thanks, taking a healthy gulp of the sweet carmine while Jeno took to nursing a bottle of beer and swiped a slice of pizza sitting idly on the counter among many other finger-foods for you, then served himself. The pizza was still warm and you were rather peckish, and you couldn’t care less if you looked like an animal chomping down on the greasy goodness.

Jeno didn’t look like he minded, simply reaching out to pet your head with a satisfied twitch of his lips before his hand fell back to his side. It filled you with something warm and fuzzy that you promptly drowned whatever the fuck that was with the moscato. Must be the cheese.

“Well, shit,” he said eventually, smacking his lips together after a sip and then took a bite of his slice that muffled his next slew of words, “I have this on-going bet with a few other people who’re wondering the same. Figured I’d win with your help.” Taking a quick glance at your now empty glass, he refilled it without any preamble.

“My condolences.” The idea of a betting pool centered around Mark’s foreseeable engagement was so ridiculous that it made you laugh and almost tipped your drink over. “sorry I couldn’t make you rich,” you offered after getting through the giggling and thanked him for the refill.

“It’s fine. I earn enough for both of us anyway.” Jeno winked, laughing softly when that made you choke on your drink a little and handed you a tissue to clean up the spillage.

The first hour consisted of you making your rounds as a pair, sticking close as you made polite conversation with anyone you knew as a unit until you inevitably branched out to catch up with your own closer set of friends. You were in the middle of bullying Renjun into talking about his own private life outside of work when Mark decided to unearth himself from whatever social pile had consumed him, excusing you from Renjun and Jimin, who in fact, had their dog held hostage like she promised. Yet Ziggy appeared rather content, if anything, dozing away in the cradle of her arms.

“I’m really glad you and Jeno could make it,” Mark said, eyes sparkling. “I was half expecting you to show up without him, or, like, ignore him the entire night.”

“Like I’ve said before, Jeno and I are way past the animosity,” you complained. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“It’s kinda hard to move past the fact you’ve called me at fuck o’ clock just to tell me he looked at you wrong.”

(You had been enlightened that those were fuck me eyes Jeno was shooting you, but you didn’t think Mark would appreciate the clarification).

“Yeah, well, that was before Jeno and I decided to be adults and talk like you’ve said. We’re cool now.”

“I know, I know and I’m really happy about that.”

You huffed, squinting at him. “Way too happy.”

He grinned with a twinkle in his eyes and reached out to flick your nose. “I just can’t help but think that you’re only saying that to reassure me or something.” Mark raised, which didn’t make him wrong. God knows the exact amount of times you’ve called or texted the man in regards to your supposed then misfortune of taking Jeno in. “Glad to know that’s not the case.”

“You have no faith in me.” you said, dry. “We've lived together for almost four years and still, you have no faith in me.”

“I’m a ‘see it to believe it’ kinda guy, and I’ve seen enough to believe you. I’ve been trying to get you alone, y’know? And I can’t really do that when you’ve got Jeno hovering around you.”

“Okay? That literally has never stopped you before.”

Mark knew where he stood being the closest to what you would consider family, he knew the many advantages that came with it too and people were conscious of it as well, such as snatching you away mid-conversation with no repercussions. His current neutral mien then twisted into something shrewd and a touch gloating as though he was in on some kind of inside joke he could very well tell you about, but decided not to because it would be funnier for him.

“You both have my blessing then.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Mark, what the hell are you talking about?”

Mark also knew you hated not knowing anything.

Of all people, he was well acquainted with this pet-peeve of yours, yet it was so easy for him to give you a wordless pat on the shoulder and leave you in the dark. You were left even more lost when you caught him giggling to himself when leaving you on your own, probably to search for his better half, and that wasn’t even the end of it.

The simpering followed you all the way to the small collective of women you gathered with once every two weeks (minus Mark’s girlfriend who was likely still entertaining a few of their guests). Any other day, the sight of the girls would have filled you with elation, though it’s as if you weren’t allowed it under the varying states of coquettish looks you received and instead, confronted with the late realization that you’ve unknowingly walked into a snake’s pit.

It made your hackles rise and you wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

“What are the odds that I’d see an old hook-up at a housewarming party?” Jayme drawled, “and not only that, but he came with you too.”

You blinked slowly, already over it. “I would hope so since he is my roommate and the one with a car, in case you forgot.”

“No duh, we know that,” Aeri rolled her eyes. “but it’s still just so crazy to me! It’s like fate at work, y’know? We’ve all had our fun with Jeno once or a few times before he fucked off to somewhere and went radio silent, only for us to find out he landed at your door and stayed there. Indefinitely.”

“Uh huh. Kinda comes with the idea of having a roommate. You live with the person. Indefinitely.”

Aeri stuck her tongue out at you.

Fei cackled, making you turn to her with pleading eyes. This only made her smile turn sharper. “I’ve got to say, I’m kinda jealous that you have access to him twenty-four-seven,” she mused. “He looks really good tonight. I wouldn’t know what not to do to him if he lived with me.”

They were never really up for talking. Always a one and done thing.

Oh. So that’s what Jeno meant. At first, you had thought his blatant evasion was simply the result of the awkwardness that would at times stem after recounting his past physical involvements with anyone else. Showing up at this gathering—being in the same space with the handful of women Jeno had been with—you couldn’t help but wonder how he fared with the unprecedented reunion, especially within their range of scrutiny, because the more you listened to the girls talk, Jeno’s hesitance on broaching the topic grew easier to understand.

They were never really up for talking became this incessant drawl in your head, as grating as hearing the same damn mosquito buzz right by your ear alongside their flagrant chatter about your roommate and his performance limited within the four corners of his bed. To the girls, Jeno was nothing more than a toy to be discarded once they got bored playing with him.

“Okay—can you guys be normal for one second?”

You didn’t mean to snap the way you did, but if that put a stop to the one-sided conversation, then so be it. Whatever Jeno was feeling at the moment could not possibly be on par with the steadily growing irritation prickling under your skin. The last time you had checked on him, there was a relaxed slump in his form as he spoke with Mark and you hoped it stayed that way.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “He’s literally right there and this is hardly the time or place.”

They made it sound like Jeno wasn’t attached to the cock they raved about. A real human with real thoughts and feelings. It made your stomach roll uncomfortably just as you balled your fists to stop them from shaking. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Fei scrunched her nose as the rest of your posse leveled the cold bleeding into your words with mild alarm. “Girl, relax, it's all in good fun.”

“And aren’t you having as much fun with him?” Aeri asked, “since when were you a prude?”

A prude? Far from it. Promiscuous? Not that either. A healthy balance between two opposing natures, likely, teetering the fine line separating them. As far as you were concerned, however, no one knew—except for a small pool of people you've told personally—what you got up to with Jeno.

It was a running joke, the girls poking fun at the perk you refused to use to your advantage and there were times where you had been tempted to tell them just how often you pawed at Jeno until he gave in to your whims (which wasn’t all that hard really). In the end, especially after this talk, you’d prefer to keep the nitty-gritty details under multiple locks and keys.

“Or a hypocrite,” Jayme chimed in.

Leaving this place with a permanent scowl etched onto your face wouldn’t be entirely impossible.

“Just—just stop fucking talking about him like—like that. I—” I don’t like it. “It’s weird. Inappropriate.” you muttered, staring at your still tightened fists on your lap that bunched up the billow of your dress.

It went quiet for a while, like it does whenever someone expressed their grievances within the circle and it was especially unnerving when you became the very subject of the girls’ observation. You didn’t dare break under the pressure, staring resolutely at the loud artwork and wall decor hung up with an otherwise jaded stare. The least you could do was keep your head held high where your face could be seen so you wouldn’t get found out.

Fei took it upon herself to break the ice with a quirk of a thin eyebrow. “You think it’s weird?”

“It’s weird,” you echoed and offered nothing more. Saying that it pissed you off more than you had expected would just have them make something out of nothing, and dealing with it was not really part of your agenda for the night.

“You weren’t complaining before, unless…” Fei’s impression smoothed over as understanding dawned on her face. “Ah. Okay, I see.”

Okay, that’s also weird as hell because why was Fei (and the others) regarding you with the same look Mark had given you moments ago?

Whatever it was, your questions were unfortunately put on the back-burner the moment a pained yelp caught everyone’s attention.

When all of you faced the direction it came from and found Donghyuck writhing, it didn’t come as a surprise. Give Donghyuck an inch and he’d take miles upon miles until he found his limit. The limit seemed to be the man you just talked about this time as the crushing grip around Donghyuck’s hand pulled a pained whine from the latter. He must have ticked Jeno off so badly if his knees were so close to meeting the ground, as opposed to Jaemin who stood off to the side, lax and just happy to be there witnessing his roommate’s self-inflicted misfortune.

Aeri cleared her throat, “does that also mean we’re not allowed to look or..?”

“Look all you want,” you said, following it with a derisive noise and got up, dusting your behind as you went.

There was no harm in leaving them to feast their eyes on your Adonis of a roommate. They’re free to do as much. It’s not like they’re the ones who got to go home with Jeno and they sure as hell weren’t the ones who got to have him in any way you wanted.

“Oh, good,” Aeri said, relieved, and fully took advantage of the five second window to fix a hungry look onto Jeno which, yeah, totally understandable. She could have waited when you weren’t watching, though. “‘Cause your man looks insanely gorgeous tonight.”

You let out a scoff. You weren’t born yesterday and lord knows how you wished you were immune to your roommate’s charms. Being ignorant of Jeno supposedly winning in the genetic department was a rare feat on its own that even the agreement between strangers had been timely; double takes were more common than not when your roommate fit the equation, and tonight wasn’t any different.

Maybe it was how Jeno wore his dress shirt; three unlatched buttons to flash a glimpse of his pale chest with the sleeves folded to reveal veiny forearms phlebotomists fantasized about (you know you did. Sometimes. Where the hell was he when you needed someone to draw blood from for your labs and practicals?) or the plain jeans in the same shade accentuating his long legs, or the dramatic change to his hair.

A week ago, Jeno had mentioned getting his hair done. With the longevity of Jeno’s infamous blue hair, the immediate thought after telling him your usual boba tea order was he might have set an appointment to get a touch up like he had done a few times and keep the mullet, or at least give it a trim and keep it neat.

Neither of your assumptions were right and instead, Jeno had walked into the apartment with a two-block cut and hair dyed back to his natural shade of black as you were in the middle of vacuuming. It could have gone two ways, one where you could have finished with the list of chores you had for the day.

Eh, vacuuming can wait. I deserve a break, you had thought as the cold herringbone flooring met your knees, pulling down Jeno’s athletic shorts along with his stirrup leggings as you went—low enough for his dick to spring free before he could even utter a ‘hello’. That was a testament to how much you agree that, yes, Jeno might as well be the eighth wonder of the world. Truly a sight to behold. Sometimes, you couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was real. That he was this irresistible.

You couldn’t even begin to explain how utterly obsessed you had been with him during the days leading up to the housewarming party; the looks, the wandering hands among the other very obvious hints you’ve dropped. Jeno at least enjoyed the attention, just as you enjoyed watching him gasp and whine with tears lining his eyes when the need to cum had his body going taut, his cock nestled deep in your throat.

“You’re so lucky.”

The corners of your mouth quirk at the sight of Jeno smiling sweetly amidst Donghyuck’s distress. “Sure am.”

Fei barked a short laugh, “congratulations.”

The comment went ignored, as well as the collective hooting when you hurried over to the trio of men standing just before the small hallway that led to the bedrooms and home office, talking among themselves. Well, the conversation was mostly carried by Jeno and Jaemin. Donghyuck was still whining from Jeno’s grip. How long had that been going on again?

Once you reached them, you decided to spare Donghyuck’s poor hand and wound your arms around Jeno’s arm closest to you, surprising both you and him considering you weren’t exactly a fan of PDA. However, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the least bit satisfied from the scandalized gasps the girls let out.

“Hi,” you greeted. Jeno did nothing to hide his apparent shock, granting him a wry smile and a squeeze to his bicep as you turned to face the gawking pair with practiced indifference. “Oh, it’s you.”

Donghyuck was the quickest to recover, wrinkling his nose. “You saw us, like, thirty minutes ago.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

As opposed to Donghyuck, who immediately pouted at your blithe disregard of him, Jaemin found it amusing, drawing in all the attention with a mixed noise of surprise and delight. “Look at you two,” he cooed, eyes the beadiest they’ve ever been as they darted between you with a sharp grin. “Since were you this cozy with each other?”

“Don’t act coy. You weren’t even supposed to know about us, but somebody couldn’t lie to save his life.” Jeno at least had half the mind to look a bit guilty with a bashful smile tugging at his lips, if not a little prideful, when he stood a little straighter. Ugh. Men.

Jaemin’s shark-like grin didn’t falter in the slightest. “It worked out, didn’t it?”

“Since I realized he was worth more alive than dead, yeah. I guess.” You gave Jeno’s bicep another self-indulgent squeeze and pressed your cheek against it. “He listens to me very well.”

Jeno jerked in your hold with an affronted noise.

“He’s always been such a good boy,” Donghyuck cooed and reached out with his good hand to scratch Jeno’s chin. “Aren’t you?”

You caught the twitch in Jeno’s eyebrow and for about three seconds, Donghyuck’s pain-filled shriek drowned out the excited chatter. Barely anyone batted an eyelash, used to your friend’s raucous nature, and the party carried on as usual despite the small disturbance. The least you could do was pat Donghyuck’s shoulder, much more delicate than Jeno could ever be with him. You still ended up laughing at his pitiful state, however, before pulling Jeno aside and leaving Jaemin to deal with the aftermath of his roommate’s sulking.

“You okay?”

You herded Jeno further into the same small hallway, immediately relaxing from the needed privacy. Everyone else was too preoccupied anyway. Small mercies.

“Yeah,” you said with a meek nod. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jeno’s face did this thing whenever his thoughts tend to process on the faster side of things. Although you’ve often seen this happen in real time, being on the receiving end of his muted scrutiny—at least from the times where you were aware—had been on the complete opposite of the spectrum. It made you feel a little weird inside, but you were honestly too tired to misread the look as something else that would then evolve into an argument you’d lead.

“For starters, you usually don’t grope me in public,” Jeno quipped, flexing his arm until his shirt tightened around the muscle and it’s actually so dumb that it was enough to make you laugh.

Jeno beamed, delighted.

“You have nice arms,” and you took it as an invitation to be handsy in the dim hallway. “Very nice to look at. Strong."

He rolled his eyes just as you inwardly winced at your lack of eloquence. Your attempt at ass-kissing could use some work, yet Jeno hasn’t made the move to pull away from your touch. He said it himself—Jeno was awfully easy to please.

“Just tell me what you want.”

“Your credit card details.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow.

“My credit…” He hesitated for a little bit, searching your face that—with years of practice—was schooled into a neutral expression that wouldn’t give anything away. Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slightly worn leather wallet.

You cracked a smile. “I’m just fucking with you,” you chuckled. “I do want to go home though.”

He froze then hastily shoved his wallet back, pink in the face. “Right now?”

“Mhm, right now. It’s okay if you want to stay. I know you haven't been able to hang out with Jaemin and Donghyuck lately.” Jeno looked doubtful. “I’ll get an Uber home,” you assured him.

He didn’t answer right away, Jeno’s interest momentarily stolen by the party growing louder by each tick of the clock which you could immediately tell was Donghyuck’s doing from the distinct hearty yell of ‘Mark Lee!’.

A part of you understood that Jeno wasn’t technically bound by your decisions, disregarding the amount of times you gladly let Jeno bend, twist and pull you to mold seamlessly against him to a point where you couldn’t tell where he ended, or where you began. It’s not at all lost to you that you were still your own person just as Jeno had the free will to do whatever the fuck he so desired without you breathing down his neck, yet the other half of you—the ugly, selfish half hoped—wanted—Jeno to call it a night too and let himself get swept off of his feet to take him home. Hell, you half-considered shoving your pride aside to ask him to leave with you.

Though it seemed that no pride will take a hit tonight when Jeno gazed back at you with a sweet curl to his mouth and a gentle shake of his head. He reached out to loosely wrap a hand around your wrist.

“They can survive without me for a day,” he said as his fingers brushed down the back of your hand until they caught onto yours and laced them together. “Let’s go home.”

Everything dissolved into a blur after that. A blur of goodbyes to the hosts and the fair few that made up the shared circle of friends. You didn’t pay much attention to that; barely said anything, too focused on how well your hands fit together.

“Would you do what it takes; If I fall, am I safe?”

“We’re getting old,” was the first thing you said the moment you and Jeno crowded through the front door. “Who dips at eleven?”

“It’s a reasonable time,” Jeno assured.

“Yeah, for losers.” He took your coat to hang it in the hallway closet with his. “We’re losers, Jen. What the fuck,” you whined, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna think you’re a loser for wanting to go home? This isn’t college anymore. I promise you, no one gave a fuck that we left early, and no one definitely gave a fuck that Jaemin passed out like an old man on Mark’s recliner.” Jeno snorted and yeah, it was pretty funny catching the light sheen of drool poking at the corner of Jaemin’s open mouth as he snored with a beer in hand still, but he had a reason why he conked out in the first place. You, on the other hand, weren’t sure if your reason for leaving would be considered.

Leaving because you couldn’t stand the way your friends gossiped about your roommate for being (kind of) a slut didn’t sound like a valid reason to most.

“I’d sure hope so,” you said drily. “A neurosurgeon—is he crazy? Let’s just hope he won’t get sued for medical malpractice or n-negligence.”

Jeno whirled around with both eyebrows raised. “You okay?”

You managed to get your chattering teeth under control. “Just cold.” You ran warmer than most, which meant you get cold easily and it won’t be long until snow starts to blanket everything in sight and possibly turn you into a bi-pedaled popsicle the moment you step outside even underneath the layers upon layers you dreaded to put on—

“C’mere.” And that thought was immediately put to a standstill when you were swathed by a firm coil of warmth; warmth that was Jeno and his toned arms, toned torso, toned pectorals, toned everything around your shivering form, which was admittedly nice. Comforting. If this were a cartoon, you can imagine the steam rising thickly off of your body as Jeno smothered you more into him, cheek pressed right into his exposed sternum.

“So.” You sighed at the rumbling against one side of your face. “What’s the real reason why we’re home early like ‘losers’?”

Despite Donghyuck dragging Jeno’s supposedly lack of humor to filth, you had always found him funny. He knew how to time his jokes well. He could be just as witty as you, Donghyuck and Jaemin combined when he actually tried and you could agree that Jeno’s dry sense of humor wouldn’t always be a hit with everybody, unlike yourself who had been surprisingly easily entertained now that you’ve gotten over your one-sided beef with him. Jeno’s humor was an acquired taste. Usually, you’d be laughing by now from Jeno piggy-backing onto your joke, but you stayed mum and just snuggled further into the welcoming warmth.

There was a little bit of coaxing from Jeno while he kept you toasty, gently rocking you both from side-to-side. Your feet were starting to hurt from standing so long, but you’d take your chances of greedily absorbing Jeno’s body heat.

You sighed, adjusting so that you were peering up at him with your chin digging into his chest. “It’s stupid,” you began, taking a few seconds to get your thoughts in order. “Well—no, it’s me who’s being stupid, but—ugh. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being dramatic,” then quieter, ”fuck knows how often I’ve been called that.” You seethed, frowning as you broke eye contact and pushed your cheek to his chest again, finding the even beats of Jeno’s heart sort of soothing.

His response was to hold you tighter, lips pressing into your hair before he murmured, “whatever’s bothering you isn’t stupid.”

You huffed softly. “Thanks for the validation, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it.” Jeno squeezed you again and then pulled back a little to regard you in earnest. “What’s wrong?” His face then twisted to worry. “Who pissed you off? Did you get into a fight?”

Okay, sure you were short-tempered, bordering on trigger-happy, really, and you were well aware of your own shortcomings atypical for the ideal woman, so it wasn’t at all shocking that Jeno assumed so. But you were going to toot your own horn here and say you’ve been well-behaved the majority of the evening. With no debates or fights instigated by you; up until you lost your streak when the girls had spoken out of line.

It took you a while until the very thing that gave your mood a 180 shift came spilling out.

“How would you react if a person talked shit about someone… close to you?”

Jeno, who clearly wasn’t expecting any words from how cagey you had been prior, flinched at the timbre of your voice that echoed throughout your bathroom, wide eyes blinking at your expecting reflection.

“How close are we talking about?” He hit back, adjusting the Cinamorroll headband to get his hair out of the way and then reaching for his toothbrush that was somehow there.

When Mark had moved out, you immediately took the chance of claiming the master bedroom as your own. It had a sizable walk-in closet big enough to house a separate collection of clothes for two people to which Mark’s wardrobes barely filled and a large full bathroom with ‘his and hers’ sinks. You claimed one of them, most of your shit either organized in one neat row such as your skincare, or left haphazardly scattered when you were in a hurry.

Jeno staked claim on the other sink. There was his bougie whitening toothpaste. A container housing his retainers where its existence would occasionally be forgotten until you reminded him, a select few of his own skincare—a less elaborate collection which made sense when he, to your envy, had near-perfect skin—and—ah. A half-finished bottle of Ferrari Light Essence. The cologne surprised you the most. As far as you could remember, it had never strayed from its original place: Jeno’s dresser.

“Close enough,” you answered eventually, purposely vague and passed over the logistics of Jeno unceremoniously leaving pieces of him with you—in your space, when you were sure your cleansing balm melted away your makeup. You leaned closer to the faucet to wash off the evidence that you had been out.

“I’d be pissed, obviously,” Jeno said, not really noticing your subdued reply. He took a moment to brush his teeth, spitting out the foamy toothpaste once he deemed his mouth brushed enough and once your face dripped of clear water. “Like, it’s one thing being an asshole, but being an asshole to my friend?” Jeno scoffed, shaking his head to demonstrate his displeasure. “—is that what happened?”

“More or less,” you mumbled into a face towel.

Jeno’s lips twitched as he patted his face dry. “Do I have to force it out of you?”

You lifted one shoulder to shrug.

“Wow, this is really bothering you if you’re this quiet,” he tilted his head, contemplating. “Was it Mark?”

“Be serious. Name one person at the party who hates Mark,” and you’d be crazy to not like the guy. Mark had never once done anything to warrant any negativity that could affect his person. He was probably one of the rare few who possessed a soul so pure that it was almost impossible for any hatred to fester in one’s heart. Hating Mark was like hating puppies for simply wagging its tail, happy to see you. Ridiculous.

Jeno’s nose wrinkled when he couldn’t name anyone. “Yeah, no. You’re right. Jimin, then?”

Jimin had her fair share of trouble in regards to people thinking badly about her; rooted from jealousy, of all things—insanely gorgeous Jimin. A charmer, not just by her sheer beauty, but also because of how approachable she was. A social butterfly—but her confidence in herself simply did not allow her to crumble underneath critical eyes just waiting to exploit a crack in her facade. She couldn’t care less of what the masses had to say about her, and you could only wish that you possessed some semblance of Jimin's self-assurance.

You shook your head, sighing deeply as your bottom lip caught in between the worrying edges of your teeth before letting it free, shiny with spit. “You’d laugh at me if I told you.”

You received a milder version of a frown from that, though you did clock the lingering look he gave your mouth. “Hey, believe it or not, I actually care about your feelings, so I promise—” Jeno sealed it with a swift ‘x’ his finger drew above his heart. Cross my heart and hope to die “—that I won’t make fun of you.”

Ah, fuck it. It’d be like ripping a band-aid off. Quick, painless and, hopefully, easy.

“It was you,” you said, quiet at first and then you rolled your eyes up to the ceiling and repeated it a bit louder this time: “The girls—they were talking about you and ‘their time’ with you, which was fine at first before we—y’know,” you rolled your wrist to the air in front of you to gesticulate the exact situation you’ve found yourself with Jeno. It looked complicated, and neither of you could make sense out of it, so you gave up, folding your arms.

“Anyway, I just… didn’t like how they make it sound like that’s all you’re good for?” You winced. You could have worded it way better. “Like you’re some sex object with no thoughts or feelings—” oh my god, shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up. “and that essentially ruined my mood. Jesus. You should have heard how the girls were going on and on and on about your dick that could work miracles, apparently—actually, no, it would piss me off even more if I saw how uncomfortable you were, so I’m glad you weren’t there—what the hell are you smiling at?”

Jeno’s smile stretched—it’s a huge thing. Where it took up almost half of his face, eyes almost disappearing as it did, but they shone bright as ever. “You care about me,” he said, obviously delighted by the idea.

“Uh, no I don’t.”

Denying it didn’t shake him in the slightest. “Yes, you do.”

“You must’ve heard wrong.”

“I don’t know, my pure-tone audiometry scores have always been high.”

“You said you wouldn’t make fun of me,” you exhaled in defeat.

“I’m not,” Jeno laughed. “I’m just happy. I didn’t know you’d care this much about my rep. I already know that I am kind of a slut. That I got around a lot, and hearing you defend me and think I’m more than that… It’s—It’s really sweet of you.”

“Defend is kind of a stretch,” you admitted. The words left a sour after taste in your mouth that, for a second, if you were given the chance to turn back time, you would have done more. “I just stopped them from saying anything else.”

Sweet. That was the last word you’d ever thought of relating to your standing up for Jeno. You’ve been called many things when your bouts of aggression came out to play, especially when it came to your friends’ defense, but rarely anyone would call it, or you, sweet. Though, the way Jeno spoke it into existence… he seemed certain of his claim—mirrored it too—cheeks dusted a precious pink and lips curled in a curious blend of a bashful, yet gratified smile. Really, and if anything, he was the sweet one here. Jeno for sure had the face and disposition for it.

“Still, it’s something I really appreciate,” he assured, “I mean, you were thinking of me in that moment too, so by all means am I really flattered—”

“Oh, brother—”

“You’re a huge softie.” Jeno quickly scooped you up into his arms, much like how he did when you almost froze your nonexistent balls off from the creeping winter chill. Your cheek ended up being pressed to his chest once again, like Jeno just knew his pecs would calm you down which yeah. What the hell, sure. “Prickly on the outside, but soft and squishy on the inside.”

“You callin’ me a sea urchin?”

Jeno laughed. “Whatever you want—and, you care about me.”

You rolled your eyes. He’s never gonna let that go, was he? “Am I not supposed to?”

Jeno clicked his tongue. “I didn’t say that, but it’s nice to know that you do,” he said, voice doused with such tenderness that it didn’t come as a surprise that it bled through to show on his face, too.

“Yeah, well.” You evaded his gaze by gently pushing him away by the cheek, clearing your throat and hoping it would dissipate the climbing heat from your neck, up. Jeno’s arms fell from their secure hold around your waist, yet he still remained in close proximity—close enough that he might as well fuse himself to you. “If you’re done, I’m taking a shower.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Just take off your clothes before I change my mind.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a mock two-fingered salute.

The hot shower was a definite need in unwinding the tension in your shoulders. You retired to the living room after pulling on one of your looser sleep shirts and a pair of boy-shorts, and falling onto the couch in an ungraceful heap. You could very well pass out here, become Jeno’s problem to deal with while at it.

Speaking of, he sure was taking his sweet time.

“What’s taking so long,” you hollered. “Do you have a hot date or something?”

“Are you not my hot date?” He said and you whipped around, peering over the back of the couch where you could see Jeno in the kitchen, putting away the dishes and cutlery in their respective places.

“You got me there.” You gave him a flat look. “What are you doing?”

“I…” Jeno trailed off, prancing over to the fridge. “got you a cake.”

The main lights were off, the warmer accent lights providing an ample amount of light source. Watching Jeno move about, bathed in the soft glow, made the simple action of unboxing the dessert no bigger than the span of his hand more intimate than it should be. Maybe it was his apparent determination in making things more convenient for you was what had you looking at the sight with a rose-tinted lens. Or maybe you just wanted to eat the damn cake and heckling the guy was one way to get your hands on it faster.

“I don’t think it’s my birthday yet,” you said, charmed at the way he hobbled over with the said sweet treat, two dessert forks tucked into one of its sides in one hand and an empty wine glass to join you in drinking in the other. “Is this your way of making me feel better?”

“More or less,” Jeno acquiesced, carefully placing the dainty looking cake and glass on the table and then joining you in your comfort. “I know it’s still bothering you, but really, it’s okay. I’m used to it.”

And it's just like Jeno to check up on you, really. Always so conscientious when it came to you—with the expense of himself being a later thought—that you were starting to find it difficult to keep him at arm's length at times. He was just… so good. So inherently kind to anyone without expecting anything in return. It’s one of the things you liked about him. A paragon of all things good in the world. Not that you would ever admit it to his face, though perhaps you softening up was enough for anyone to figure out where you stood.

“Wish you weren’t used to it, though.” You said with a sad smile, kicking your legs up to lay them across Jeno’s lap. “You have the right to be mad at being gossiped like that.”

“I kind of brought that upon myself.” Jeno snorted with a hand on his nape, following suit and scooting closer to you for more comfort, and so you could fit into his side more. “But enough of that. How was the party, honey?”

He got a light smack on the chest for his cheek, though your own smile betrayed your actions, finding Jeno’s constant hovering kind of sweet. “It was still fun, among other things. My bad for cutting it short and dragging you along.” Jeno waved you off of the guilt and you were really thankful that he wasn’t at all bothered by you calling it a night. “So, the cake?”

With a hand on your ankle, Jeno reached over to pick it up.

There was something funnier about SpongeBob now that you were watching it as an adult. The jokes that flew over your head making much more sense with a fully developed brain were significantly funnier, especially with the buzz the cheap wine you had stocked for future events. Guard down, your muscles relaxing and letting the stress accumulated from tonight wash away with each sip from your glass.

Handing you the bento sized treat, Jeno had the face of an absolute winner when you read what was written in cream frosting on top of the powder blue cake.

“‘I’m sorry for having loud sex’,” you managed to say through your giggles. “Very on the nose, Jeno Lee.”

“I realized that I never really said sorry for that until tonight.”

“And cake was the way to go? I thought the sex was your version of an apology?”

Jeno lifted one shoulder for a lazy shrug. “Everybody loves cake?” And well, he wasn't exactly wrong. You loved cake as the next person on their birthday did, and strangely enough, it felt like such. The word ‘sorry’ got smudged from dipping his finger into the loopy writing and then lifted it towards your mouth.

If it were any other day, you would have snorted and batted Jeno’s hand away in favor of getting a proper mouthful with a dessert fork. However, it could be that time (and Jeno) had worn down that hardass exterior of yours to a certain point that you had no problem giving in without having to argue; circling your fingers around his wrist as your lips parted to indulge him. As expected, it was sweet. Butter cream, you thought as the more your tongue swirled around Jeno’s finger, watching his eyes grow wide and his mouth slacken, the sweeter it tasted.

“Good?” Jeno asked, voice strained as he continued to watch you work your mouth almost the same way you would when you would give his cock the same treatment. He kind of looked like he wanted to eat you. Savor you, actually, like you were a piece of honeyed heaven Jeno had the privilege of having you melt all over his tongue and swallow your very essence until the last drop. It gave you a rush, to say the least. Not to mention an ego-boost when a man this gorgeous could be so gone just for you.

In the background, Squidward cried out, ‘oh no! He’s hot!’

“Mhm,” you hummed, letting his finger go with a lewd pop before sticking your tongue out to show that there was nothing of the creamy icing left. And to fluster him, mostly, and it worked. “Wanna try?”

’loud sex’ was the next to get smudged, leaving ‘I’m for having’ still intact which didn’t really make any sense at face value. Though taking a quick sweep of the current situation, you weren’t too far off from Jeno ‘having’ you.

Jeno wasn’t able to give a proper answer, much less a word, as you mirrored what he had done without letting him have a proper taste. He did, however, get a taste of your growing impatience; wiping the dollop of icing onto his bottom lip, hooking a finger down his bottom teeth and tugging lower, and then prying his mouth wide enough to slither your tongue in for a downright messy kiss, making him groan. Jeno tasted of sugar, cream and the mint of his toothpaste. You wanted more. You needed more.

So it’s not entirely your fault that you were fast to give in to your carnal desires and how lucky you were that Jeno was there to meet you half-way.

Ten minutes later, Jeno wrestled you down on the couch, mumbling, “I thought you were tired?” into your hot, wet pussy.

“Oh, I am,” you moaned, twisting your fingers into his mussed up hair as he worked two of his thick fingers into you alongside his tongue. “But I can’t really fall asleep like thi—is—shit—Jeno! Fuck!”

A pleased hum had you shuddering as the softness of your thighs squeezed around Jeno’s insistent head. He pulled back the second your insides squeezed his fingers and you let out a frustrated groan. There’s a lazy grin on his face, lower face damp with a nasty cocktail of spit and your slick and never had you seen a man look so damn proud of being messy. Then again, you’ve noticed a pattern whenever you guys fucked; Jeno liked dragging it out to the point it was messy, so that checked out.

“Sure you can.” You would kill for an orgasm right now. Maybe sitting on his face would do the trick. If you could overpower the musclehead. “You wanna test how many times I can make you cum ‘til you pass out?”

A tempting offer, sure, just so you could prove him wrong, but the need to cum easily swayed your decision. That could be discussed and experimented on next time. You told him that much with a slight threatening edge to your tone, all the while canting your hips as you pushed his head down to get on with it. Though it seemed like Jeno was in a particularly stubborn mood tonight.

“Any reason why you’re being such an asshole?” you groused, still actively trying with all your might to suffocate him with your pussy, but he still wouldn’t budge. “I want to cum. Make me cum.”

“Oh, I know you do.” Jeno’s fingers were still buried in your wet heat, his cheek resting against your inner thigh. “But that depends on what you’re willing to do for me.”

Your pout deepened. “You used to be so nice.”

Jeno hummed, not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing. “I’m not hearing any offers.”

“A blowjob.”

“Oh c’mon, we both know you can do better than a blowjob,” he teased. “Besides, your gag reflex is almost non-existent—which, you’re welcome, by the way—where’s the fun in that?” And Jeno looked pretty smug about the changes he had trained into you.

“Two blowjobs,” you muttered, cheeks flaming hot because he wasn't exactly saying shit just to be funny.

The first time you got in between his thighs to suck his dick as thanks for the handful of times he ate the fuck out of you had been a disaster that if Jeno hadn’t stopped you from forcing yourself to swallow more of him, you would have ruptured your esophagus. In short, you had never been so mortified in your twenty-or-so years of living, ever, until that very day. Though the miscalculation was easily fixed after some time, gradually earning back your ‘pro-cocksucker’ title, from Jeno’s gentle, yet firm, guidance.

You really couldn’t believe this was your life sometimes. Or the fact that the absence of muscle memory almost got you killed.

“Do you wanna cum or not?”

“I’ll—“ you swallowed thickly as he curled his fingers, and then let out a soft, broken moan when his thumb worked slow circles around your clit. “I’ll ride you.”

Jeno visibly deflated as if he hadn’t been reduced to a desperate whining thing whenever you bounced on it like the many times before. “Any other offers?”

“What is this?” you groaned. The thing that got you the most was how casually Jeno spoke as if seeing you in this state; rendering you into putty wasn’t affecting him at all. “An auction for me to cum?” Well, there was one last trump card you had saved when time calls for desperate measures.

“Going once.” Jeno wiggled his eyebrows with a stupid grin. “twice—”

“Fine! I’ll ride you raw.”

Jeno, who was about to dip in for a kiss, froze, then let out an aborted laugh. “I didn’t say ‘give me a heart attack’. Jeez, it’s never delicate with you, huh? Always straight to the point.” You did become a different entity when you wantsomething, so he was somewhat right.

He took a good look at you just in case you were pulling his leg, which you understood, considering you were adamant with the usage of condoms even on birth-control. The fact that you laid still was enough of a clue-in that you were serious. Your roommate seemed to understand this and nodded, lowering himself to plant a quick and tender kiss above your eyebrow.

“Deal.”

And went lower and lower, buried his face deep into where you fingers tangled in his hair guided him towards and ate you out until the fruits of Jeno’s incessant mouth saturated his face all the way down to his neck.

“Our poor couch,” you laughed, breathless and hyperaware of the wet warmth dribbling out of your cunt; a lewd mixture of his cum and your slick sliding down Jeno’s thighs and effectively widening the stain’s circumference previously left before you had swung a shaky leg over his lap to act on your end of the deal.

“Definitely seen way too many things.” Jeno, who had his head resting on the top of the couch’s cushions huffed in amusement, lifted one eye open to indicate he had been listening. “It’s your turn to pay for steam-cleaning.”

It was such an unfunny sentence. An instant boner-killer if you were in the middle of fucking, yet the sluggish delivery had you laughing, loud and unrestrained, tucking your face into the crook of his neck to smother your giggles.

Aside from it being another inside joke birthed from conning him into paying for the first ever one, it did eventually become a once or twice a month’s occurrence when you didn’t bother moving the sex to somewhere more private like, let’s say, either of your bedrooms. Actions came with their own sets of consequences, yet you always found room to find humor in them. Embarrassing as they may be.

“At this point we should just buy a new one, don’t you think?” you wondered as you withdrew from your makeshift hiding place and pulled him in for a quick, but lingering kiss. It wasn’t enough for him, it looked like, chasing after your lips. Jeno didn’t get too far, with you playfully yanking him back by the hair to smile cheekily at him. “I’m starting to think you like dirtying our couch. Marking your territory, puppy?”

Jeno stayed quiet, but the reddening of his cheeks was very telling.

“Oh my God.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Listen—“

“Puppy—oh my goodness—that’s really precious,” you cooed, the same way Jaemin would if his end-goal was to annoy someone to the point they would consider inflicting bodily harm. “Maybe Hyuck was onto something.”

“Do not talk about another man while I’m inside you,” Jeno whined. “You’re horrible. Get off me. I don’t like you right now.”

“I said it was precious.” He didn’t even have the heart to reject a quick peck on the lips. “I think it’s cute—that you look like Dozy.”

Despite the clear displeasure, his response to your nails scratching at his scalp was almost instantaneous; he relaxed, sagging against the cushions to bask in the undivided attention you showered him with. He could very much fall asleep like this; your warm weight making him sink into the soft clutches of the sofa with your magic fingers weaving all of the stress out of him.

Which meant you wanted something, if you were being nicer than what Jeno was usually used to.

“You want something,” he voiced the thought, squeezing your hips. “What is it?”

And there it was: a smile that said you were about to get what you want. “I was being serious about a new couch.”

Jeno let his head fall back once more, pretty eyes slipping closed as he let out a puff of breath. “Okay. We’ll get a new one.”

The couch came less than two weeks later.

You weren’t religious by any means, but you sent your silent gratitude to God anyway for blessing your eyes with the wonderful view of your roommate studying the manual with eyebrows knit together in concentration and a matching sweet pout.

“You are so sexy to me right now,” you said from where you sat on the floor.

The TV was on, but neither of you were paying attention to the happenings of a show that had caught both your attention when you sourced the internet for any TV show recommendations. This one looked promising; action packed gore with an interesting enough story-line (Jeno’s words) and the rugged machismo of the drool-worthy male main character supporting it (your words), yet those factors weren’t enough to keep your attention span from waning when Jeno—less rugged, but still so devastatingly gorgeous—was about to assemble your new couch.

He responded in kind with a snort and a half-hearted roll of his eyes. “We both know damn well you’re only saying that because I paid for the entire thing.” A hand made its way to perch on his hip too and your greedy eyes drank in the way his muscles rippled from the movement.

You gnawed on the knuckle of your forefinger. Good lord.

In hindsight, Jeno was half right. Sweet-talking him could increase the chances of you running scot-free of doing any heavy work, and maybe Donghyuck had hit the nail on the head with the whole thing about stability being what you needed because what was more attractive than a man readily dropping that much money for a couch without thinking twice? Looking absolutely darling swathed in pastel blue sheets you convinced him to get, deep in a fervent search for a good replacement with his personal laptop perched above his thighs, and with you tucked into his side as a pretty accessory that would occasionally voice opinions.

For someone who didn’t sound too enthusiastic searching the world wide web for furniture, he sure was hell-bent on countering any of your sales pitch every time your eyes would land on a probable couch replacement. The heavy debate—for a fucking couch, of all things—lasted almost two hours, both of you at your wits end until you found one that ticked every requirement that had been brought up; namely, how the L-shape design granted much more space and how easy it would be to clean by yourselves.

There was a thoughtful pull to Jeno’s face as he cycled through the available colors. “Please tell me that’s the one.”

Jeno had made an affirmative noise. “Can you hand me my debit card?”

You had beamed and hopped to it, smugly handing him the piece of plastic with a haughty cross of your arms.

“I did offer to split the cost,” you countered good-naturedly, resting your chin on top of your folded arms and watching on in appraisal as Jeno got to work. “And offered to pay extra to get some people to assemble it for us but—”

“I can do it myself, thank you very much,” he grumbled, seemingly put off by the thought of you having to watch strangers with the same intensity as he was experiencing now. It puts a smile on your face. A smug little thing because nothing brightens your day than getting underneath Jeno’s skin when you could. A sulky Jeno, you’ve come to find out, was possibly the cutest gift to mankind since puppies and kittens and exploiting the otherwise infrequent possessive streak he claimed to not have was honestly gratifying when he could have anyone and everyone.

“Yeah? Your muscles aren’t just for show?”

He shot you a bland look. “You have first-hand experience, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you feigned thinking it over, tapping your chin with a finger. “Maybe I need a reminder. Care for a hands-on demonstration?”

Jeno shook his head with a soft grin. “Later. Think you could sit pretty without being a distraction until I’m done?”

The offhanded compliment left a warm glow to unfurl within your chest. From there, it spread to just about everywhere. Your cheeks, for one as Jeno just had the knack for flustering you, fizzling out to pleasant tingles reaching the ends of your toes and fingers. You were quite possibly losing it and yet Jeno has shifted his attention, completely honing in on fixing up the couch before sundown if and if you spare him of being a—his distraction.

“I’ll try,” you relented in almost a whisper. Jeno heard, of course, nodding slowly in response and once you were sure that was that, you rushed to the kitchen to whip something up for you both and shake off whatever that was.

Jeno took no time at all to get it all set up and it was a wonder why the manual when it was pretty straight forward, but you have your couch and you didn’t waste any time to settle down with Jeno for your early evening dinner.

Things promptly escalated the moment your plates were wiped clean. From your pawing at Jeno’s face, still wound up from the whole handyman thing, to unanimously deciding that you should probably take this to the bedroom. To whose bedroom became sort of a guessing game. Not one of you was entirely aware when it was important, but really, who was counting when it would always lead to sex anyway?

On a similar note, It was a miracle by itself that your combined bodily fluids hadn’t turned your old couch into a biohazard. The old thing has been through the wringer since you and Mark had bought it off of Craigslist with your first paycheck and retiring the old girl was just the right thing to do.

Bumping into things along the way, clothes ripped off in haste, like a hurricane tore through the hallway and your bedroom; as rushed as it all was, the sex was surprisingly on the more tender side of things tonight, which wasn’t uncommon, though those ‘tender’ times were mostly rooted from lazy morning sex; but it wasn’t quite that either. Jeno still fucked like he means it, that won’t ever change. Always precise with his movements wherein you would often joke inside your head that the Mathematics nerd in him probably calculated everything in his head, maximizing the output of pleasure jolting through your veins. Shit like that.

Your enjoyment, comfort, pleasure above everything else—that’s what sex was like with Jeno and granted, he got off from you getting off.

Well, most of the time.

Jeno didn’t give any warning when he rolled the both of you over, forcing a gasp out of you from the feeling of his cock plunging deeper and nudging against the spot that sent a hot flash of pleasure up your spine.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I like you on top.”

“Oh, I bet.” You gripped around his girth like a vice, earning you a grunt and a hiss as the flesh of your hips dimple under the force of his long fingers. “You like having me do all the work?”

“I like—I like looking at you,” he admitted, breathless and face stricken with awe as he gazed upon you. Rough hands smoothed down from your hips to your ass then to your tensed thighs and encouraged you to take what you want with light measured strokes. “You’re even more beautiful like this.” Jeno’s breath hitched when you rocked back and forth, his breathing becoming more and more uneven with each sway of your hips.

“Drives me crazy sometimes. That you’re real. That you’re mine.”

The sincerity in his tone wasn’t anything new. How he looked saying that though… It’s something else entirely. There must be something in the air, perhaps due to the change of season as the temperature slowly climbed its way down to the negatives. You glimpsed outside the window and sure enough, flurries of white were making their floaty decent. The first snow fall of the year. Normally, you would be in a rush to get up close and personal, feel the biting cold of each snowflake kiss your cheeks.

By the looks of it, however, you don’t suppose you’d be able to get up any time soon. Not when Jeno’s strained grip on the gentle dips of your waist anchored you in place.

Mine.

You should be used to it. You’ve lost count of the times you would catch Jeno staring and if it were any other time, he would have ducked his head, pink in the face and embarrassed by the habit. That was the last thing he was in this moment, the foreign glean nestled within the depths of his rich gaze held no semblance to his would-be bashful state when he openly marveled at you.

Jeno was no stranger to seeing you bare of anything. He’s probably seen you naked more than you were clothed and yet his half-lidded eyes bore into your skin as if he was stripping each layer, trying his damnedest in finding a crack to slip under and see what you kept from anyone. It scared you, in a way that you wouldn’t really mind if he flayed you open and carved a space for himself in between your ribs, right next to you beating heart.

You were hot all over. Well, hotter than you were prior and stickier. Whether it was due to the nuisance you bedded on the regular showing that all control was reigned by Jeno still—feet planted on the bed, meeting each and every downstroke with increased intensity by his a heavy-handed guidance, showing you how he liked it—or having the very same man as a singular audience, but with a gaze as imposing as a crowd deep in the reverence of their worship. So intimate that the hair at the back of your neck rose at Jeno’s easy smile—sweet. Sickeningly so. All too consuming—and how easy it was for him to look at you like that.

It was too much.

You felt impossibly bare than you were in the moment, vulnerable under Jeno’s searching eyes that you started to shake, and a whimper, bordering on a sob, broke free from your tightly clamped mouth as your resolve gradually broke down. Fortunately, Jeno didn’t think too deeply on the matter, taking it as you simply wrung out from burning most of your energy (and desperate to cum) as he sat up just as you were about to fall forward. He gathered you in his arms and flipped you both over, making sure you landed gently and minding your head, no matter how plush the pillows were.

That brought forth another rush of feelings making it harder to breathe as your roommate settled with a paced rhythm. Slow, deep, purposeful where, for a second, you started to believe your insides would have to mold around the shape of his cock, where it left Jeno to be the only one capable of filling you to the brim. There was a tell-tale sting beneath your eyelids. You couldn’t even remember squeezing your eyes shut, but you were glad for the knee-jerk response kicking in. The stinging was felt in your nose too, and you were all choked up the next second when you met Jeno’s heady gaze.

You had to thank the heavens that timing was on your side for once, because at one pointed roll of Jeno’s pelvis you came crashing down with a shrill cry. Tears streamed hotly down the sides of your face as you let out a wet moan, crushing your nose into the crook of his neck while his movements gradually went from measured to frantic as he pulled you impossibly close to him, and fucked you to completion.

There was someone calling after you. Jeno sounded so far away until the gentle pats on your cheek reeled you back. It took a few seconds for you to refocus your vision the moment you opened your eyes. Catching your attention first was the concerned furrow of your roommate’s eyebrows, down to his eyes rounded with the same emotion, the corners of his mouth pulled taut.

He said your name again. “Are you okay?” Jeno asked with his hands cupping your cheeks as the pads of his thumbs wiped the remnants of the salty tracks beneath your eyes away. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, definitely not hurt,” you croaked, snorting softly at the dubious look on his face. “Just… overwhelmed.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Your answer was quick. “Good.” Jeno was unconvinced by the looks of it, but you reassured him when you covered one of his hands with yours. “Trust me, I’m a nurse. I would know if you did hurt me.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

That got Jeno to chuckle, the tension visibly leaving his broad shoulders as he sighed. “Yeah, okay. You’re totally fine if you’re talking like that.” He bent down to press his lips to your eyebrow for a few seconds before he sat right back up. “Right, I’ll be right back. Want something to drink? Eat?”

The warmth Jeno’s touch provided stayed even when pulling his hands away. “Just water’s fine, thank you.”

Jeno left the room after making himself half-decent, pulling up a pair of clean boxer briefs, leaving you alone to will your frantic heartbeat into slowing down as you curled around his pillow, pulling it close to your chest.

“...he’s one of my more interesting patients so far. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought that damn phone of his was an extension of his arm.”

So far so good. Jeno hadn’t questioned you once about the moment you had and went about the usual post-sex groove of aftercare and clean up. That at least helped you out of that weird headspace you were in and you weren’t as keyed up as you were while you told Jeno about an interesting week you had at the hospital.

A college senior who had sustained a collapsed lung from a multiple-vehicle collision. While the case itself wasn’t interesting considering you had scrubbed in to deal with cases similar to the twenty-two-year-old’s, the patient himself was. Normally, you weren’t one to prolong any conversation with inpatients, though you supposed his weaponized cuteness was effective enough that the Hippocratic oath had been momentarily forgotten as he expanded on what he had overheard from the Nurse’s Station right outside his room.

At the end of the day, he was still a stranger and the most intimate interaction you’ve had with him was cleaning his stitches, changing his dressings and reminding him of his care plan. Even then, he had no place in your personal life where you’d mull over the consequences of telling him. Once Dr. Kim gave him the clear to go home, you probably won’t see him again.

“I only gave him your first name, but he already found you on Instagram.” You burrowed yourself further under the thick covers. “He said he ‘approved’ of you. Whatever that means.” With a giggle, you shifted so you laid on your side and came face to face with Jeno already looking at you with those eyes of his, the same way he did when he had you bent over the coffee table.

Your heart stuttered for a moment, gracing him with a wry smile. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jeno, perpetually pretty no matter the situation, and confused, batted his eyelashes—on purpose or not, you weren’t too sure—full lips jutting out further into a pout. “Like what?”

“Like—” Like that. Like I’m everything. Jeno, for as long as you’ve known him, had this sense of wonder in him. Maybe that was the reason why his eyes, more often than not, lingered for what was considered socially acceptable, yet you couldn’t get why you were always the subject of his fascination, nor why you deserved such gentleness from a guy like him. You’ve always thought he would be much better off with someone who’s less of a hardass; someone good, someone—anyone who didn’t share the ugly parts of you that were ‘too much’ to handle.

“Just—” I just don’t get it. I don’t think I want to get it. “I’m going to gouge your eyes out.”

He closed his eyes, exasperated. “Do not do that? Maybe?”

“No promises,” you said blithely, turning your back to him and baffled, wondering why your face—out of nowhere—felt so hot to the touch, why your heart raced. Why now of all times? Pillow talk wasn’t anything new. Sharing the bed was a regular happenstance. It was normal. This was normal, but why were you acting like a total school girl about it?

All the niggling thoughts came to a screeching halt at the feeling of Jeno’s arm going over your middle to pull you in, letting out an involuntary sigh as you melted into the warmth of his embrace.

“Goodnight,” he said, trailing off in a hushed tone at the syllables of your name.

Eyes squeezed shut, you let out a deep breath. “Goodnight, Jeno.”

Pleased by your response, Jeno crowded impossibly closer until he was flush against your back, pressing his lips to your nape and relaxed after. His hand settled over the curve of your breast, the tips of his fingers splayed where it tapers flat and where your heartbeat was as its strongest. And If he could tell the difference between the gentle thumping of sixty beats per minute from what was considered abnormal, he didn’t bring it up and instead tucked his bent knees right behind yours.

Yeah. Totally normal.

Sleep evaded you, finding yourself awake in the dredges of the night unlike Jeno, who was off in the deepest end of slumber.

You didn’t know why or how you were awake. For as long as you were alive, nightmares were never a problem. Your dreams were on the weirder side, yes, but they never shocked you into lucidity. You didn’t have the need to pee, drink or have a quick whatever-the-fuck-time-is-it snack. You just were, unlike Jeno who had it easy, knocking out cold fifteen minutes tops no problem. Though dead asleep—even breaths with the slow rise and fall of his chest, laying flat on his back—it’s like Jeno can’t help but still face you, like you just had this magnetic pull that attracted each and every atom housing Jeno’s attention.

He looked so peaceful. It’s almost unfair he was still gorgeous in this state, mouth open and all. Handsome face void of anything that would sour the appeal which wasn’t possible. It’s as if he simply wasn’t allowed to be ugly, wasn’t allowed to lack in areas he was known for, wasn’t allowed to be less than perfect. A burden, weighing on yourself more than it did Jeno, you had resigned to when you couldn’t find it in yourself to come up with things to complain about.

Jeno existed and you were fine with it. Jeno, stubborn but meant well Jeno, found plenty of ways of integrating himself in your space and you were fine with it. Each second, each minute and each hour, Jeno was there and somehow, you didn’t think it was enough. Even as the hours stretched out into days, weeks. Months. Would it be so bad if Jeno was there—here with you for years to come?

Then it hit you all at once—like a shock to your heart, granting you with a clarity so startling that you looked at Jeno. Like, really took him in as much as you were able to in the dim glow of the full moon filtering through the sheer curtains.

Since when did wanting absolutely nothing to do with Jeno evolved into wanting him all to yourself? You couldn’t put the entire blame on him. Sleeping with Jeno (and regularly at that) was a risk you were very familiar with. No thanks to your gargantuan AO3 history when fan-fiction was the only thing that kept you going through the grueling college experience. Friends-with-benefits had been a filter staple that guessing which outcome you’d get became sort of a game. Some good, some bad and some were so emotionally devastating that you swiped back and pretended pain never existed.

Now that you wore the shoes of every FWB protagonist, you weren’t too sure of what the endgame could be. You could admit that you went in blind with the false pretense of it being a temporary set-up when either of you grew bored of each other. But the months had bled from one to the other and it was still you and Jeno, and whatever flat surface there was left to defile.

From the gentle sweep of his eyelashes, the bridge of his strong nose, the perpetual pout of his lips with sharp angles and soft contours framing all of that—that right there was a face you wouldn’t hate waking up to in the mornings to come. Better if those mornings weren’t just the aftermath of a wild night, but nights where one of you would grow tired from finishing a few episodes of a gory thriller before eleven PM. Nights where one of you would stay up waiting for the other to get back from overtime. Or nights where you simply would spend hours just laying in bed all warm and cuddled up before sleep inevitably took you.

And as you laid on your side, eyes boring into Jeno’s sleeping face, hoping that you get the good ending out of this messy start, you knew you were absolutely truly and well fucked.

VI.

“If you stay the night, you could change my mind.”

You were five seconds away from killing yourself.

You’ve been here before. More times than you would have preferred, if you had to be honest, where Mark and yourself would set up camp on the island counter. A large plate of something to snack on (cookies this time) doubling as a conversation buffer and keeping Mark occupied while you’d do most of the talking.

Not a word has been said. Not a peep. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Mark’s unease with your unusual silence was made apparent by his treacherous balancing on two of the wooden barstool’s legs. Truly a perfect example why women lived longer than men.

Something was up. For one, you were tight-lipped, which wasn’t a good sign. Mark’s head would have been done in with your longwinded tangents right about now; where words would have lost their meaning as he eventually tuned you out. Which, sure, whatever. You always got straight to the point anyway and he only greenlights the ranting as it was a way for you to blow off some steam, no matter if it was the third time you’ve complained how impossible it was to unglue Jeno from his computer to eat.

Mark didn’t need to think too long about the possibilities. He got his answer right as the front door opened.

“Hey, Mark.”

Though he wasn’t at all prepared for the awkward as fuck silence. One could imagine Mark’s surprise when you didn’t spare your roommate the acknowledgement as you pointedly kept your attention on the plate of chocolate chip cookies.

Jeno sounded pleasant enough, yet you went stiff when he shuffled into the kitchen, grabbing himself a bottle of kombucha. The side-eye you got from Mark was diabolical, yet he returned Jeno’s greeting with his usual brightness as if to assure him that nothing was amiss. Both men left it at that and Jeno quickly disappeared behind his door with a click, letting you relax.

You flinched when Mark did a full body turn so fast that it could rival the speed of light, his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Dude, what the hell did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

Mark’s gaze turned sharp and stared at you like you were stupid. Maybe you were. No, you definitely were, with all things considered. “Jeno ignored you,” he hissed. “He’s never that petty. Donghyuck treats pissing him off like an olympic sport and you’ve never seen Jeno lose his cool. He’d let you know if you’re pushing it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because Jeno could just punch the shit out of you. Have you seen him?”

“Jeno’s hot bod has nothing to do with this—and stop changing the subject!” Mark snapped, swiping a cookie from the tray, took a bite and jabbed the remaining half in your direction accusingly with a muffled: “something happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“That’s exactly what people say when something has happened,” Mark quipped, crumbs flying out of his mouth. “I bet you did something.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“And if I stab you with this cookie?”

“Do it, you won’t,” you challenged. “You can’t. Because it’s a fucking cookie.”

His gaze narrowed and for a second, you believed he’d figured out a way to weaponize a food of all things.

“You’re giving me gray hairs here,” he popped half of the sweet treat into his mouth instead, biting down with an audible crunch. “Why’d you call me over anyway?”

“Because of that,” you said with a resigned sigh, pointing to the direction of Jeno’s room. “And I called for your girlfriend, actually—y’know, for a change, but you showed up instead, so.”

“Oh.” Mark blinked, shoulders relaxing. “well, she’s out at the moment. Took Ziggy to her grooming appointment so she sent me.” She sent me, he said like he was simply there to carry out her responsibilities when she couldn’t, no questions asked. Which, yeah, maybe—but not exactly. Mark was just game for anything (more when his girlfriend is involved), though it brought you great relief that he loved her that much to potentially be an extension of herself. Jealousy would be the death of you one day.

That’s not to say you were happy by the circumstances. You were expecting girl-time, and here you were given a man that was considered a stand-in during your bi-weekly Girls’ Night. Close enough.

Momentary panic crossed his face when you let a grimace slip through. “Try me! I’m wise enough.”

You scoffed. “Your wisdom is about the size of a grain.”

“And yet I’m the one in a stable relationship,” he pressed. “I think I’m qualified to tell you things.”

“Fuck you,” you groused. Because he was right, and nothing grinds your gears more than Mark Lee being right while dangling his picture-perfect love life right in front of your face.

You were well acquainted with the intricacies of Murphy’s Law: anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and the start of your downfall happened a few mornings after the earth-shattering realization that you had not only desired Jeno carnally, but also desired him… not-so-platonically. You felt sick to your stomach just thinking about it. Or maybe those were butterflies partying it up in your guts because they obviously were still you in some way: ridiculously enamored by a gorgeous man.

The morning had been a quiet affair. Quieter than usual, is what you could describe the chilly start of your Saturday. Quieter than what you were used to even with the groggy aftermath of last night, though you were sufficiently energized for the regularly scheduled back-and-forth before the stillness fell in place again, with the exception of the range hood sucking up all the smoke from what sizzled on the pan.

It was your day-off and Jeno still had the luxury of whether or not he’d go to the office unless necessary. From the lackadaisical slump to his frame, you figured he had all the time in the world today.

“Isn’t this mine?” Words came first and actions followed with Jeno’s arms winding loosely around your waist, one of his hands tugging at the hem of his hoodie you pulled out from his wardrobe, his chin hooked over your shoulder.

You woke up freezing that day and the weather application had said to bundle up, so you ended up clawing through his clothes since you did end up falling asleep in his room. It just so happened his hoodie was the first thing you had blindly grabbed in haste. Your feet were quick to get cold, so you made the detour to your room for your thickest and fluffiest pair of socks. Sure the look of the herringbone flooring was nice, but lord did it almost freeze your toes off.

Jeno simply hummed when you told him so, lingered for a moment, then left you to do your thing with a gentle pat to your tummy and started on both your coffees.

“What? No tea for me?” You mused when he took two mugs out from the cupboard, one of them being your favorite one, and plucked out two pods from the stack of them, no teabag in sight. “I thought you were trying to wean me off of coffee?”

“I’m feeling generous today,” he said with a teasing lilt and left it at that, and you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Your stomach grumbled as the last of the modest spread of food was placed on the dining table, wincing at the terrible screech the chair made when you scooted closer. Sweetened medium roast hits your nostrils, your favorite coffee mug emitting a dull ‘thunk’ when Jeno placed it right beside your hand.

“You made it just how I like it,” you said after a tentative sip, lips pressed against the mug’s rim.

Jeno snorted softly as he reached for the maple syrup. “You notice that now? Were the coffees I made for you each morning different from that one?” He nodded towards your cup.

“No. I guess I never really had the time to think about it,” you admitted, sheepish. “I don’t remember showing you how, either.”

“You didn’t have to,” Jeno shrugged, feeding himself a forkful of the fluffy scrambled eggs. He hummed in delight. Just how he liked it. “I watched you make it a few times, it’s really not that complicated.”

You often rushed through mornings at home to judge whether or not the morning coffee on the counter was up to taste. The ratio between bitter and sweet? Who has the time when you’ve got to get to the hospital before you do your rounds? Still, you had a window of a few minutes to notice how Jeno had waited each time for you to get a few sips in before transferring your coffee into a thermos to take on your way out. You don’t remember getting a thermos. One in your favorite color either. Christ, were you having a goddamn meltdown at the dining table?

“You’re always rushing in the morning,” Jeno explained and proved once again that he was quite the observer. “‘figured I’d make your mornings a bit more convenient.”

And there it was: the convenience of it all.

While, yes, work had left you exhausted like never before, it also had been a small act of mercy that had kept you distracted and away from the demons that were waiting to be acknowledged. Those demons being anything in relation to the current predicament you were facing: Jeno. Your shifts at the hospital had been draining enough as it was that there was never any free time to think about anything.

Statistics had kept its annual consistency in seeing a significant increase in casualties the closer it got to the most wonderful time of the year. People in a perpetual state of haste in hopes of getting everything in order before the holidays. You might as well find a permanent place in the trauma department from the amount of overtime you did that your brain had been stuck in work mode until the patient influx had dwindled down.

Sure, you’ve managed to survive what could be considered the hospital’s Annual Armageddon, but there was no way in hell were you going to survive the horrors that await: being alone with your thoughts.

This was where Jeno came in. Like a stream, your thoughts of him were continuous. They ebbed and flowed and it seemed there was no end to it. On some days, they would roll around in your head, or go round and around as a microwave would; heat up or explode; whichever would be better to your state of mind. The point was, despite wanting that part of your brain—the one responsible for filtering any Jeno-related thoughts—to stop thinking, you couldn’t. You could not stop daydreaming, could not stop the ‘what if’s’—what if this (whatever this is) could become something more?

Convenience was what led you to this point.

The convenience of Jeno being at the right place and the right time. Of him taking the very first step and dragging you into something that was supposed to be casual, no-strings-attached and nothing more. This entire thing was supposed to be just a convenience to you. Jeno was supposed to be a convenience to you; in a way he’d be there if you needed help, he’d be there to fuck when you wanted, be there for—well, being there, when you needed him to be and keep you company. But…

But.

As the days blended to the next, it—he became so much more than that.

Wanting more than what you already have has never been your style. One could give you a hand and you’d justify why grasping onto one or two fingers was more than enough. Perhaps it had something to do with how you were raised, at least, that’s what you had thought because as you sat across Jeno, ignorant of being the very cause of your tumultuous state of mind, greed reared its ugly head.

It rose up your throat—that thick, all-consuming feeling of wanting something so much to the point of insanity. What should have been casual evolved into something more than what you bargained for, but you knew enough that there was nothing casual about not just wanting the convenience that came with Jeno. Nothing casual about wanting more than being another meager notch on Jeno’s bedpost. You wanted him—body, mind, soul and heart. And it’s not as if developing feelings wasn’t allowed. It was never brought up in the months the friends-with-benefits thing went on, sure, but it still felt… wrong.

Here you were, a handful of seconds away from baring your bleeding heart to him, only to pause when another thought occurred to you.

Did Jeno even want the same things you did?

No.

Definitely not.

You had no business asking about the other girls he could be seeing, but it was made clear Jeno was fully committed to follow the lifestyle of a Casanova. Being tied down wasn’t likely part of his plans as of the moment. More or less, you were probably just a phase he was slowly trying to get out and you wouldn’t be the one forcing him into settling down. Even so, it still hurts, that you will never be anything more than just a friend he gets to fuck on the regular.

And admitting that was a blow to your chest, really—like it caved in on itself, the jagged pieces of your rib cage piercing your heart. You had no idea how to make it less painful as you shot a longing look in your roommate’s direction who remained oblivious to your internal war against yourself and your feelings.

That day was seared into the recesses of your brain. How Jeno looked when you had told him this couldn't go on any longer, that you should stop, all the while being in the comfort of his embrace while you washed the dishes.

Your hands went rigid under the stream of water from the tap as Jeno stiffened behind you. Slowly you turned around in place, only for a wounded noise to lodge itself in your throat at the stricken look on his face. Confused, lost… hurt? Maybe? No, that wasn’t it. Disappointed was more apt, losing another conquest could do that to a guy, you think, could do that to you, if you were being honest; losing something that could have been good for you.

“Why?” he croaked.

“It—It just doesn’t feel right anymore.”

In a sense that sleeping with him while harboring so much warmth and fondness for a man so gentle and kind felt like you were taking advantage of him: that if you couldn’t have his heart, then his body would be the balm to soothe the burn reality left you with. You felt so much for Jeno Lee, but you knew you deserved better than this, that you were more than a placeholder for the person who would get the opportunity of a lifetime having him wholly, and he deserved better than unknowingly taking part in your desire-fueled fantasies of domesticity.

Sweet Christ, look at you. There must be something wrong with your brain if the synapse of neurons made you sound like some no-name poet from the Romantic Period. Or maybe you were ovulating, but that was neither here nor there.

The silence made you want to crawl out of your skin. You’ve never known a silence so uncomfortable and that was saying something when Mom raised hell the morning after she had opened the door to your childhood bedroom and found you with a boy. She was eerily silent after Dad had told you a less than flowery rendition of ‘The Birds and The Bees’, and from then on, you’ve learned to never piss off Mom—or ask Dad to explain in that clinical way of his.

Things should have returned to their normal state now that casual sex was off the table; how they should have been if you weren’t the least bit attracted to your roommate, or if you knew better than to let lust cloud your better judgement. With how life has been treating you lately, it won’t ever be that simple. Not when lines were crossed over and over again.

“We’re okay, right?” You had asked Jeno one day. Just for the hell of it. The answer was pretty fucking obvious when he sat at the farthest end of the couch, putting as much distance as he could.

It took a moment or two for your ex-fuck-buddy to answer in that gruff way of his when the last thing he wanted to do in this moment was make small-talk with the girl that cramped his style which, okay. Fair enough. You wouldn’t want to talk to yourself either.

“Yeah,” he said, looking straight ahead and his face drawn into a careful mask of neutral. “why wouldn’t we be?”

Because you won’t look at me. You don’t want to be near me, like I carry the fucking plague, or you pretend that I’m not there even though I caught you glancing at me loads of times. Show me something else besides indifference. Because it’s like I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what it is. You won’t tell me. I don’t think you ever will, and it’s killing me. That I can’t even make things right.

There was a lot you wanted to say. You wanted to argue, never mind if all he had for you was eyes full of disdain as his voice, normally even and soft-spoken, rose and rose until it became a screaming match. At least then Jeno wouldn’t shut you out, if it meant trading peace for barbed conversations that would be uncomfortable at best because you’ve never experienced a silence so cold, and made apparent by the space between you.

You wouldn’t expect anything less when you took away Jeno’s blinding smiles. Always filled with warmth, it was proven hard to live without once you’ve gotten a taste, what it was like on the receiving end of his affections he had so easily given. Though you knew the sun would, at some point, take its blinding light somewhere else.

Shit pretty much hit the fan after that, and you’ve accepted that the not-so-but-still silent treatment was well deserved. Didn’t mean you had to like it because this was getting ridiculous.

It was like the world was out to get you for your unwarranted fuck-up. You thought Annual Armageddon was bad? Try another wave of that—double the amount of patients to the point you were forced to spend several nights camping in one of the designated on-call rooms.

Your peers had taken notice of your tank in mood, which wasn’t exactly a problem. Your work performance was still exceptional and up to the hospital’s standards, However, interns, residents, and attendings couldn’t really say the same. Not when they’ve taken the brunt of your less than stellar attitude. The interns especially, which you thought was necessary. If you want competent people running a hospital, instilling the fear of God in them would do the trick.

However, that did not go without consequences.

Karmic retribution had been quick to get your ass handed to you in the form of a grumpy geriatric who had lashed out after you told him he couldn’t be discharged just yet. He was still recovering from a hip replacement and wouldn’t be able to leave for a week at least; or if he made quick progress with physical therapy. The old man ripped you a new one even with the absence of your abrasiveness.

Needless to say, after quietly excusing yourself, you hid in the floor’s storage unit and cried.

As if that wasn’t enough, you almost cost Chenle his budding trauma surgeon career after an error that almost had his patient coding. He reassured you it was fine, that you were okay after the apologies spilled from your lips once the clock stopped, but you knew he was taking this harder than you were, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Understandable. It was Chenle’s first ever solo surgery with Dr. Qian’s supervision and you almost fucked it up for him.

You had also hid and cried, a common theme these days.

All because you were still preoccupied with the awkward situation at home (if you can still call the apartment that), still hurt that you were back to square one with your roommate who refused to step foot into the same room as you.

“You were right,” you ground out as you untied the surgical mask. There were specs of blood on your O.R issued scrubs and a damp and warm spot somewhere along the hem of your pants that you refused to acknowledge until you were in the showers.

It had been one rough case after another; this particular one with Sungchan had the team searching for the source of the bleeding longer than it usually took. It left you tired and in dire need of a scalding shower. You wanted to go home and forget the antiseptic smell of the O.R with the hint of iron that had squirted onto anyone that had stood close to the sterile field.

“With what?” Sungchan was just a harrowed, looking a little less put together being the one who held the suction as you helped Dr. Jung patch up the rupture.

“You know what.” The whole casual sex thing biting me back in the ass? But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of reminding him.

Sungchan blinked, then squinted, tilting his head. “No I don’t, actually.”

The metal bin makes a clang as you roughly shoved inside the single-use gown and gloves. You stood to your full height, looked him dead in the eyes and repeated gravely: “you were right,” and started walking, leaving him there staring at your back, wildly confused.

“With what?!”

This was definitely some form of punishment. It had to be. It’s no coincidence that it started right when Jeno decided to minimize any sort of contact and it wasn’t as if you tried to gain back what you once had before you decided top open your big fat mouth and said ‘hey, maybe we should stop fucking around and act like normal housemates!’. You really did, offering home-cooked meals as an olive branch, placing orders for his favorite snacks on rotation, doing his laundry. Folding them too without being told to—stuff like that. You even venmo’ed him half of what he spent for the couch.

If he had a hand in making the smaller inconveniences of life easier, might as well do the same for him too.

It did something. Sort of melted the icy wall he put up, low enough where clipped conversations were had at least. Still, your roommate had still kept his distance, not to mention his smile wasn’t quite the same. You hadn’t expected him to take it that hard and for a moment, you thought that perhaps there was a chance that he may also—no way. You immediately bat that train of thought away. He probably just missed the idea of having a warm body within his reach.

Which was a funny possibility when you missed him. Just as much, definitely more than just his body which was surprisingly easy to admit. You really never learn to value something once you’ve carelessly let it slip it through your fingers—until it was too late, and fuck do you miss Jeno. Having him close in a way; in the kitchen, dancing around each other as either breakfast, lunch dinner heats away on the stove. Doing the separating of whites, blacks, greys and color for laundry when your schedules align. Recuperating on the couch after a long day, preferably, with your head on Jeno’s lap while he ran nimble fingers through your hair.

You missed the easy companionship solidified by living together and you were so fucking scared that you might lose that too.

It took some time getting used to, walking into a quiet apartment again. No six foot something tall man with puppy eyes’ head popping up from the couch with a smile so warm you wouldn’t know what the cold felt like balls deep into the winter season.

The apartment was warm though, the thermostat set at a desired toasty temperature matching the warm glow of the accent lights as you padded deeper into the clean space. Not a thing was out of place. Cleaner, definitely, judging by the neatly arranged cushions on the couch and a throw blanket you had picked out with him tastefully draped over the arm rest. Jeno’s doing, no doubt.

Walking into the kitchen got your stomach rumbling, reminding you of how hungry you were. The last thing you ate was a haphazardly put together turkey sandwich you had made in a rush that morning, along with your coveted coffee in a thermos, which—you’ve just realized—had never stopped coming. Each and every morning on days where you had work, they waited to be taken along without fail. Meaning there was still a chance of whatever there was left to pick up from this mess you’ve made.

But coffee, though tempting, wasn’t what you needed right now, nor did you think it would stop your tummy’s incessant growling. Exhausted as you were, you were determined to whip up something quick yet filling. Like a vegetable omelet, or something, with a few slices of sour bread toast. There was still a tub of kimchi Mark’s mom had asked (well, demanded) him to give you. Yeah, your mouth was already watering at the thought of a hot, home cooked meal.

Your backpack falls heavily onto one of the dining chairs, an aran-knit cardigan you wore under your padded coat slung over behind it. You reached for the sky to stretch. Damn, you’d kill for another hot shower, but food first, then you could wash away the weight from today and hopefully knock right out into a dreamless sleep.

Halfway towards the refrigerator was where you noticed it, one singular thing off about the otherwise spotless kitchen: the lone saucepan sitting on top of one of the burners. It’s the one you used when you had three or more people coming over for dinner. You were no stranger finding Jeno playing chef in the kitchen considering he had more time on his hands where his work had a more sporadically built schedule. A heartwarming end to your day, truly, coming home to—well, a home. One you have steadily built with him.

There was soft tofu stew in the covered saucepan, the metal still warm to the touch. As if Jeno just knew the exact minute you would be home to kill the fire and give it enough time to cool down a little so you could eat without burning your mouth. You turned ravenous on days like this and he knew. Jeno knew—knows you like the back of his hand at this point. Even when he wasn’t obligated to know the little details of your person.

As you sat right beside your work bag, you took a tiny sip of the red broth. It’s good as expected, you’ve never dared to expect anything less when it came to Jeno’s competence in the kitchen. The blunt edge of your spoon cuts the tofu seamlessly in half, a pleasant surprise. Jeno preferred tofu that was firmer, yet he made sure to incorporate your preferences.

It was two bites in when the preceding sting of your eyes and nose came. Tears soon blurred your vision, and then you were full on crying into your hearty serving of soft tofu stew. Why wouldn’t you? When the man who acted like he wanted nothing to do with you still went out of his way to look after you, keep you in his thoughts when he should have left you alone.

You hurt him after all, but Jeno had always been a conscientious bastard, always putting you first—above everyone else. No matter if you were the world’s biggest asshole to him.

It’s odd; being back in your room after another sobbing session in your bathroom (because god forbid a woman let out all those pent up emotions). There was no overzealous puppy in human form to greet you, or hover around while you were left to your own devices before you were eventually pulled into bed, a heavy, warm weight pressing you into the sheets.

Your bed felt bigger than it actually was. Emptier despite the handful of pillows you had. The thermostat remained untouched, yet you felt colder without anyone taking the extra space beside you and you had already switched to a thicker duvet for the season. Maybe you were going crazy for real this time.

And because you were nothing but consistent, tears had once again lined your eyes, until you had drifted off to sleep with a deep ache settling itself between your ribs. Wishing that upon waking up, you’d be in the past—before you had fucked it all up just for the sake of self-preservation.

In retrospect, maybe that had been selfish on your part: shutting something down before it even started because you were afraid of getting your heart torn right out of your chest and stomped on right in front of you. If things had gone your way, you wouldn’t have woken up still in the present day feeling like absolute shit, wouldn't have called in sick to your unit manager and charge nurse, and wouldn't have then begged for Mark’s girlfriend (now Mark himself. Who had his day off) to come over and talk you through your dilemma.

Fucking hell. Feelings were hard.

You were a shell of a woman after saying your piece. “He won’t even talk to me—won’t even tell me what I did wrong,” you said quietly. “I guess I thought I was doing the right thing. Ending things before it gets too messy. I mean, I don’t want to hold him back, y’know? Finding the right girl for him ‘cause she sure ain’t me.”

“Well, you did make the decision for him without even sitting him down to talk about—about what again?”

“Were you even listening?” you whined, “I got into an F-W-B arrangement with him even if I knew the risks and I developed feelings for him anyway.” You lay your cheek on the cold surface of the island counter to look even more pitiful in Mark’s eyes, who seemed rather pensive. “Seriously, where the fuck did you find Jeno? And why am I kinda crazy about him.” ‘Kinda’ was definitely underselling it, but it was funny to you anyway, chuckling to yourself.

Mark? Not so much. It did, however, snap him out of whatever subdued spell he was in. “Wait, huh?”

“What?” You sat up straight yourself, perplexed by the odd reaction. “What do you mean by that ‘huh’?”

“Waitwaitwait—lemme run by that again—” He sounded a little frazzled. “You were fucking casually on the side, then you fell in love—”

Your cheeks warmed. “Developed feelings—”

Mark gave you a look. “Fell in love with him—same fuckin’ thing, man—and you feel shitty about it and ended things? Is that right?”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah.”

The both of you ended in a staring contest. Until Mark broke the streak when he pressed his lips together and got that look you hated so much on his face.

You groaned. “Mark.”

“What?” he said, copying your whiny tone.

“I don’t like that look.” You squinted at him as he pointed to himself in ‘who? Me?’ gesture, widening his eyes for that full faux innocent look. “Like you know something I’m supposed to know too, but you aren’t telling me because you secretly get off on that momentary superiority complex you get when you know more than I do and will definitely use it against me.”

“Well, yes.” Mark was so smug about it too.

“I graduated with better grades than you, F-Y-I.” You countered, knowing it had nothing to do with anything, but you said it anyway to make yourself feel better under your best friend’s gloating.

The annoyance melted away eventually and you were left slumped against the counter, your chin resting on top of your folded arms as you pouted in silence. You could feel Mark’s beady eyes boring into your side profile, so you were forced to talk.

“What should I do, Mark?”

“You know what I think?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking you.”

Mark reached over to pinch your cheek, laughing softly when you swatted at him. “I think you should do the adult thing and talk to him about it.”

“I’ve tried,” you mumbled. He shot you a blank look, aware of your tendency to avoid anything that involves talking. You know, by running away, but that was the old you and dealing with a grudge-filed Jeno wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. “I’ve tried!” you repeated, indignant this time. “but Jeno’s… slippery.”

A shit-eating grin slipped onto his face. The exact one a thirteen-year-old would get making unprompted dick jokes. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to talk to someone who’s just as good as running away?”

“By force?” He answered rather quickly, like it was obvious. “You’ve always been good at cornering people.”

As if it could be that easy. Your roommate could be just as stubborn when he wanted to be. Like a fucking boulder that was on all fronts impossible to move by sheer willpower alone. Though you still let the thought marinate for exactly fifteen minutes since Mark had left you with a mysterious smile you had half the mind swipe away with a punch before slamming the door in his face: fifteen minutes when you heard a muffled yell come from Jeno’s room.

Well, that’s a sign if you’ve ever heard one. You just hoped he wasn’t violently jerking off. That yell sounded guttural, barging into his room while getting intimate with one (or both) of his hands did not sound like a good start to as possible heart to heart. Depends on Jeno, really. Or you, if you did manage to corner him, though something told you that you might. If you chose your words correctly,

Jeno hadn’t been whacking it, thankfully. The loud sounds he had been making during your ten seconds walk to his bedroom were out of frustration directed at the small pool of guys he was playing League with. You immediately recognized the frazzled yells of Donghyuck. Jaemin’s hyena-like cackles whenever he witnessed someone dying. You hear Chenle antagonizing Donghyuck for sport and a surprising addition to the circus was Jisung trying to corral everyone into actually working together. It didn’t work. You swore it just got louder if that was even possible.

You took a moment to lean against the door frame to watch the chaos on Jeno’s end. You get an eyeful of him. Like really took him in his natural state because it genuinely felt like you haven’t seen him and his face in a hot minute. The tight black tank-top, loose sweatpants, mussed up hair—you had to bite your tongue from making any pathetic noise.

“You voice chat with them on speaker?”

Evidently, Jeno had not expected for you to barge in, startling him so bad at the sound of your voice that he bumped his knee quite hard against the table with a loud exclamation of ‘fuck!’. The gaming chair squeaked when he spun around to scowl at you. Whether it was from scaring the living shit out of him, disturbing his time with the boys, or seeing you, the cause of his biggest disappointment, you probably deserved it either way.

“Why? Are you gonna complain how loud I am again?” Oh wow. He really did not like you right now. That wasn’t going to stop you though. You were going to have that talk whether your roommate liked it or not. And possible broken hearts be damned.

“No, I just—can we talk?”

Jeno arched an eyebrow, looking from his monitor then to you. “I’m busy. If that wasn’t obvious.”

My God, is he being difficult, you thought, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I doubt playing LoL with the morons is more important than what I have to talk to you about,” you said dryly.

“Did you just call us ‘morons’?” Chenle.

“Oh, and one of them’s deaf too.”

“Do we have to..?” Jeno has this sort of pained look on his face and could not quite meet your narrowed gaze.

“Wait—holy shit. Are you guys fighting?” Came the crackle of Jaemin’s grating voice, sounding way too happy.

“Mommy and Daddy are fighting,” Chenle sang in a stupid tune which immediately got a snippy ‘go fuck yourself, Chenle’ from Daddy.

“Is this why Jeno’s been a sulky shit for the past few weeks?” Donghyuck asked through his obnoxious giggling. “What’d you do, Samoyed?”

“You should be asking her that.” The samoyed in question grumbled, swiveling towards his monitor as the guys (minus Jisung) whooped and hollered at his snipe. “Can we continue? Please?” His tone turned desperate at the last word. If it were any other day, you would have taken pity, but it was clear he was using fucking League of Legends as an escape and you were too keyed up to let Jeno have this one.

“Oh no you don’t, motherfucker.”

Jeno barely had his hand hovered over the curved surface of his mouse when he was violently spun around with all the strength you had. The hollering increased tenfold, a chorus of men asking what the fuck was going on adding fuel to the fire pushing your roommate by the chair’s arms until it hits the edge of his desk hard enough that it rattled.

The incredulous twist to Jeno’s face went ignored along with the excited yells of grown ass men begging to be part of this ‘lovers spat’ as you clambered onto your roommate’s lap. The chair creaked when you leaned forward, reaching behind Jeno for the keyboard and paid no mind to his muffled exclaim of surprise. So what if your breasts were right in his face? He was well acquainted with them. He had no room to act like a blushing virgin.

“What—what are you doing?”

“Are we getting a show?” Donghyuck asked, excited, followed by the rest of them pressing to get exactly that.

“Hell no.” Your fingers pressed down on a combination of keys. “I’m turning this thing off. Goodbye.”

The whirring cooling fans of Jeno’s coveted CPU died along with your friends’ protests of sticking around longer and promises of keeping quiet after you had forced closed all applications after a few mouse clicks and shut down the computer. Once you were sure everything was off, you sat up straight and forced him to look at you with your fingers grasping his chin.

“We should talk.”

“I figured.” Jeno’s shoulders slumped with a resigned sigh, though he didn’t make any move to pull away from your touch. “Don’t you want to sit on the bed? Y’know, keep a normal distance between us?”

“Jeno, nothing about us is normal. Hasn’t been since that first kiss.”

He hummed, those brown pools of his glazing over as his cheeks pinked at the memory. “That’s fair. You sure you’re comfortable like that?”

“Just a precaution.” You shrugged. “I don’t want you running off. Which reminds me—” You let go of his chin in favor of leaning back and folding your arms above your chest. “What the fuck was that about? Avoiding me? I thought we were okay?”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say when Jeno’s face hardened and wrenched his chin from your grasp.

“Okay?” His disbelief has your eyebrows rising. “It was that easy for you, huh?” You were surprised he hasn’t thrown you off his lap yet. Jeno seemed to contemplate the idea as a series of emotions passed over his face. In the end, he settled on leaning back with a creak, mirroring your crossed arms and looking everything but pleased. “No. We’re not okay. Why the fuck did you think I’d be okay after you told me you wanted nothing to do with me?”

“Technically, that’s not what I said—“

“I know what you said. I was there.” That was a joke. A very dry one at that and if this were any other situation, you would have laughed. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less. We were doing good. We were happy and I thought you might’ve—” He shook his head.“I just don’t get why you called it quits.” Well, at least the urge to laugh was gone. You felt like absolute garbage. Jeno looked so tired, staring resolutely at the print of your shirt.

“Believe me when I say I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said gently, reaching out to brush your fingers against Jeno’s that were nestled in the crook of his elbow. “I thought I was doing the right thing—and you were right, we were happy. It was the happiest I’ve ever been and… and—I’m going to sound so stupid—but I got scared. Everything was good, yeah, too good. Perfect even, and that scared me.” When you heard nothing from Jeno, you took that as a prompt for you to continue, keeping your gaze set on his fingers you fiddled with.

“This was supposed to be just sex, y’know? But the longer it went on, the more I started to want more than that and it’s honestly driving me crazy,” you say, laughing softly to yourself. “You just had to be kind. You just had to be the sweetest fucking person I know and I guess I’m not as immune as I thought I would be when it comes to you.” You swallowed thickly. “And I can’t stand the fact that all I’m ever gonna be is your roommate you sleep with.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. Laying yourself bare had never been easy. The vulnerability that came with admitting you’ve grown to care for Jeno outside the limits friendship entailed. Granted you didn’t explicitly pour your heart out, but your roommate was smarter than people would give him credit for so chances are, Jeno understood you perfectly. From the tremble in your voice, to the raw desperation in your words… you just hoped that whatever happens, you won’t lose his friendship.

Jeno stayed mum. You didn’t think he was breathing either and you were steadily growing worried because said anything for the past minute. Was he gearing to shove you off his lap like you had assumed? Get you comfortable first and then catch you by surprise? Alarmed by the likelihood of that happening, you steeled yourself as you lifted your head up.

And you were met with the most peculiar sight: Jeno red in the face.

“Oh my God,” he said, mortified and caught his face with both hands. The tips of his ears were tinged in a bright red too.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled with a heavy heart. Of course he didn’t feel the same. “It’s literally my own fault that I caught feelings—”

“No no. Don't ever be sorry for that.” He made a noise muffled by both of his hands, dragging them down his face. Jeno was less red now, though he was still flushed, not knowing what to do with his hands until they settled awkwardly folded on his abdomen. “It’s just—this is really embarrassing.”

“We can pretend this never happened—” He cuts you off, saying your name.

“This is embarrassing because I thought you broke up with me.”

What?

“I broke up with you,” you clarified, all racing emotions coming to a screeching halt as you stared blankly into the distance.

The short laugh Jeno lets out was almost hysterical. “Yeah. I thought we were dating.”

“Dating? Since when?”

Jeno tilted his head. “The first and last time we had sex in my car. Because someone was scared of getting caught.”

“Well, I’m not exactly an exhibitionist, damn.” Now it was your turn for your face to flame up. That’s what he meant? “And you said you wanted to be ‘exclusive’! Not that you wanted me as your girlfriend!”

Jeno blinked in that cute way of his. “Is that not what being exclusive means?”

“Jeno, we hooked up in your car when you asked me that. At my job of all places. Who in their right mind would think you wanted to be my boyfriend? I literally thought you meant you wanted to fuck just me and no other girl. No-strings attached—that type of shit.”

“Well, no,” Obviously. His eyes seemed to say. “Wait. Was that why you kept making jokes of me still sleeping around?”

You winced with a reluctant nod. “uh—you can’t blame me for assuming since you look…” you made a vague gesture towards his face. “Like that.”

“You can say I’m hot," Jeno teased, smiling wryly. "It’s okay. I won’t get a big head or anything…”

“Too late, Megamind.” You scowled, then pursed your lips in contemplation. “Wait—holy shit… so that’s what Mark meant.”

Jeno blinked. “Meant what?”

“He said he gave us his blessing when we were at their housewarming party.” The knowing looks, the gentle pride gleaming from his eyes when you caught him staring at you and Jeno standing side-by-side at the party. “Oh my God. Did everyone else think that?” The girls losing their minds when you got up to make your way towards Jeno… Jaemin’s ever-present teasing dialed up to eleven once Jeno had let it slip through their phone call. “Why didn’t you say anything? Didn’t you find it weird that I wasn’t, like, referring to you as my boyfriend?”

Jeno’s lips parted into a darling ‘o’, then formed into a sheepish smile when you raised an eyebrow. “I just thought you were shy—that you wanted to keep our relationship private until you were ready to hard launch me on Instagram, or something like that.”

You wanted to kick yourself. “You’re literally too nice for your own good, what the fuck.” Jeno shrugged and you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. You were dating this man without even knowing, apparently and here you were, dealing with your feelings like an angsty teenager. This is the most ridiculous case of miscommunication you’ve dealt with so far. “And the things you’ve been doing for me… the morning coffees, the sometimes lunches you’d leave with Jimin. Taking and picking me up to and from work when you could. The couch… Everything, basically… that wasn’t just you being nice?”

“It was me trying to make up for being the world’s shittiest roommate at first, but yes, that’s also me being your boyfriend, I’m sure,” he confirmed with a solemn nod, eyes twinkling as he finally relaxed in his chair. “Should I bring you a flower every time I do? Y’know, as a reminder, that yes. I’m doing this as your boyfriend.”

“As your boyfriend,” you repeated, smiling bashfully at his use of present-tense. “Are you done giving me the silent treatment, then? Because that sucked. Every time I looked at the couch you bought for us, I got this urge to cry.”

“I’m venmo-ing your money back, by the way.” Jeno was sure of himself now, his big hands feeling at him with their hold on your hips. “Are you going to admit you like me enough to consider me as your boyfriend?”

“I like you more than I should, actually,” you admitted and that was said without any conflicting feelings this time. Proudly too, in fact and the smile on your roommate-turned-fuck-buddy-turned-boyfriend was so worth it. “You’re really hard to resist.”

“I can say the same for you.” Your hips got a firm squeeze from him, making you shiver in delight. You really missed this—missed him and the giddy rush you would get whenever he said something just as sweet. “One more embarrassing thing.”

“Yeah?” You leaned forward, hands trailing tracing up his chest, the skin left exposed by his skin-fit tank top until he let out a hum, smiling coyly when your nails scratched languid lines at his nape. “Tell me anyway.”

“I fell in love the moment I saw you.”

You snorted. “Right. And that’s coming from someone who had many girls over and kept me up.”

“In my defense, I was convinced you were unreachable.”

“You could’ve just said I’m a bitch and called it a day.”

“No—no. It’s not about that, and you had the right to be. What I’m saying is that Mark was kind of an overseller.” Oh yeah. You sure had your own experiences with that. “Like, he made it sound like you were this girl who would never give me the time of the day, y’know? And before I took a leap and—and kissed you that day, I got too in my head that I won’t have a chance—I give you full permission to call me an idiot—and here we are.”

“So you weren’t fucking other girls, then. When we were sleeping together.”

“Nah, I was too busy thinking you were my girlfriend. I’m a slut, not a cheater.”

“Quote of the year,” you teased, smirking at his embarrassment. “Then that's old news. I don’t give a fuck, but really?” Jeno looked very pleased with himself, precious blush and all from admitting that he had been shooting heart eyes in your direction since the very early stages of your lives when you barely had taken root in each other’s. “Even when I was the biggest bitch of the east?”

“Especially when you were a bitch.” He emphasized his point by sliding one of his hands to the small of your back and pushing you close as the limited space his chair would allow you. “I really wasn’t lying when I said you’re cute when you’re angry. Really turns me on.”

“I think you just like me bossing you around, don’t you?” The slow blink you were rewarded with when giving his hair an experimental tug said it all. It pulled out a soft sound of amusement from you, pressing your foreheads together as your palms curved over his cheeks. “Your taste in women is horrendous, Jeno Lee.”

That made him smile, leaning into your touch. “I think you’re perfect, actually.” The warm puffs of his breath ghosting against your parted lips made them tingle and Jeno closed the distance with a kiss so sweet, so full of longing that you could honestly cry.

Was it possible to go a little stir crazy from not getting to kiss the man for weeks? Because you honestly felt like it, with Jeno being the sole source for your fix. You missed this. You missed him, having Jeno this close. You saw no point in rushing this as you pressed deeper, running your fingers through his soft hair just as your boyfriend (boyfriend!) crowds you further into him by wrapping one secure arm around your waist. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, leaving you to melt into his touch.

“On the contrary,” you took a big gulp of air just as Jeno took to pressing as many kisses as he could down your neck. “I’m kind of a mess,” you said, granting him a rueful smile when he withdrew with his eyebrows knitted together. “And a lot to deal with. Are you sure you want this?”

“You hated me at first. The big idiot who didn’t know when enough was enough, and yet you still gave me a chance anyway. Fuck knows why, but hell am I glad you did. The whole Casanova thing would have been a turn off for anybody, but you’re still here.”

“I’ve seen you change overtime. You’ve never been the same guy since then and I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you might want to give this long term thing a shot. I couldn't care less if you ran through every woman in our area.”

“And I couldn't care less if there are days where you’ll be difficult. I’m in love with you—” You’ve never thought your name in the same sentence as ‘love’ would give you this much warmth. “I love you. Good days, bad days—doesn’t mean a thing when I’ll be with you during those days. And it’s all I ever want. So long as you’ll have me.”

And my goodness do you hold so much fondness for him. All those things that he did, all those things that he had said so far… it really made you want to put that much faith in him. He made it so easy when he was this determined and sincere and you really didn’t care if the start of this was all backwards.

“I really, really like you, Jeno Lee,” you whispered as if the moment would be ruined if you said it any louder. Whispered as if Jeno was the only one allowed to hear it. “Please trust me when I say I do. This—this is new to me, so I’m a little overwhelmed—look.” You took his hand and placed it above your beating heart. “There’s probably going to be a bruise there from how hard it's beating.”

“Oh, physical confirmation. I like that.”

You laughed, taking his hand to press the palm of it to your cheek. “It really was torture when I had to temporarily put us on hold. I was so used to you being there and… yeah.”

“Trust me when I say it felt like my world just collapsed when you broke up with me.”

“Eh… does it really count when one of us didn’t know that we were dating?”

“I suppose not.” Jeno reached up to kiss your cheek, your nose and then your lips. “We’re both stupid, I guess.”

“And you're sure you still want this?”

"You're all I've ever wanted."

Jeno pulled you down for another searing kiss full on intention, and you knew just then he’d be here with you. On the good days and the bad, in this apartment that started it all for a long time.

Jeno: hey Jeno: just wanna say thanks

Mark Lee: for what lol

Jeno: for linking me with your best friend Jeno: didn’t think you’d set me up to be her roommate tho Jeno: but that’s killing two birds with one stone ig so thanks anyway Jeno: I owe you my life

Mark Lee: it’s whatever dude Mark Lee: only you would fall in love with the girl who puked on your shoes for your meet-cute 😆

Jeno: listennn Jeno: she said she loved me and cuddled with me all night after i cleaned her up sat her down Jeno: but it didn’t look like she remembered me or that night at all

Mark Lee: dude Mark Lee: she was shitfaced at a club

Jeno: she could have remembered my face :/

Mark Lee: it was dark as hell 😐 Mark Lee: get a grip man Mark Lee: n she tends to not remember anything after THAT many tequila shots Mark Lee: i am curious tho what made her think you guys were just fucking and not dating lmfao Mark Lee: like what did you say 😭😭

Jeno: im blocking you.

END.

a/n: AND WE'RE DONE!!! LET'S ALL LIVE!!!! as always, special thanks to Aria, Aeriel and Moon for letting me scream and cry about how this fic was ruining my life and for lending a hand when it comes to forming ideas! I probably wouldn't have finished this piece of work if it weren't for them cheering me on and I am truly grateful to have them and their support i love you guys 🥹🩷🩷 and I'd also like to thank to wonderful people who had read this fic from start to finish! you deserve a cookie 🍪

TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna @rjreins @pinknjm @kshynj @dorkyji @notevenheretbh1 @everytimeicrymytearsdonteverdry @iscocohere @seulkikiii @wintahh @peachesmilk @rxnexxi @rum-gone-why @bluedbliss @tiramisubox @jinxxdreamz @minkyuncutie @txnml @yawnzshit @suhwife @carelessshootanonymous @sanctify-mp3 @haechansbbg @dreamiestay @ryuvrsie @derywinkle @byungbyungbaek @surrealxox @jenoleeaesthetic @dreamy-carat @weiweific @focusonyeri (much thanks you guys who had expressed interest and asked to be part of the taglist!)

#lee jeno x reader #lee jeno one shot #lee jeno smut #jeno x reader #jeno one shot #jeno smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream one shot #nct dream smut #nics: fics

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disformer · 4 months ago

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ITS BEEN SO LONG!!! Posting what I’ve finished from the Texaid comic I’d been chipping away at in my free time :,)

Atm i’m not sure if id be comfortable finishing this or posting the unfinished pages, and i’ll go into why a bit more under the cut, but for everyone who waited… thank you, you are so patient like the cobra 🥺🫶

Texaid is so beloved and important to me, and i don’t think that’s news to anyone who’s followed me for any length of time. I always come back to them, and even leaving a project like this on hiatus for so long I still felt pretty comfortable leaving this on the burner bc I knew I’d be back.

And with my work sometimes I do have to take fandom hiatus breaks! But I got a slightly confused dm from a friend at one point that said ‘hey man, did you know everyone’s crediting your designs to someone else in the fandom’ and ???? it was true!

And I know how obnoxious it is to see an artist get on their diva shit and claim design elements, but it’s important to know that, at the time, I was one of like three people posting texaid, and the other two were Japanese artists on twitter.

My redesign has my fingerprints all over it; those big circular rotaries on his shoulders? A mistake! I got my references mixed up at one point and just kept rolling with it because it was funny! His pointy teeth and nose and boots and fingers and eyebrows? I’m bad at squares! I was doing everything in my power to avoid drawing squares!

And people have asked if they can use my redesigns in their own au’s in the past, and i’ve always said no (especially in regards to texaid) and that’s because they’re personal to me. My vision of Texaid is something I projected a lot of my own personal romantic past onto, they were my first nsfw art, my first real emotional outlet after getting kicked out of home for being trans and was starving in a flop basement. Vortex’s design was cooked up out of the primordial soup of my brain at a time when I was at my most raw. Texaid doesn’t belong to me, but i redesigned them for a reason, and that was to distinguish the fact I was representing something personal.

So to come back to the fandom and see my boys and the dynamic i drew with the serial numbers filed off, with zero acknowledgement of my influence or even crediting another artist entirely… I feel really bloody hurt. Especially after watching the way this fandom viciously ran off an artist of colour for much less prolific art theft.

It kind of feels like y’all don’t care as long as you like the content. And idk if i want to keep posting in a space like that, where my niche vent art gets repackaged into something more marketable, and I go unacknowledged.

So yeah, might be the last time I post my texaid stuff publicly! If they’re that important to me and I get this upset when theyre cribbed, and if i feel like yall can’t rly be trusted, then Im just gonna keep it in dms with besties. Thanks for hearing me out xoxox

#art #texaid #vortex #first aid #transformers #onslaught #vent #personal #long post #there wasn’t rly room for this but some of yall take my vortex face and then make his humanformer white/light 😭#That feels rly weird!!!!! idk!!!!!#this whole thing has gotten to me so hard i was just like fuuuuuck #Looking up vortex and seeing ‘oh i drew X’s design!’ and it’s my design has been…#Can u even dispute this like i was the texaid outbreak patient zero bc i found an archive of pre-9/11 fanfic and lost my mind HDHDHJDJDJJD #augh whatever. Taking my ball and going home enjoy ur new ball ig

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sai-int · 3 months ago

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thinking about Return to sender simon waking up one morning in a panic bc he doesn’t feel you beside him in bed. but he quickly hears the soft hum of the radio coming from the kitchen and finds you in nothing but his tshirt, making breakfast and he’s got the biggest love drunk dumb look on his face witnessing the whole thing

omg THIS

you and simon have been tucked away on the outskirts of manchester for a while now. long enough for things to settle—soft, worn edges and quiet routines all set in stone already. the kind of domesticity that feels like it belongs to other, more deserving people, but you don’t dare question it. you both made a quiet agreement early on: he wouldn’t tell you what he did when he disappeared at night, and you wouldn’t ask.

as long as whatever it was stayed outside the walls of your home, you could live with it.

he came in late last night. didn’t say a word—just slid in behind you, all warm and strong, one thick arm slung around your waist like he was anchoring himself. he pressed his face into your hair, breathed you in like it was the only thing grounding him.

it’s a little after nine when you wake. simon’s still asleep, sprawled beneath the covers, the sun cutting gold lines across his chest. he’d been having a lot of late nights lately. you let him sleep.

you slip out of bed as carefully as you can, pulling one of his shirts over your head—worn with time and oversized, falling to mid-thigh. one of his rules: no clothes in bed.

you look back once. at his bare chest half-covered by the sheet, the way the wrinkle in his brow only smoothes while he sleeps. then you pad into the kitchen, and turn the radio on low. you start on breakfast—eggs, toast in the pan not the toaster, just how he likes.

you’ve been at it maybe fifteen minutes when you hear it. a low whistle from the archway.

you don’t turn, just smile to yourself.

a few seconds later, his hands are on your hips, lips brushing against the slope of your shoulder.

“thought you’d still be sleeping,”

“can’t, not without you anymore,” he murmurs against your skin, voice raspy with the remnants of deep sleep.

you hum in response, the silence stretching between you, soft as the morning light. he groans and lets his head rest against your shoulder.

“smells good,” his eyes are closed as he nuzzles your neck, arms wrapped fully around you.

“wonder what gave it away?” you chuckle at your sarcasm.

he doesn’t answer right away. just breathes you in again, like you’re something holy.

“what y’makin’, doll?”

“your favorites,” you reply, like it’s obvious. because it is.

he presses some open-mouthed kisses down to your shoulder, then steps back, hands gliding down your arms on the way out. you tilt your head backwards to look up at him.

“such a sweet thing i picked, hmm?” his hand finds your cheek, thumb stroking the plush fat there.

you smile, and he swears it’s like looking heaven straight in the eyes. it’ll never get old. he leans down and kisses you—just a quick, upside-down brush of lips.

“set the table,” you whisper against his lips, “and I'll show you how sweet I can be.”

he laughs under his breath, already reaching for the plates in the cabinet you can never reach.

“yes, ma’am.”

#♱ angel’s writing #𓄧 angel’s asks #˖ . ݁𝜗 { ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇɴᴅᴇʀ } 𝜚. ݁₊#˖ . ݁𝜗 { 𝑰𝑵 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑻 } 𝜚. ݁₊#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost call of duty #simon riley imagine

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what-the-floofin · 3 months ago

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Just for the aesthetics

Babble of thoughts under the cut ;)

It's a ramble, fair warning

I love the concept of an eventual Ghost King Danny, simply because there are so many questions you can ask for the whys of it and then build up endless answers in a cosy lil sandbox. I love the themes of Space and becoming an Ancient that many folks tie into Danny as well. It's just fun! I'm a real sucker for space aesthetics.

The first obvious question is why does the Infinite Realms have a King? Why does it need one?

I like to dabble in the concept that the state of the Infinite Realms just about runs its own sentience. It's so big and so expansive and so vital to everything it touches that it very well behaves as a being in its own right. And the reasons to have a king is actually to let something as far reaching as the Realms have any ability to focus whatsoever.

(Also the Infinite Realms is the place of everything inbetween. I'd refer to the Ghost Zone as being a territory within that space!)

If you embrace the concept of ghost cores, you could expand on this further. The structure of a Realms Being could be a reflection of the Realm itself – if they function by having a core, it's because they are following the design of the Infinite Realms in the first place (meaning: the Infinite Realms has its own core)

Take a core as being the center of a ghost's everything. Its thought, form, emotion, memory, everything that makes them functional. It lets them exist and it focuses all that energy into something comprehensible. A core is a ghost's stability.

Then give the Infinite Realms the concept of a core �� something that provides it a point of focus that lends stability and structure to itself. It lets it tick along without a rampant kind of chaos to its energy that would see realms torn apart as fast as they are made. Having a core to the Infinite Realms provides a coherent consistency. (And thus the ability to reside in it with relative safety)

So here, the title of King could actually be assigning oneself as the Infinite Realms' functioning core. But that's a big ask, taking on something of that much energy and being something like a conduit. Infinitely huge, even. Takes a lot of willpower and strength to maintain without fracturing oneself in the process.

And that could lead us to why ancient artifacts such as the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage exist in the first place. Why would something like that be made, or need to exist at all?

The Crown and Ring are a combo deal – its only together that they expound one's power 'infinitely'. That's a pretty intense thing to make for the hell of it. But if the reason was because a king needs to be able to cope with the demand of their role, to actually stand up to the task long term and provide that existence-maintaining stability for all, then maybe that was worth the risk to create them.

I like the idea that Danny isn't someone who wanted to have the Ring and Crown, ever. Nor the Ghost King title tbh. I also like the idea that he's already an insanely willful and powerful ghost in his own right by the time this entire concept becomes a tangible issue – enough so that when the Realms began to really need a replacement actually after Pariah Dark, and the purpose of the role is actually made clear to him, and that not just anyone can withstand it frankly, Danny did stubbornly uphold the title without the Crown and Ring for a time! An unintentional display to the public of just how insanely beefy he is by ghost standards (of which perhaps he wasn't actually aware of that doing. He took the title bc someone had to and just… got mad amounts of respect about it??? Crazy).

But even he has his limits, and though exceptional, eventually has to cede to accepting the Crown and Ring if only so he doesn't shred himself completely and fuck up a lot of people in the process. Bc that's a yikes on so many accounts.

Obviously, the entire inner workings of the role is not widely known. There's so much room for the ideas to be skewed and mistranslated and understood in very different ways that you get a thousand different interpretations and every one is just slightly wrong. But you kind of want it that way. Don't think too hard about the inner workings of the universes. It's not good for your health.

#danny phantom #ghost king danny #its ART #big ol ramble for y'all in the read more lmao #tippy tappy in my happy lil sandbox playground

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strwberri-milk · 4 months ago

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Hi!! If you haven't done it yet, please do one where mc wakes up to the boys jerking off beside them in the middle of the night because they couldn't wait or they didn't wanna touch her without explicit permission (Xavier can be an exception. Man's freaky like that). Thanks 😘

Also please make them extra needy. Or whatever you want. Go wild 🫶🫰

hihi!! this is a very kind reminder to anybody wanting to send requsts to please limit them to three characters if you want them to be more detailed <3 this is a request where i could see there being more details but honestly i get bogged down and it takes me like, five to eight hours to do it bc my focus is nawt great [sob] also smut under the cut!

Zayne always comes home late and a lot of the time he misses you. He tries to be quiet and honestly, if he's going to jerk off to you he'll do it in the washroom to avoid waking you up. He'd be laying in bed next to you after a long day, trying to go to sleep.

The plush of your body and soft breaths are taunting him far past his restraint. He doesn't want to wake you though so he simply buries his face into your neck, taking a deep breath before getting up. He keeps the lights off and stifles his groans into his hand as his fist works over his cock furiously, cheeks flush as he imagines the sight of you on the bed with your legs spread.

You were woken up by a press of a body behind you disappearing, then your bladder decided to make itself known. You open the door, about to use the toiler when you hear Zayne's ragged breathing. He looks at you, eyes wide in the dark as you realise he's just cum all over his hand. Not one to waste an opportunity like this, you drop to your knees, licking his essence off slightly trembling fingers. You relish the sound of his soft groan as you slide him down your throat, helping alleviate his ache for you.

Xavier is always a little insatiable and you never mind indulging him. He knows he has permission to do whatever he wants with you and he likes to indulge every so often - tonight being one of those times. He pulls your body against his, grinding his hard cock against your ass as he peppers the back of your neck in kisses.

He doesn't know restraint when he's like this, groaning softly as he uses your body for his own pleasure. His eyes are closed as he drags your hips to rub against his hard length. You'd wake up to the sound of his heavy breathing against your ear as he groans your name. The second he feels you've begun to wake up a hand crawls up your chest, grabbing and groping at your chest as he continues to hump against you.

The warmth of his body paired with the faint glow of his fingers on your skin ends up soothing you to some sort of restful sleep. You can feel him pressed insistently between your thighs but you're also too groggy to really do anything about it. You just give him the freedom to do as he pleases, Xavier cumming in his boxers before he flips you over to slide inside of you, nowhere near sated enough with just that.

Rafayel's libido fluctuates and his irregular schedule doesn't do much to help it. He loves watching you sleep but watching you sleep when he's horny is a whole new struggle. He's got an uncanny ability to undress you with his eyes and he does it constantly, especially when you've got your lips slightly parted and you make the sweetest little sounds in your sleep. His mind can't help but pervert it a little, pressing the sweetest kiss to your cheek as his hand travels down south.

He adores you so it's no surprise he can easily cum just by looking at you and thinking about you, biting his lip as he does his best not to disturb your rest. His breathing catches as he spills all over his hand, bracing himself against the sheets as you barely stir, simply just turning over and getting more comfortable.

He gets himself cleaned up and comes back, pulling you against his chest and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, hoping that when you wake up you'll be rested enough for him to indulge in your body. For now he'll just cuddle you up, keeping you warm as he falls asleep with you.

Sylus prefers to do things with you when you're awake because he loves watching your reactions. However, that's not going to stop him from taking care of himself near you, but he likes to draw out the experience. He doesn't really focus on cumming - most just on how it feels to wrap his fist around his hard shaft. He watches every movement you make, enjoying the arousal in the pit of his stomach as he reaches out to hold your hand.

He'll pepper your face in soft kisses as he touches himself, imagining the faces you make when he ruins you and the sounds that slip past your lips whenever you grow desperate for him. His imagination is more than enough - or he thought it was.

Your eyes flutter open, hearing his soft moan of pleasure that immediately sends a jolt of need to your core. His need for you is apparent when he starts to kiss you desperately, hands roaming all over your body as he tells you to just lay back and relax. He's going to take care of you.

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3motionally3xhausted · 9 months ago

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Redesigning the Fentons!!

Hi yes this is for yet another Danny Phantom AU of mine it has nothing to do with the Apprenticeship AUs but unlike that batch I actually wanna turn this AU into a fic eventually once I get through a few other big projects I have *sobs*

Anyway individual files for each character under the cut along with my obligatory rambling about all the choices I made ;)

Jazz! Honestly, when I was a kid, I always thought she was 18 not 16 so it was kind of a shock when I started rewatching the show about a yr ago and heard that. Anyway, she's 17 in this AU but already moved out to college on a scholarship bc living in FentonWorks is kind of hell and she has that Older Sibling Guilt for leaving Danny there. For her clothes, I wanted it to be a mix of tactical and preppy.

Danny! (Fenton) The effects of FentonWorks hell is much more visible on Danny than Jazz because she got out of there as soon as she could. Because of that though, a lot of the chores in the lab got pushed onto Danny, without passing on many safety tips, like replacing the ecto-filtrator, cleaning contaminated tools, organizing ecto-weapons, etc. And because he doesn't know any better when it comes to safety, he has many symptoms of radiation poisoning: visually, this comes through in the discoloration/scarring on his skin (Jazz has some slight scarring on her face and hands as well), the cataract on his left eye, as well as burst blood vessels in that eye. For his clothes, I wanted them to look a bit ragged and worn through ripped seams, tears in the jeans, & duct tape around his shoe.

Danny! (Phantom) I don't actually have a lot to SAY about my choics, but I am really happy with it. There are still a few things. I wanted his hair as Fenton & Phantom to be different but still reminiscent of the simplistic rendering of the original show: Fenton is kind of timid so his hair falls over his face, & Phantom is more active/aggressive so his hair is pushed upward. The only other thing I want to comment on is his skin: it's kind of about how I usually stylize Phantom (and I mentioned this when I redesigned Dani a while back) but a "healthy" Phantom in my style would have more bright cyan skin and an unhealthy Phantom has a more dull/zombie green. And lastly, as a ghost, the radiation poisoning kind of cleans up into more neat scarring rather than the muddy/bleeding look as Fenton.

Maddie! Now, I'm gonna be honest, real vulnerable here,... I hate Maddie's canon haircut. It's ugly, I'm not sorry. But I can modify it, so it's fine: now it's curlier, a bit darker, and has a few grey streaks bc she's a genius and constantly pulling long working hours. And, it didn't come across as much as I wanted, but she's got some biceps, strong lady. Now, I'm not really sure why, but I wanted to shift the color of her and Jack's jumpsuit, making hers much more desaturated.

Jack! Big guy. I don't have many thoughts about him either, but I did give him glasses and some stubble for a little bit more dad energy (?) I mainly changed the color of his jumpsuit bc Orange is an extremely hard color for me to render for some reason, so now it's the classic Hazard Yellow. Finally, the most notable difference is the coat I put on him for a bit more scientist energy but my main reasoning for it is the potential visual of him being an absolute tank jumping from overhead with the ghost gauntlets and his coat flapping behind him. Also, I generally like the idea of him presenting himself as a big, dumb teddy-bear, always smiling, but completely unhinged below that facade: dropping the smile or not while towering over you in shadow. Wild imagery.

FINAL THOUGHTS: Do not count on any actual steps towards creating this fic in the near future, it's just on my mind right now, but I NEED to finish my other projects first 🙏🙏🙏 That said, I will (eventually) get around to a handful more character redesigns for this AU including: Vlad, Sam, Tucker, Valerie, Paulina, and maybe Lancer & Dash

#danny phantom #fanart #my art #33xhausted art #character redesign #Radiation!AU #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #danny fenton #bad parenting

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fromdove · 2 months ago

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MY JASON TODD PHYSICAL APPEARANCE HEADCANONS !

welcome to my ted talk. go ahead and sit your semi-literate goblin ass down and take notes, because i am about to paint you a portrait of this man so vivid you’ll think i dipped my brush in the lazarus pit itself.

HETEROCHROMIA. one blue eye & one green eye. im a very big and firm believer on this. this is my religion. this is my prayer. jason todd's eyes are my gospel, and I am the devoted disciple on my knees at the altar. he's always had them, before the lazarus pit & AFTER the lazarus pit. (although after the lazarus pit id like to point out that his eyes got a bit brighter especially the green!). i saw fanart once of this—just one image—and it was enough to send me into a trance. my jaw unhinged like a snake

LARGE SHARP ALMOND EYES. eyes sharp enough to cut!! real real real. sharp enough to gut someone in an alley. you get looked at by him and feel like you need to apologize for crimes you haven’t committed yet. yup that. they soften when he looks at you tho bc ur his amazing angel faced baby.

HIS GODDAMN JAWLINE. the kind you see on statues. could cut diamonds. so perfect. brutal. Pythagoras would rise from the grave with a boner, calculator in hand, shaking and crying overwhelmed by the sheer geometry of him. drooling. weeping & erect.

6'4!!!!!!!!!! MY MAN IS TALL. A GIANT. GARGANTUAN. and that’s the final word. idgaf. don’t come in here with that “canon says he’s 6’0” nonsense. fuck canon. canon is a lie built by cowards. they've screwed up my babies too many times to count. my Jason ducks under door frames and casts shadows over people trying to insult him. he intimidates every man in a ten-mile radius just by standing up.

BULKY. (not crazy bulky like those steroid obsessed body builder protein-powder-in-the-veins monstrous freaks but still jacked af. (like in this picture: click here and here) . he’s jacked like a Greek statue, like a renaissance painting of a war god.

white streak. white streak 24/7 for the rest of infinity. all night. every universe. every reboot. i don’t care. Non-negotiable. he got it from the one and only pit. he tried to cut it, dye it, tried everything to get rid of it at first but it just kept growing back and the dye would never work on it somehow ??/ so he just gave up lmao

OKOK his nose. my fave nose to picture jason with is an sightly upturned nose with a bump in the middle. do you guys know what kind of nose im yappin about? here is a visual: click here

ive seen fanart with jason with the j scar and i just think it fits his character and backstory. yes it was from that makeup-smeared tragedy of a circus reject. but fuck him!! this is about jason peter todd. my baby is still hot af anyways so.

SHARP CANINES. BITE ME WITH THEM. LORDDD MOTHERR GODDD. Carnivore-coded. was he born with them? is it a lazarus thing? either way theyre sharp little bastards. He tries to be careful, he reallyyy does but sometimes, mid-kiss, they slip. he nips you. he pulls back, eyes wide, guilt-ridden. you’re breathless. he spews like a million apologizes coz the last thing he wants to do it hurt u. but u dont care bc it feels so goddamn good... STOP ME)

Full lips that look like they’re always swollen from a brawl or a kiss.. with a slight cupids bow. god. yes. the corners/edges of his mouth are sharp (does that make sense?? help). he also has scars extending from the corners that look like smiles, they only stretch a few centimeters out. not that long at all. joker’s parting gift, poetic as it is cruel. OH AND he has the Toji scar !!! this one right here: click here

dark brown hair thats wavy & fluffy heeheheh (2c textured.) not straight, not curly, that luscious in-between mess that stays tousled and tragic and stupidly sexy no matter what. fluffy. thick. ruffles in the wind like he's some sad, angry prince. you run your hands through it and he pretends he doesn’t melt. he is NAWT a victim of the male pattern baldness epidemic. bye no no no no he doesnt bald thanks to the lazarus pit.

THICK DARK & FULL STRAIGHT BROWSSS. IDCCC THIS MAN HAS THICK BROWS. These brows have seen things. They furrow when he’s pissed (which is like always lmao), They’re intimidating, god-tier brows kinda brows. oh oh and theyre also kind of upturned !

his fingers. jesusususususus. Veiny. Long-fingered. Calloused. Worn. His knuckles are always scabbed (from fights). His nails are short, His fingers could snap a neck, but you just want them on your throat for different reasons. And the rings? Thick, heavy, sharp. Some brass. Some iron. they double as weapons. like i just know if someone pisses him off the rings are going to hurt like straight up fucking hell.

this man has long lashes. like long enough to collect dew. Thick enough to cast shadows. curled at the tips. his lashes are criminal. like wtf. theyre the kind that make mascara cry. they frame his eyes and face perfectly

scars all over. he has the autopsy scar on his chest, he has scars on his back too. his face, arms, legs, everywhere. bullet grazes, knife cuts etc..his entire body is a war journal basically

he has eye bags and dark circles which is a given considering what he does and his lack of sleep. They're not “oh, I pulled an all-nighter” eye bags, theyre bruised purpulish blue with a bit of red. u can seen some veins. his eye bags r a little puffy. this paired with his sharp eyes make him look very very intimidating to others but not to u, bc wdym intimidating? he's my angel?? he would never hurt a fly?? tf?

a few extra's!!:

A slight scar on his eyebrow from a fall off a fire escape in crime alley when he was 12. Never stitched it (despite the constant nagging from bruce & alfred). he said the blood made him look cool. (my angel baby i love him)

a voice that’s deeper than you expect. gravelly. like he chewed cigarettes for breakfast and chased them with glass. but it dips soft when he says your name. unbearably soft. traitorously tender.

faint cigarette burn on the inside of his left forearm. from back when he thought pain might be the only thing that made him real. said it was an accident. it wasn’t.

A barely-there tremor in his right hand. Old injury. Nerve damage.

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cigarettesuga · 3 days ago

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ don't get it twisted ୨ৎ ( myg. )

✸⠀⠀PREMISE ⠀⠀፧⠀⠀ after their late-night studio hookup, yoongi wakes up still feeling her — under his skin, in his mouth, everywhere. she’s not his, not officially, but she’s everywhere. and when he sees her again at work, dodging his eyes and pretending nothing happened, he starts to realize just how badly he wants more than just her body. when she shows up with food, teasing smiles, and that fucking scent that doesn’t belong to him… it spirals. there’s jealousy, confessions whispered into lips, and a whole lot of filthy, possessive sex that tastes suspiciously like love.

featuring⠀idol!yoongi x producer!f!reader⠀・ themes⠀friends with benefits turned into messy feelings ending in emotional smut fest, heavy tention, angst, smut, fluff ・ wc⠀11.4k⠀・ lu's note⠀part two is finally here and it’s filthy and tender all at the same time. brace yourself, bc this is basically porn with a little bit of plot at the beginning. it took me forever to decide whether to just write this as a quick follow-up or stretch it into two more parts, but honestly? i think i love the way it turned out like this. likes, comments or anything to let me know you’re enjoying the content i make are so very appreciated. so pls pls pls let me know how you liked this follow-up to “too good at pretending.” your support means the world⠀・ navi

warnings⠀・explicit sexual content, oral sex (f + m receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (she's on the pill but still risky behavior), cum play / cum on skin (thighs), cum eating kink, facial / swallowing kink (reader shows him before swallowing), dirty talk, vocal yoongi, praising + slight degradation, public-ish sex (after-hours at hybe), overstimulation, grinding, soft edging, eye contact kink, intense intimacy, possessiveness, jealousy, soft dom!yoongi energy, subtle sub!reader moments (begging, obedience, oral fixation, emotional conflict in the form of "is this still casual?" (spoiler: is not), confessions masked as dirty talk, mutual longing, soft aftercare, gentle teasing, fwb arrangement falling apart in the most delicious way

he wakes up with the taste of her still on his tongue.

the early morning light cuts sharp through the blinds in his apartment, painting pale, angular lines across the rumpled sheets tangled around his legs. it’s quiet — too quiet — the kind of silence that feels full instead of empty, like it’s carrying all the things left unsaid from the night before. yoongi blinks against the brightness, one arm slung over his forehead, already aware that sleep’s long gone.

she’s not in his bed. she never was.

he’s alone, and it’s fine. it’s normal. this is how it works.

but his brain is still playing it all back like a track stuck on loop — the way she whimpered into that blanket, how her hands trembled against his chest, how her voice cracked when she said his name like it meant something. the lace still bunched around her thighs. her hoodie barely covering the flushed skin underneath. the mess she made of him — in more ways than one.

he shifts onto his side with a quiet exhale, staring at nothing, jaw ticking slightly. she’s not yours, he reminds himself. not really. never was. but last night?

last night, she felt like it.

it wasn’t supposed to be like that. not with her half-sprawled over the couch, face pressed to the cushions, sweat cooling against her spine while he held her like something he’d miss in the morning. not with the way her voice got all soft and half-sweet when she mumbled “that’s gonna be hard to top,” and he pretended to roll his eyes even though his chest felt too tight.

yoongi sighs and drags a hand over his face. his phone’s somewhere on the floor, probably dead, and he knows he should get up. shower. check in with the team. respond to emails. exist. but all he can think about is her — how calm she looked when he zipped up his hoodie over her bare skin, how easily she smiled like none of it complicated things.

he gets up eventually. shuffles to the kitchen, makes coffee he doesn’t really want. leans against the counter in just his sweats and scratches at the back of his neck like it’ll do something about the heaviness sitting between his ribs.

it wasn’t just the sex. it never is with her. it’s the way she moves, the quiet moments in between, the way she’s the only person who can pull a fucking laugh out of him when his head’s a mess. she’s loud and chaotic and takes up so much space — and still, he always wants more of her. even when it drives him insane.

he doesn’t know what he expected. that she’d call? text? pretend they didn’t spend half the night wrapped around each other trying to pretend it wasn’t emotional?

maybe.

instead, there’s nothing.

and that’s fine. it’s how they operate. no strings. no promises.

except now she’s everywhere in his head — her voice, her breath, her body, the way she looked back at him with that glassy, wrecked expression like he’d ruined her. like she wanted him to.

he leans over the sink, watching steam curl from the mug in his hand, and exhales slowly.

this is dangerous.

he knows it.

he always did.

but something about last night — the way she let him hold her afterward, the way she curled into him like she trusted him with the quiet — it hit somewhere deeper than it was supposed to.

yoongi presses the mug to his lips and doesn’t drink.

just stares out the window, wondering if she’s awake.

wondering if she’s thinking about him too.

probably not.

she’s got deadlines. demos. an inbox full of producers waiting to work with her. he’s just the guy who showed up when she was stressed. who made her come so hard she couldn’t speak. who left handprints on her hips and walked out like it didn’t change everything.

he should shake it off. he will.

eventually.

he finds his phone under the edge of the bed after returning to the room, face-down and clinging to life with 7% battery. the screen lights up with a soft buzz as it registers movement, a handful of unread messages — none of them from her. he tells himself that’s a good thing. a relief. means they’re both on the same page. detached. unaffected. not thinking about the way her voice cracked when she came apart in his hands.

his thumb hovers over her contact anyway. he doesn’t even have her saved under her name — just a nickname from a stupid inside joke they made when she first started working at the label, something only she would understand. something that feels a little too fond now.

what would he even say?

“how’s the mix coming along?” “good seeing you last night.” “you okay?”

no. too obvious. too boyfriend.

and yoongi — god, he’s not her boyfriend. not even close. he’s the guy she calls when she needs to let go. when her brain’s too loud and her body’s too tense and she needs someone who won’t ask questions. he’s the guy who knows what kind of wine she likes but not who she was before she came to seoul. he’s the guy who kisses her like he means it but never stays past 3am.

except he did stay. last night. or at least long enough to make it complicated.

he locks the phone screen with a sigh and tosses it onto the bed.

his hand runs through his hair as he stands in the hallway, eyes unfocused, still half-stuck in memory. she had her hoodie halfway on, hair a tangled mess, skin flushed, panties ruined. she was leaning over the couch, eyes glassy, mouth open — her fingers clutching the cushion like she was holding on for dear life. he was buried in her, hips snapping forward, sweat dripping down his neck, and she was looking back at him like she fucking owned him.

and maybe she did. maybe she still does.

yoongi huffs out a breath through his nose and heads toward the bathroom, muttering something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to fuck’s sake. the moment the cold water hits his skin, it shocks his system, draws a sharp inhale from between clenched teeth — but it’s better than the alternative.

because his dick? yeah. still hard. again.

it’s been like this since the friends with benefits deal started — this recurring morning wood that feels more like a symptom of her than anything physiological. it’s her voice in his ear. her hands under his shirt. her scent still lingering on his fingers hours later. it’s her.

and sure, yeah, he could jerk off. he has. he does. but it never hits the same. because his body doesn’t just want release — it wants her. her warmth. her weight. her voice when she says his name like it’s a secret.

he stands under the water longer than he needs to, hands braced against the tile, jaw clenched like he’s trying to ground himself in anything but the feel of her nails dragging down his spine. pathetic, he thinks. this isn’t what you signed up for.

but it’s already too late.

because yoongi — quiet, guarded, impossibly private yoongi — is starting to want things. dangerous things. like the sound of her laugh when she’s tired. like the way she hums when she’s deep into a track. like waking up to her beside him instead of a memory.

he shuts off the water, the silence hitting heavy around him again.

maybe she’s not thinking about him at all. maybe she’s already buried in her work, earbuds in, sipping iced coffee and dissecting vocal layers like last night never happened. like she didn’t fall apart on his lap, whispering yes against his mouth like it wasn’t just about the high.

he dries off in silence, towel slung low on his hips, steam still curling in the mirror.

he won’t text her. not yet.

he’ll wait. he always does.besides — she’s not his.

he’s just the one who keeps pretending that doesn’t hurt.

yoongi sees her before she sees him.

he’s walking down the hall on autopilot, barely paying attention to anything around him — not the interns rushing past, not the sound of muffled bass leaking out of a rehearsal room down the corridor, not the endless buzz of HYBE in its usual quiet chaos. but the second his eyes catch on her frame — leaned slightly against the wall outside one of the smaller editing suites — his body tenses like it knows. like it’s already reacting before his brain can fully catch up.

and she looks… different.

not bad. never that. but off. not in the way her hoodie hangs half-off one shoulder, or in how her sweatpants are cuffed unevenly like she dressed in a rush. no — it’s something in her face. her posture. the way her arms are crossed too tightly over her chest, phone clutched in one hand like she forgot she was even holding it. she’s not scrolling. not listening to anything. just… standing there.

thinking. spiraling, maybe. exactly like he was this morning.

yoongi slows his pace, considers walking past like he didn’t see her, like he’s busy or distracted or actually trying to stick to the five things he said he needed to get done today. but then she shifts — leans her head back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed for just a second — and the urge to go to her overrides whatever pride he has left.

he clears his throat gently as he approaches, hands stuffed in his pockets, expression calm. detached. casual.

don’t act weird. don’t ask anything you don’t want the answer to.

“yo.” his voice comes out low and steady, like he hadn’t spent all morning overthinking her moans. “you alive?”

her eyes snap open, and for a split second — just one beat — he sees it.

the flicker of panic, or maybe surprise, something unguarded in her face before she pastes on a quick, sheepish smile.

“barely,” she says, shifting her weight, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “you know how it is. deadlines, caffeine dependency, existential dread.”

yoongi lets out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, but he doesn’t miss the way she fidgets — the way she avoids looking directly at him at first, eyes darting back to her phone even though it hasn’t lit up once.

he doesn’t ask. doesn’t press. but he notices.

and that alone is enough to twist something tight in his chest.

“you waiting on a studio?” he asks instead, nodding toward the door beside her.

she shrugs. “yeah. i think there’s a mixing session still going on. should be out any minute.”

a pause stretches between them — not awkward exactly, but not easy either. and yoongi hates that. hates how he can feel the difference, how something unspoken hangs between them like a draft neither of them wants to acknowledge.

but then — just like that — she softens.

maybe it’s the way he’s watching her. maybe it’s the way his tone never changes, never pushes. or maybe she just missed him too.

because she lets out a quiet breath, eyes finally meeting his, and says, “by the way… you still owe me for the trauma of almost getting caught by some poor intern last night.”

yoongi blinks, caught off guard for a second — then he huffs a soft laugh through his nose.

“you mean you owe me,” he counters, tilting his head slightly. “i had to walk out with your fingerprints all over me. i looked like i’d been jumped by a very determined groupie.”

she bites back a grin, eyes twinkling just a little. there she is.

“well,” she says, voice lilting now, flirtation curling at the edges of her words, “i am pretty determined.”

yoongi raises an eyebrow at that, his smirk sharp but slow, blooming like smoke across his face. his heart’s doing something annoying in his chest, but he plays it cool, lets the silence settle a beat before he leans in just slightly — not too close, but enough to make her breathe a little slower.

“yeah?” he murmurs, eyes flicking from her lips back up. “i noticed.”

she looks away, laughing under her breath, and it’s subtle, it’s small — but it’s there. that shift. the thaw. her arms uncross, her body leans just a fraction closer to his without realizing.

and yoongi — well. he still doesn’t know what’s going on with her. why she was so dodgy at first. why her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes until just now.

but he knows this:

whatever she’s avoiding, it’s not him.

not yet.

and for now, that’s enough to make him stay a little longer.

yoongi leans his shoulder against the wall beside her, his posture easy but his eyes anything but. he’s studying her — not obviously, not in a way anyone else would notice, but she’s never really needed the full weight of his stare to feel it. it’s in the way he turns slightly toward her, how his fingers drum lightly against his thigh like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he shouldn’t. he glances down the hallway, then back at her, voice smooth, unbothered.

“you end up doing anything with the track?”

she pauses. and he notices that, too — the half-second delay before she answers. like she’s sorting through all the possible ways to respond before landing on the one that gives away the least.

“uh…” she exhales a small laugh, tilting her head. “not really. i was kinda distracted yesterday.” her mouth twitches like she might smile, but she doesn’t let it land fully. “haven’t had the time to change anything else.”

yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips twitching just slightly. “distracted, huh?”

she shoots him a side glance — quick, but not defensive — the kind of look that says don’t start. but her cheeks give her away, that faint flush just beneath her skin that she pretends doesn’t exist. she shifts again, now more relaxed, fingers brushing through her hair like she’s trying to give her hands something to do.

“yeah, you know,” she says, voice a little too casual. “just… things.”

yoongi hums. it’s low, amused, maybe just a little smug. he can still hear her voice in his head — soft and breathless, whispering yes, right there like it was meant only for him. the idea that she couldn’t finish the track because she was too busy falling apart in his lap makes something dark and satisfied curl in his gut.

but he doesn’t push it.

not directly, anyway.

“well,” he says, glancing at the closed door beside them like it owes him an answer, “let me know if you need help finishing it. i’ve got a few... ideas.”

the way he says ideas — slow, a little rough, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth — it’s not exactly appropriate for a hallway conversation. but she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t roll her eyes or walk away or pretend she doesn’t know what he’s implying.

instead, she presses her lips together, like she’s fighting a grin, and leans just slightly closer.

“do your ideas come with another fire hazard warning?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s teasing — but her voice is lower now, softer, the flirtation deliberately buried beneath layers of fake innocence. “because that couch might still be drying, min yoongi.”

yoongi exhales a laugh, not loud, but real. it catches him off guard a little, how easily she can do that — drag him out of his head, make him forget he spent the morning trying not to miss her.

you’re not supposed to miss her, he reminds himself again. this isn’t that kind of thing.

but it’s hard to remember that when she looks up at him with those eyes, when she says shit like that with a straight face, when she acts like she’s not dragging him deeper into something they never named.

and still — he doesn’t say anything else.

not about the night before.

not about how quiet she looked when he found her.

not about how good it feels to make her laugh.

he just pushes off the wall, hands back in his pockets, head tilting slightly.

“just saying,” he murmurs, eyes still on her, “you could probably sample some of those sounds you made. turn it into a synth line or something.”

she scoffs, but it’s breathless — and her smile this time? yeah. it lands.and yoongi walks away with the ghost of it still clinging to him.

yoongi’s studio is cold when he steps in — not in temperature, but in that still, slightly hollow kind of way that lingers when it’s been empty too long. the air’s stale from last night, a faint echo of synths still ringing in the silence. he doesn’t bother turning on the main lights. the blue LEDs lining his monitors are enough, casting the room in that familiar low glow that always made it feel like a world apart. separate from reality. quiet enough to breathe in.

he drops into his chair with a sigh, spinning slowly once before leaning forward, elbows on the desk. the song on the screen isn’t new. not even close. it’s one he started months ago, maybe longer — moody and slow and layered with too many half-formed ideas. it’s got no destination, just a vibe. it reminds him of rainy nights and restless fingers and things left unsaid. basically, it reminds him of her.

he doesn’t say that out loud, of course. wouldn’t even say it to himself if it weren’t already a fact clawing at the edge of his thoughts.

he queues the project up anyway and starts fine-tuning a few synth patches. adjusts the EQ. nudges a vocal sample an eighth note forward. it’s all mechanical, methodical — a distraction. a half-hearted one.

and then the door opens with a soft knock that’s already halfway pushed open, because only one person enters like that.

“yo,” hoseok calls, his voice the same warm, light tone it always is — like sunshine pouring into a dim room. “you alive in here?”

yoongi barely glances back. “physically.”

hoseok lets out a chuckle and steps inside, already dropping into the second chair like he owns it. his hair’s messy, face fresh, dressed down in sweats and a too-expensive hoodie that only looks effortless. days like this — in between releases, tour planning still months off — they get to breathe. kind of. stretch their limbs, catch up, check in on old projects and worse habits.

“working on anything new?” hoseok asks, peering at the screen.

yoongi shrugs, clicking aimlessly through the stems. “just polishing old shit.”

“gonna release it?”

yoongi hums. “probably not. just… filling space.”

hoseok’s quiet for a moment, just watching him. the air shifts slightly — not tense, not heavy, but perceptive. yoongi knows that silence. knows hoseok’s thinking something but giving him time to get there first.

he doesn’t. so hoseok does it for him.

“so… you and (y/n), huh?”

yoongi pauses. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look over. just drags the waveform a little to the left and hits play.

a low synth hums through the room, heavy with bass. atmospheric. slow burn. just like him.

“what about us?”

“don’t play dumb, hyung. i saw you two in the hallway earlier. i’ve heard you two. you think walls here are soundproof? please.”

yoongi exhales through his nose, lips twitching. “should’ve worn headphones.”

“should’ve kept it in your pants,” hoseok says, grinning.

that earns a full laugh — low and brief, but real — and yoongi leans back, finally meeting his eyes.

“it’s not like that,” he says.

“yeah?” hoseok quirks an eyebrow. “looked a lot like something.”

yoongi goes quiet again, eyes flicking back to the screen. the waveform’s looping now, the beat repeating every few seconds. he doesn’t hear it.

he hears her.

“yeah, well… i was kinda distracted yesterday.”

he presses his thumb into his lower lip, jaw tight.

“it’s complicated.”

hoseok nods slowly, more serious now. “you like her.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.”

yoongi doesn’t answer. because he does. more than he wants to admit. and it’s not just the sex. it’s her voice in the booth. the way she fights for her mixes. the way she can go from shouting across the room to whispering something filthy against his throat in the span of ten minutes. it’s how she always makes things harder — and somehow easier, too.

“you’re not exactly good at hiding shit,” hoseok says after a beat. “not with her. you look at her like… like you’re trying not to fall in love and failing miserably.”

yoongi’s heart lurches, but his face doesn’t move.

“and what if i am?”

hoseok shrugs. “then maybe stop pretending it’s casual before she walks away for real.”

that gets him.

yoongi swallows thickly and doesn’t answer.

just stares at the screen again.

like the waveform might give him a reason to do something before it’s too late.

the music’s long stopped, but he’s still sitting there — hunched slightly in his chair, eyes fixed on the screen like it’ll offer up an answer he hasn’t already dissected a thousand different ways in his head. the studio has sunk into that kind of deep stillness only late hours can create. no voices in the halls. no random knocks. even the building’s subtle mechanical hum feels distant, dulled under the weight of everything he isn’t saying.

yoongi doesn’t realize how much time has passed until his stomach lets out a low, sharp growl that physically pulls him out of his spiral. it echoes in the silence, ridiculous and needy, and he exhales a dry laugh through his nose, rubbing his face with both hands. fuck. how long has it been? eight hours? ten?

he glances at the time and winces. of course.

he pushes back from the desk slowly, spine stiff, legs numb from being curled under him too long. everything feels a little off-kilter — his body, his thoughts, even the way the air sits in the room. it’s like time’s been suspended in here, and the second he steps out that door, it’s going to catch up to him all at once.

his stomach growls again and he grumbles under his breath, rummaging half-heartedly through the snack drawer he always forgets to restock. nothing decent. just a crushed protein bar and gum that’s long expired. he considers ordering food, but even that feels like a decision he’s not ready to make. like his brain’s too preoccupied chewing on something else.

hoseok’s words won’t stop looping.

“you look at her like… like you’re trying not to fall in love and failing miserably.”

he thinks about the way she looked in that hallway earlier. how she tried not to meet his eyes at first. how her voice dipped low when she flirted. how her smile faltered for half a second when she thought he wasn’t looking. and he thinks about the night before — how natural it felt to be around her, even when her moans were echoing off the studio walls. even when he was saying shit he wouldn’t say to anyone else. even when he kissed her hair like he meant it.

because he did. and he’s not sure how long he’s been meaning it, but now that he’s realized it, there’s no unknowing it.

yoongi leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, eyes on the floor but not really seeing it. would it really be that bad if he wanted something for himself, just this once? if he stopped pretending that whatever the fuck is happening between him and her isn’t turning into something real?

it’s a dangerous question. he knows the answer already. it’s yes. it’s always yes.

because this thing they’ve got? it was built on boundaries they both agreed to. no labels. no expectations. just fun, she had said, eyes lit and smile mischievous the night it started. and he had nodded, quick to agree. because why the hell would someone like her — loud and electric and alive in all the places he’s muted — ever want someone like him?

but still. there are moments. fleeting ones. like the way she lingers after they fuck, half-tucked against him, eyes glassy and unreadable. or how she always plays him the real version of her demos, even the unfinished ones. or the time she reached for his hand in a crowded elevator and didn’t let go until they hit the lobby.

yoongi drags a hand through his hair and lets out a low, frustrated sound.

she’s not in love with you, he tells himself. she would’ve said something by now. ended it. laughed in your face.

except… maybe she wouldn’t. maybe she’s just as scared of ruining it as he is.

and suddenly everything starts to feel confusing. like the lines are blurring faster than either of them can keep up with. like they’ve both been balancing on a wire stretched too thin, pretending not to look down.

he swallows, throat dry. maybe it’s the hunger. maybe it’s the exhaustion. or maybe he’s finally just sick of lying to himself. but right now — in this empty room, with his heart pounding harder than it should — all he can think is:

what if i already lost her and didn’t even realize it?

and worse —

what if i haven’t lost her yet, but i will… if i don’t do something soon?

he grabs his phone. his fingers hesitate over her name again.

but this time — this time, maybe he doesn’t want to wait.

the knock is soft at first — more of a tap, really — but in the silence of the studio, it sounds almost like thunder. yoongi’s head lifts, eyebrows tugging together, not expecting anyone this late. he sets his phone down, heart in his throat for no good reason, and crosses the studio in slow, measured steps. when he opens the door, it takes everything in him not to let that sharp, startled smile break too wide across his face.

she’s standing there, hoodie zipped up halfway, a takeout bag dangling from one hand, and that familiar, irritatingly smug smirk playing on her lips like she already knows what he’s thinking.

“look at you,” she says, brushing past him before he can even get a word out, “alive but barely, i assume.”

he doesn’t stop her — never does — just closes the door and watches as she makes herself at home like always. she drops the bag on the tiny coffee table he’s never used for actual coffee and then turns to face him, hands on her hips.

“you didn’t answer your texts, you haven’t eaten, and you look like you’ve been brooding about god-knows-what for at least eight hours straight. so,” she says, lifting the bag with a flourish, “your savior has arrived. congratulations. your digestive system won’t fail you today.”

yoongi lets out a laugh, low and genuine, dragging a hand over his face as he moves to join her. “you’re so dramatic.”

“and you’re one stomach cramp away from passing out,” she shoots back, already unpacking the containers. “i should start charging you for emotional labor.”

he raises an eyebrow. “this is emotional labor?”

“you have the social awareness of a houseplant,” she says, grinning. “yes. it is.”

they settle onto the floor, knees bumping as they sit side by side in that unintentional kind of closeness that always seems to happen between them. like no matter how big the room is, they always end up in each other’s orbit. he watches her unbox his favorite dish without needing to ask what he wants — like she knows. like she’s wired to know.

and for a moment, it’s easy. too easy. the jokes, the way their arms graze, the way her voice softens a little when she hands him chopsticks. it should be mundane, but it isn’t. it never is with her.

but then it hits him.

a scent — subtle but undeniable. something unfamiliar. it cuts through the usual notes of soy and ginger and her shampoo, and it’s not hers. it’s cologne. a man’s.

yoongi goes still for a second, eyes narrowing just slightly as he breathes it in again, trying not to overreact but already spiraling. it’s not strong, but it clings to her — on the sleeve of her hoodie, near her neck. and it’s not his.

she doesn’t miss the way he stiffens. she never misses anything about him. her eyes flick to his face, then down to her own clothes like she already knows what he’s picked up on.

“oh — that?” she says, nudging his knee gently with hers, tone light but cautious. “it’s not what you think.”

he looks at her, expression unreadable, but the jealousy’s already burning somewhere low and sharp inside him, like a slow boil he doesn’t know what to do with.

“been working with yeonjun,” she continues, fingers playing with the edge of the takeout lid. “on one of the tracks i told you about. you know how he is. touchy, all over the place, dramatic as hell. hugged me like four times in an hour and spilled coffee on my hoodie, so i borrowed one of his. it’s nothing.”

she’s watching him now — carefully. like she’s waiting for a verdict. like she’s not entirely sure he believes her.

yoongi doesn’t say anything at first. he looks down at the food in front of him, then at the edge of the sleeve she’s tugging at absentmindedly. it’s stupid. he knows it. it’s ridiculous how fast the thought of her with someone else can unravel him.

but still — that voice in his head won’t shut up.

you’re not her boyfriend. you don’t get to care.

except he does. even if he shouldn’t. even if it hurts.

“he’s loud,” yoongi mutters finally, picking at the edge of the takeout container. “and he wears too much cologne.”

her lips twitch, just a little. “yeah,” she says. “i like yours better.”

he looks up then, eyes catching hers in that heavy, too-long way they always do when things start to slip between the cracks. she’s smiling, but her gaze is steady. honest. and maybe a little nervous.

she nudges his knee again.

“don’t get weird about it.”

yoongi exhales slowly, something unspoken loosening in his chest.

“not weird,” he says, voice soft. “just hungry.”

but they both know what he really means.

they eat mostly in silence, the kind that isn’t awkward — more like lived-in quiet, something gentle that exists between people who know each other too well to need constant talking. the food is warm, comforting, grounding in a way that makes the chaos in yoongi’s head slow to a manageable hum. for a while, the only sounds are the rustle of containers, the soft clink of chopsticks, and the occasional, lazy sip from shared soda cans.

she’s cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves pushed up, her wrist brushing against his every time she reaches for something near the middle. she’s focused, for the most part, but her eyes keep flicking toward him — little glances that say she’s thinking something, maybe a lot of things, but doesn’t know how to start saying them.

yoongi’s sitting back against the couch now, long legs stretched out, one arm resting across the seat cushions behind him. he’s not touching her, technically — but it would take the slightest movement for his fingers to find her shoulder, or her hair, or her hoodie collar. and he’s watching her, openly, a lazy half-smile playing on his lips that he doesn’t bother hiding. because she said something stupid. ridiculous, really. something about how the drums in her demo sounded like “a washing machine having a panic attack” and how she was going to “maybe rebrand as an experimental laundromat composer.”

“what the fuck does that even mean?” he asks, still grinning.

“don’t act like you wouldn’t stream it,” she says, chewing the last bite of dumpling. “i know your niche little taste.”

he scoffs lightly. “i’d stream it just to clown on you in the comments.”

“exactly,” she says, pointing a chopstick at him like she’s proved a point. “engagement.”

he snorts, shakes his head, leans a little heavier against the couch. “so the demo?”

she shrugs, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “i mean... it’s still a mess. but kind of a beautiful one? i think i needed last night, actually. i was stuck. in my head. needed to… get out of it.”

he hums at that, a quiet acknowledgment, but his eyes flick away for a second. because yeah, she did get out of it. she got under him, over him, and inside his fucking brain. and now they’re here again, sitting close, joking like nothing about it cracked anything open. but it did. he knows it. and maybe — maybe she does too.

he opens his mouth to say something — maybe another joke, maybe something a little more honest — but he never gets the chance.

she kisses him.

not in that frantic, breathless way that usually comes after too much tension and too little distance. not the way she does when she’s climbing into his lap or tugging at his hoodie, all teeth and heat. this is... different.

it’s soft. casual, almost. like a pause in a conversation, like punctuation. like she just wanted to shut him up for a second — or maybe just needed to feel him without all the buildup.

her lips press gently against his, warm and slow. her hand settles on his thigh, thumb brushing absently against the fabric of his sweats, not suggestive, not teasing — just there. grounding. familiar. and it catches him off guard because there’s no real hunger in it, not yet. just intimacy. quiet affection disguised as a throwaway moment.

he doesn’t move, not right away. just lets it happen. lets her kiss him like it’s normal. like it means nothing. like it means everything.

when she pulls back, barely, her face hovers close — her breath still mingling with his. her fingers still resting on his leg. and for a second, neither of them says anything.

yoongi just looks at her, the smile slow to return this time, eyes soft and half-lidded.

“that was random,” he murmurs.

she shrugs like it’s nothing, like her heart isn’t beating out of her chest. “you looked too smug. it was annoying.”

he chuckles, eyes still on her lips. “sure.”

“don’t get ideas,” she adds, reaching for another dumpling like she didn’t just change the temperature of the whole room.

but he does.

he has.

and now he’s stuck with them.

she's licking soy sauce off her thumb when she asks, too casually, “do you have plans when you go home?”

yoongi’s mid-chew, eyes flicking up at her like he’s trying to decide whether she’s joking or baiting him — both, probably. always both with her. he swallows slowly, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and leans back again against the couch, stretching out like a cat settling into warm sun. his arm slides higher along the cushion, closer to her shoulder now, and he smirks, head tilted just slightly.

“you know it’s late, right?”

she shrugs, unbothered, lips twitching as she looks sideways at him. “best things happen when it’s late,” she says. “yesterday’s a good example.”

the words hit like a loaded trigger, pulling a visible shift in the air between them. the quiet settles differently now — thicker, slower. her voice has that edge again, that deliberate softness that sounds like innocence but hides all kinds of trouble beneath it. and yoongi? yeah, he’s already moving closer.

he props one elbow on the back of the couch now, turning fully toward her. his knees bend just a little, thighs open. the way he looks at her is heavy, something simmering behind his lashes as a slow grin stretches across his face — a smile that says i know what you're doing. and i’m not stopping you.

“so what,” he says, voice roughening just a notch, “you bring me dinner, make me laugh a little, kiss me like that, and now i’m just supposed to fuck you again?”

she giggles — that little gasp-hiccup sound she only makes when she’s been caught red-handed but still refuses to play innocent. her eyes flick down to his mouth, her hand trailing back to rest on his thigh again, fingertips just barely digging in through the fabric of his sweats. she’s not answering. doesn’t have to.

yoongi leans in — lips ghosting just over her cheek, the shell of her ear — close enough to make her skin prickle.

“you get needy when the sun goes down, huh?” he murmurs, breath hot. “always showing up with excuses. food. fake concern. pretending you’re here to babysit me when you know damn well you just want me to lay you out again.”

her breath hitches, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.

his mouth finds hers again, but this time there’s no hesitation — none of that soft in-between from earlier. it’s hungrier now, like they’re picking up where they left off last night. like he’s been thinking about this since he watched her walk away, sweat-stained and glowing and satisfied. his hand moves instinctively, resting on her hip, thumb dragging just under the hem of her hoodie, lazy and unhurried.

he breaks the kiss to murmur against her lips, “you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?”

her eyes flutter, but she nods, biting her bottom lip just to keep from moaning at how good his voice sounds when it dips like that — low and secret, like a promise.

“what part are you stuck on?” he asks, eyes heavy, his free hand now dragging up her thigh with just enough pressure to make her shift. “me pulling your hair? or when you came all over my fingers before i even got inside you?”

she exhales hard, laughing through it, but she’s flushed now, knees turned inward like she’s trying to contain the heat blooming low in her belly. it’s no use. he already knows. he can read her like a language he’s memorized in every form.

he kisses her again, slower this time, then pulls back just enough to whisper:

“say please, baby. i’m still full from dinner — but if you ask real nice... maybe i’ll still have you for dessert.”

and just like that —

yoongi’s night is no longer his.

it’s hers. always has been.

“please,” she breathes, voice smaller than before — not playful, not sarcastic. real. the kind of soft that only surfaces when the guard drops, when want curls up from her belly and takes the reins of her mouth. “yoongi, please. i’ve been thinking about you all day… couldn’t stop. couldn’t—” she exhales, eyes fluttering, “i can’t wait anymore.”

and that—god, that—does something to him.

yoongi’s breath stutters, his fingers tightening where they rest on her thigh. there’s a fire building slow and low in his stomach, the kind that doesn’t rush — the kind that simmers, burns, because it’s not just about lust. it’s about the way she looks at him when she says things like that. like he’s the only one who’s ever been able to pull her apart in just the right way. like she needs him to be the one to get her there, every time. like she’s already unraveling from the idea alone.

he shifts as she climbs between his legs, her hands working slow, deliberate, never breaking eye contact — her gaze warm, serious, a little bit mischievous. she presses a kiss to his jaw first, featherlight, then down to his throat, her lips brushing his pulse point.

“you always take care of me,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “let me take care of you.”

yoongi groans low in his chest, head dropping back against the couch with a dull thud, already undone by the idea before she’s even touched him. his hoodie bunches slightly as she tugs at the hem of his shirt, her fingers grazing over his skin in teasing strokes. she moves lower, slower — kisses trailing down like breadcrumbs, soft and hot, until she settles where he needs her most.

and then—

then, her mouth is on him, slow and warm and devastating, like she’s trying to memorize the taste of him. like she’s saying thank you with every breath, every drag of her tongue. she wraps one hand around the base of him, the other braced lightly on his thigh, grounding herself as she works. the sounds she makes are quiet, eager, reverent. she takes her time. she wants to. because yoongi’s always been so careful with her — always patient, always knowing exactly how to touch her, how to ruin her in all the right ways.

and now it’s her turn.

yoongi’s hands bury in her hair, not rough — more like he’s anchoring himself. his lips part around a curse he doesn’t finish, his whole body going taut with restraint. because she knows what she’s doing, knows exactly how to undo him. and she does it with intention. with purpose.

with care.

and maybe that’s what breaks him most —

not the pleasure, not the heat, not the slick sounds and the pressure building too fast to hold —

but the fact that it means something.

even when they’re pretending it doesn’t.

his fingers slide through her hair, gentle at first — reverent, almost — before curling tighter at the nape of her neck. he brushes the strands back from her face so he can see her, the way her lips stretch around him, eyes glossy and half-lidded, her cheeks flushed with heat and want. she looks wrecked already, mouth full of him, but still so fucking pretty it almost hurts.

yoongi bites down on a groan, hips twitching the slightest bit, restraint clawing at every muscle in his body. fuck, she looks good like this. like she belongs there, between his legs, sinking deeper into whatever quiet madness they’ve been building for months.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice a slow drag of smoke, deep and rough in the back of his throat. “fuck, baby… always so eager for it.”

her eyes flick up at him, and that’s when he knows—knows—she’s loving this just as much. he can feel it in the way she shifts, subtly squeezing her thighs together, in the soft, messy sounds she’s making around him. muffled whimpers that melt against his skin. she’s getting off on it. on the way he talks to her. on the way she knows he’s watching every movement, every hollow of her cheeks, every trembling inhale.

“you like being my good girl, huh?” he breathes, thumb grazing her jaw, the corner of her lips as she bobs her head slowly. “bet you’re soaked already. fuck—are you?”

she whines low in her throat, the sound vibrating through him, and yoongi’s eyes flutter closed for a second, overwhelmed. he’s not gonna last if she keeps making noises like that. but god, he loves it. he loves knowing she needs the filth just as much as the touch. that she’s getting wet just from his voice, from the weight of his hands in her hair, from the control he gives and takes in the same breath.

“wish you could see yourself,” he grits out, voice low and hungry. “so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth. like you were made for it.”

her rhythm falters slightly, a soft shiver coursing through her as she presses closer, takes him deeper — because of what he said. and yoongi groans again, the sound ragged now, falling apart.

“yeah… that’s it. just like that, baby. just like that.”

and somewhere deep in his chest, it twists — not just lust but something else, something more dangerous. something that says this is more than what we said it would be.

but he doesn’t say that.

he just watches her fall apart for him, mouth full, eyes glazed, and knows —

she’s his.

even if neither of them has dared to say it yet.

she doesn’t move right away when he finishes — just stays there for a moment, breathing through her nose, eyelashes trembling, lips parted around him like she’s trying to leave a mark that’s more than just physical. and when she does finally pull back, it’s slow, teasing, her tongue dragging along the head of him like she’s savoring the last taste.

then she looks up — really looks up — and opens her mouth slightly, showing him what he gave her, a wicked little smile curling at the corners of her lips before she swallows without breaking eye contact.

it’s filthy. it’s devastating. it’s so her.

yoongi feels his whole body jolt at the sight, like the tension that’s been coiling up inside him has found a new place to spark. he lets out a rough, breathless laugh — low and disbelieving — before pulling her up by the jaw, not roughly but with a kind of urgency that surprises even him.

he kisses her. hard.

no hesitation, no space between them. he kisses her like he wants to memorize the taste on her tongue. like he wants to remind her that it’s not just about what she did, but how she did it — the way she gave it to him, the way she always does, without asking for anything back but still deserving everything.

and he gives it.

his hands are already sliding beneath her hoodie, palms warm and greedy against her back. the fabric rides up as she shifts closer, climbing into his lap without a word. he doesn’t ask — he doesn’t need to. she’s already moving how he wants her, like she knows. like she feels it.

he tugs the hoodie over her head in one smooth motion, letting it fall somewhere behind them, forgotten. her bra’s simple — soft black cotton, no lace, no shine — but fuck, it fits her perfectly. the kind of thing that isn’t made to seduce but ends up doing exactly that anyway.

his hands pause for a second. he just… looks.

she’s straddling him, bare above the waist except for that small piece of fabric, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. her fingers are in his hair now, slow, thoughtful, threading at the roots like she’s not sure if she wants to ground herself or pull him closer.

and her eyes — they’re searching his face. not teasing, not playful. serious. soft. like she’s trying to memorize him too.

yoongi swallows thickly, his hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing just beneath the underwire.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, quiet, like the words slipped out before he could stop them.

she doesn’t say anything. doesn’t have to.

the way she leans in to kiss him again, slower this time — deeper — says it all.

yoongi’s hands are all over her now — slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to map her body from memory even though he already knows it better than his own. he palms the curve of her ass through her sweats, fingers spreading, squeezing, grounding her onto his lap. her body responds instantly, instinctively — hips rolling once, twice, like her muscles remember the rhythm before her mind can catch up.

he groans into her mouth when she does it again, this soft grind that presses her right against where he’s growing hard all over again. his fingers dip lower, sneaking beneath the waistband of her sweats, and it’s like she melts right into his hands. like her body wants to be held there.

"fuck," he mutters into her mouth, "you know what you do to me, don’t you?"

she breathes a shaky little laugh, forehead pressed to his, her hands still in his hair, nails grazing his scalp just right. “you sound surprised.”

he doesn’t answer — not out loud. instead, he helps her shift back just enough for him to start tugging her sweats down. she lifts herself slightly, letting him ease them over her hips, down her thighs. her underwear’s a delicate scrap of fabric, damp and clinging and completely in his way. he doesn’t waste time — peels them off with a practiced ease, sliding both pieces down her legs, letting them get tangled around one ankle like they always do when they get too impatient to bother properly.

she sits back on his lap, now bare from the waist down, still in that soft black bra, and he exhales hard through his nose — not even trying to hide the way his eyes drag down her body.

“jesus, you’re—” he starts, then just groans, pulling her into him again like he needs her closer, like even skin to skin isn’t enough.

he kisses her deep — messier now, open-mouthed, hungry. one hand cups the back of her neck while the other returns to her ass, squeezing hard as he rocks her against him, making her gasp into his mouth.

it’s not rushed. it’s not frantic. it’s just them — steady and knowing and hot with everything they haven’t said yet.

and god, he could lose himself in it.

maybe he already is.

their bodies are flushed, sweat starting to gather in the small spaces where skin meets skin — under her thighs, his hands gripping the back of them, her chest pressed to his, her breath warm against his jaw. she’s moving in slow circles on his lap, bare and wet and leaving a mess on him, that slick, sticky evidence of how much she wants him — how long she’s wanted him.

yoongi can’t stop watching her face.

she’s breathing heavy, lips parted, eyes locked on his like she’s balancing between control and surrender. and she’s doing this thing — this fucking thing — where she grinds just right and then pulls back the second he thinks he might slide into her. the tip of him keeps slipping through her folds, catching for a second, teasing that sweet ache of friction, and then she rolls her hips up and away again, dragging a whimper from both of them.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” he grits out, voice dark, jaw tense.

her nails trail up his shoulders, one hand slipping around the back of his neck, the other flat on his chest, steadying herself. she leans in close, close enough that her lips brush his, her breath shaky. “i want you to need me,” she whispers, barely audible. “like i do.”

and that sentence? that one sentence nearly undoes him. because fuck does he.

he's needed her in every version she’s shown him — loud and teasing, quiet and wrecked, undone in his hands or breaking him apart with just a glance. he’s needed her since the first time she kissed him and acted like it didn’t mean anything.

his hands move instinctively — one sliding up her back, the other unclasping her bra like he’s done it a hundred times before (because he has). he tosses it aside without looking, eyes never leaving hers.

and then he kisses her again.

not like before — not teasing, not playful. this kiss hurts. it’s full of things neither of them are brave enough to say. it’s heavy with the weight of all the feelings they’ve kept buried under sweat and moans and half-laughed excuses.

his tongue slides against hers, and she gasps, moving faster now, grinding harder. he grabs her hips and guides her, dragging her down against him, and they both groan — heads tipping back for a second before they look at each other again.

and fuck, the eye contact. it’s too much.

their foreheads touch, noses brushing, panting into each other’s mouths. they’re so close to breaking. so close to letting it all spill out.

but neither says it.

not yet.

not out loud.

so instead, they stay here — teetering on the edge, breathless and desperate, wrapped in each other’s silence.

pretending it’s still just physical.

pretending they’re not both already in too deep.

her fingers wrap around him, slow and sure, and it’s like the room holds its breath.

yoongi’s chest stutters as she lines him up, her forehead pressing to his, and for a second they’re still — just breathing, both of them trembling with restraint. she doesn’t look at his face. not right away. her eyes are locked down, staring between them, watching how he disappears into her inch by inch, slick and hot and so fucking close it sends a shudder through her entire body.

her brows twitch upward in a soft, desperate kind of pain — not from discomfort, but from overwhelm. her mouth falls open around a quiet, strangled sound, something raw and completely real that slips out before she can stop it. it’s not the first time he’s been inside her — not even close — but something about this time feels different. maybe it’s the silence. the eye contact. the tension they've been choking on for weeks. months. maybe it’s the way neither of them’s bothering to pretend anymore.

because she’s shaking, and he’s gripping her hips like a lifeline, and then—

then she says it.

“i don’t want anyone else to have you like this,” she whispers, voice thin and cracking at the edges. her breath ghosts over his lips as she moves, the words punctuated by the slow rise and fall of her body. “i’m done pretending, yoongi. i don’t—fuck, i can’t.”

the confession splinters through him, sharp and blinding.

his hands slide up her back as she moves — slow at first, then faster, her hips snapping down in short, messy bursts. there’s nothing graceful about it. it’s frantic. possessive. like she’s trying to stake her claim on him with every wet slap of skin against skin. like she’s branding him with her body, letting him feel what she hasn’t had the nerve to say until now.

yoongi groans — guttural, broken — and digs his fingers into her waist as she starts to ride him harder, pace faltering with every moan she swallows back. her eyes flicker to his then, glassy and dark, and he can barely hold her gaze without falling apart.

“mine,” she says again, almost like a warning, like a plea. “you’re mine.”

he nods — fuck, he’d do anything for her right now — and brings his forehead to hers, their noses brushing as they move together in this messy, electric rhythm. every push, every drag, every breath feels like a vow neither of them has the guts to say out loud in plain language.

but it doesn’t matter.

because her body says it for her.

and his, god help him, answers back like it’s been waiting this whole time.

yoongi’s mouth finds the curve of her neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses dragging along her pulse as he pants against her skin. she’s still moving on him, slower now, deeper. every roll of her hips making his breath catch, making his hands grip tighter at her waist like he’s scared she might slip away despite what she just said.

he groans against her skin, the sound raw and low in his throat. needy, in a way he hasn’t let himself be — not until now. his teeth catch her earlobe, a soft bite that makes her shudder, and then he says it:

“fuck—i’ve been wanting to hear you say that.” his voice is wrecked, voice box vibrating against her neck, and his arms wrap tighter around her like he’s trying to fold himself into her, bury all the things he’s never admitted. “for so long, baby… you have no idea.”

she breathes in sharply, head tipping back, and he uses the opportunity to kiss down her throat, to press his lips to the hollow of her collarbone, to feel the way she trembles from the inside out.

and then he pulls back — just enough to look at her.

really look at her.

his hands slide up her back, fingertips tracing her spine, and their eyes lock again in that heavy, charged silence. her hips keep moving — slower now, drawn-out, grinding deep like she wants him to feel all of her. like she’s memorizing the way he fills her. her chest brushes his with every shift, and she’s still watching him. like he’s the only thing anchoring her.

“say it again,” he whispers, voice low but clear.

she leans in, mouth brushing his as she moves, as she grinds with purpose now, deliberate, claiming every inch of him.

“you’re mine,” she breathes, barely audible.

“all yours,” he answers without thinking.

and fuck, the way they move after that?

it’s not about getting off anymore.

it’s about knowing.owning.

holding each other in the most vulnerable way they ever have — naked and honest and right on the edge of something they can’t undo.

her forehead presses to his, and she doesn’t stop moving — slow, grinding, so deep it’s like she’s trying to carve him into herself, like she wants to memorize every ridge and throb, the way his breath catches, the way his lashes flutter when she tightens around him just right.

and then she whispers it.

into his lips.

into his soul.

“say i’m the only one,” she pleads, voice trembling. “please.”

and she is. she is. he doesn’t even hesitate.

his mouth crashes into hers — desperate and full of heat, his hands splaying across her back like he doesn’t want to let a single part of her go. he kisses her like it’s the only way he can say what he’s feeling without unraveling. not soft, not teasing. hungry. raw.

and then he moves — not away, never away — but with her.

he shifts, gently guiding her down onto the rug that cushions the floor below them, the tiny coffee table shoved just far enough to give them space. she’s blinking up at him, wide-eyed, lips swollen from his kisses, chest rising and falling like she’s about to break. he strips off the last of her clothes — her bra already gone, but her socks, her hoodie tangled around her arms, still in the way. and his — his shirt’s gone in a second, and his sweats follow, tossed somewhere into the growing pile around them.

“you’re the only one,” he says against her skin, voice thick, reverent. “the only one i think of. when i touch myself. when i wake up. when i hear a fucking melody that sounds like you.”

he grabs her ankle, lips brushing over the thin skin there, and starts kissing his way up — slow and reverent at first, then hungry when he reaches the bend of her knee, the inside of her thigh. she gasps, her legs twitching around him, and he hooks his arms under them, pulling her closer like she belongs wrapped around him.

“you’re it, baby,” he murmurs, kissing higher, closer, nearly to her core. “no one else. no one fucking touches me like you do. no one knows me like you do.”

and maybe it’s the way she trembles when he says it. maybe it’s the way she looks at him now, like she believes him.

maybe it’s the truth in his voice that finally makes her body let go of the tension she’s been carrying since the moment they met.

because now?

it’s not about pretending.

it’s about claiming.and he’s more than willing to let her do the same.

he doesn't rush it—no, not at first. he hovers there, above her, between her legs, one hand splayed across her waist like it’s anchoring him to the present, to her. their eyes meet, and there’s a beat of stillness, thick and charged and warm, where neither of them says a word. their bodies are flushed, skin tacky with heat, but it’s the emotion in the air that makes it almost unbearable.

then, with a soft breath and a quiet, reverent kind of groan, he sinks into her again.

and it’s everything.

she gasps, arching up to meet him, her hands flying to his back, her nails dragging across his shoulder blades, not to hurt—but to hold. to keep him right there. and yoongi… yoongi moves. faster than before, a little harder, but still tender. every thrust is measured but needy, like he’s trying to burn this version of her into memory.

his mouth finds her ear again, his breath hot and uneven. “you feel like heaven,” he whispers, voice cracked and low. “like you were made for me.”

and then his hips snap forward, deeper this time, dragging a strangled moan out of her lips that has his head spinning.

“so fucking tight,” he growls, one hand slipping up her ribs to cup her breast, thumb grazing over her nipple. “you always take me so good… no one else gets this. no one gets this from me but you.”

she cries out at that, clinging tighter, and he kisses her—open-mouthed, messy, not even pretending to be composed anymore. she’s unraveling beneath him, her legs wrapping around his waist, locking him in like she needs him to stay, like she doesn’t want to risk even a second of separation.

his forehead falls to hers again, noses brushing, sweat dripping at the temple. “you’re it for me, baby,” he murmurs. “you hear me? all this—" he rolls his hips again, and she keens, "—only for you. only ever been for you.”

and there’s a truth in it that tastes like something permanent.

like something they've both been too afraid to say.

her hands cradle his face now, and he kisses her again. again. like it’s the only language that’ll carry everything he means.

and as their bodies move in sync, as the rhythm builds and the heat coils, the words he keeps spilling into her skin blur—between filthy and loving, between “you’re so fucking wet” and “you’re everything,” between want and need.

because for yoongi, with her, there’s never been a line.

just her. only her.

she comes undone with his name on her lips — not yelled, not screamed, but breathed out like a secret, like a confession she’s been carrying in her chest for weeks. her back arches, fingers digging into his biceps, eyes squeezing shut as her thighs tremble around his hips.

yoongi watches her fall apart, watches the way her body stutters and spasms, the way her mouth falls open in a shaky gasp. and that’s it for him — the breaking point. the way she looks when she finishes, all flushed and ruined and clenching around him like she doesn’t want to let go.

he pulls out just in time, jaw tight, breath shallow, barely choking out a curse before he releases thick and hot across her inner thigh, hips still twitching as he grinds against her skin. he could’ve come inside — he knows she’s on the pill, they’ve had that conversation — but there’s something so primal about this. about seeing her messy and wrecked, painted in him, like he marked her.

he stares at the mess for a beat — her legs trembling, her chest heaving, the slick between them sticky and raw — before leaning down without a word, mouth open, tongue dragging slow across her thigh to clean it.

and fuck, she jolts.

her eyes snap open, still hazy with the aftershocks, only to find him there, on his knees, licking himself off her like it’s nothing. like it’s everything.

the sight alone makes her throb all over again.

yoongi finishes what he started, kisses up her thigh, across her hip, then her stomach. and when he makes it back to her mouth, she’s already reaching for him, already tugging him closer.

and when she kisses him this time, it’s dirty and sweet all at once, her hand sneaking between them to wrap around both of them — his length, still slick, still sensitive, and hers, her arousal still warm on his skin.

she kisses him again, deeper now, still catching her breath — and her hand moves between their bodies, slipping down to wrap around him, slow and deliberate. he twitches under her touch, still sensitive, still slick from everything. and then, with a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, she slides her fingers lower, brushing through her own arousal, their mess mixing on her skin.

yoongi watches, breath caught in his throat, as she lifts her hand between them. her fingers glisten, coated in both of them, and then—

then she brings them to her mouth.

her tongue flicks out, slow and purposeful, licking across her fingers like she’s savoring every bit. tasting them both. tasting this — whatever they just crossed into.

his groan is instant, guttural, completely wrecked.

and she just grins, lips slick and eyes wild, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

“we’re fucking insane,” she whispers, lips brushing his.

and they both crack then, laughing — not hard, not loud — just breathless and loose and wrecked, tangled up in something that feels like relief.

like they finally let something out they didn’t even know they were holding.

he kisses her again, grinning against her lips. “yeah,” he murmurs. “but that was so worth it.”

and it was.

god, it was.

he doesn’t let her go. not after that.

his arms wrap around her again, pulling her flushed against his chest like he's afraid she’ll evaporate if he loosens his grip. his lips brush her temple, his breath still uneven, but his voice—his voice—comes out soft. low. vulnerable in a way he hasn’t allowed himself to be in so long it almost feels foreign.

“say that you meant it,” he whispers, his thumb stroking the curve of her spine. “please.”

he swallows, presses his nose to her hair. “because i don’t think i could take it if that was just… a weird kink. or some fucked-up moment of too much intimacy.”

she’s quiet at first. her fingers are tracing slow circles over his ribs, and then she shifts just enough to look up at him — really look. her cheeks are flushed, lashes damp, eyes so sincere it knocks the wind out of him.

“i do,” she says, voice steady but soft. “i have for a while.”

yoongi's breath catches.

and then he’s kissing her. everywhere. her cheeks, her nose, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. all of it. frantic, relieved, grinning. like he just found out the universe wasn’t playing a joke on him after all. like it’s real now. and she’s just laughing softly, tangled in his lap, letting him love on her without saying anything else.

until she leans her head on his shoulder, still kind of sticky and disheveled, her bare legs wrapped around his waist, and mumbles—

“so… what now?”

he exhales a breath of a laugh, kisses the side of her head again.

“now,” he starts, glancing at the door like it might fly open at any second, “we clean up before someone like hoseok comes through that door and finds us like this—” he gestures vaguely to the pile of clothes, the mess, them on the floor, still glowing like a pair of sinners caught in the sun.

she groans, face burying into his neck, giggling like she knows it’s a close call.

“—then,” he continues, more seriously this time, “you let me take you out on a breakfast date tomorrow.”

that gets her. she lifts her head, blinking at him like he’s said something profound. “breakfast?”

he nods. “yeah. like pancakes, coffee, awkward first date questions we already know the answers to.”

her smile softens into something that makes his chest feel too small.

“okay,” she says. “yeah. i’d like that.”

and for once, yoongi’s not thinking ahead.

not worrying.

not pretending.

he just nods and holds her tighter, like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

quietly , always cigarettesuga . ୨ৎ

taglist Ꮺ @aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @h6rtf9lt @wynterlove @rpwprpwprpwprw @annyeongbitch7 @namgimini @princesstiti14

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wendichester · 3 months ago

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Hiii I was wondering about a really intelligent reader, like they do regular research conferences, go to an Ivy League school, are getting their PhD etc. With Dean, Dean starts to feel insecure because he catches them and Sam having long talks about subjects he doesn’t get but reader comforts him, saying how much they love how strong and safe he is, he his the brawn to their brain, how he is smart but either way it doesn’t matter bc they love him even if he was a dumb as a bag of rocks. I NEEDDD them to coddle his head in their chest n rock him while they lay in bed and they reassure him he is smart and lovable!!

I LOVE MY SWEET BOY RAHHH‼️‼️

Than you preemptively🫶🏻

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ brawn & brain,

summary. you're book smart. dean's street smart. it's the perfect mix.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 394

notes / warnings. we love us a smart reader ehe 🤭

The sound of laughter pulls Dean from sleep.

He blinks against the dim bunker lighting, rolling over to find your side of the bed empty. The clock reads 3:17 AM.

Padding barefoot down the hallway, he finds you and Sam hunched over the library table, surrounded by open books and half-empty coffee mugs. Sam's gesturing wildly about some obscure lore, and you're nodding along, eyes bright with that sharp focus Dean's come to adore—even if he only understands every third word.

"—so if we cross-reference the Enochian with the Sumerian tablets—"

"Right! Which means the ritual would've needed—"

Dean lingers in the doorway, something heavy settling in his chest.

You notice him first. "Dean?"

Sam turns, grinning. "Hey, man. We were just—"

"Yeah," Dean cuts in, voice rough with sleep. "Heard."

The way your smile falters tells him he's been too sharp.

Later, when Sam's gone to bed and you're curled under the covers together, Dean can't stop replaying it—the easy way you and Sam fit together intellectually, like puzzle pieces he can't force himself into.

You sense it. Of course you do.

Turning in his arms, you press a kiss to his jaw. "What's wrong?"

Dean shrugs. "Nothin'."

You give him the look—the one that cracks him open every time.

He sighs. "Just... you and Sammy. All that research crap. You get each other."

Your fingers still where they'd been tracing his collarbone. "Oh, Dean."

And then you're maneuvering him, gentle but firm, until his head rests against your chest. Your fingers card through his hair as you rock him slightly, like he's something precious.

"You listen to me," you murmur. "You're brilliant. You keep us alive out there—your instincts, your reflexes? That's a kind of smart no book can teach."

Dean huffs, but he doesn't pull away. "Yeah, well—"

"And even if you weren't," you continue, tipping his chin up to meet your gaze, "even if you were dumb as a box of hammers, I'd still love you. Because you're you."

Something tight in Dean's chest unravels.

"You mean that?" he whispers, uncharacteristically small.

You kiss his forehead. "With my whole damn PhD."

Dean's laugh is muffled against your skin as he pulls you closer. Maybe he'll never quote Latin or debate ancient texts. But here, in your arms? He feels seen.

And that's better than smart.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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solifloris · 19 days ago

Text

≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | 18+ only

tags : porn with plot, porn with feelings, starts out with somewhat ambiguous relationship territory, developing relationship, Talking Things Out TM (communication is key!), kissing and making out, heavy petting, dry humping, couch sex, riding, missionary, creampie, use of "pip-squeak"/"pips" "baby" "princess". lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 8.9k ((unedited))

an : IT'S 3 DAYS LATE… PLEASE PRETEND IT'S STILL JUNE 13 YES? YES. AKJDHGLHSDF i made the last-minute decision to keep youtiful for next week (or so…) when it's less of a focus for caleb's birthday, since i did want to write a proper birthday fic this time…… but also. this outline. underwent SEVERAL changes bc i had its first outline done before the trailer release, and it ended up being quite similar to his birthday card and i had to make adjustments somehow T^T SO this is kind of,,, i guess,,, has its similarities to no-return night, but they're not related at all, so please take this separately!

i had a lot of trepidations writing this, but nevertheless i love caleb with all of my heart and soul and he's really really so very precious to me. i hope that you can feel that through this little fic too, it's a happy birthday week to the both of us. <3 (p.s. i love this song dearly, and ever since i heard it back in january i've wanted to write a fic with it for caleb! so this was also my excuse <3 go give olivia marsh some love <3)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

What does it take to spell out eternity? Every summer you'd fall together, and maybe that was all it was—just you, and him, and the words you'd let your bodies speak instead. So tonight, in the summer heat of early June, words turned to touch; grief to grace; time-lost notes proceeded rewritten. And maybe, then, forever felt a little bit more achievable than you'd thought.

The air was thick with the scent of June.

Even the bustling streets of Linkon couldn't distract you from it—around you stood patches of freshly-mowed grass, trees standing tall along sidewalks. This month, spring would fold itself into summer. And the warm breeze that passed—curled itself through the branches, tugged playfully at loose strands of your hair—felt proof of it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Casual footsteps.

Heels on the pavement, arms swinging at your side—you walked, and you could fall into sync with the person beside you in a heartbeat.

A familiar rhythm.

It settled between you, a quiet moment amidst the small crowd surrounding. Something like an old melody; one you'd already engraved into your heart for years back.

And above you, the sky seemed to smear with orange and rose—purples, and pinks, and tangerines… The sun began to set beneath the horizon, rosy-golden hue overcast around the street you walked.

Immediately you were drawn back to look at him.

That everlasting melody that your heart murmured.

You caught the light as it reflected briefly in his eyes, the saturated speckles of sunlight dabbling in his hair. He was looking ahead, still, but those colors—in his eyes, they swirled like the sunset itself, that same warm glow. Looking at him like this, you'd think to yourself, that often the sky would come alive in them.

The sky could come alive in him.

That maybe he had become the sky itself.

Those very same colors that painted the evening would spill from his gaze, and the more you looked at him, the more you thought that you could drown—they just held so much.

So much that still, even now, you couldn't quite reach it at all.

Just like the faint sunlight slipping away at sundown; something beautiful left just out of grasp.

Lingering.

And even though you walked beside him now, you could remember that it hadn't always been that way. Now, Caleb was a lot taller. His broad shoulders cast a long shadow across the sidewalk, and you—

You remembered.

For years you'd walked behind him, head tilted up, following his lead. Watching, as he moved through the world with a quiet confidence that you'd once lacked the ability to mirror at all.

Now, the roles felt different.

You felt different, and he felt different.

And you could feel, even in this moment, beside him, the weight of this space that existed between you.

You didn't like that space.

Your fingers curled instinctively around the hem of his shirt.

No, you wanted him…

Closer.

You tugged, and he looked at you.

Eyes softened, lips curled slightly upwards.

Caleb let out an easy chuckle. "It's nice, huh?" he hummed. Whether or not he'd truly noticed the meaning behind your gesture remained unaddressed in the air around you, but you were sure he noticed. He always did. He was likely just choosing not to speak of it. "Walkin' around Linkon like this… It's like it's been forever since we've last done it. But it almost feels like nothin's changed."

Like nothing's changed.

You could feel the wry smile forming on your lips, an almost bitter laugh bubbling at your throat.

How ironic.

Certainly, both of you felt that things had changed—

Didn't you?

"You can't be serious," you huffed. "I mean, that— that movie theater we used to go to isn't even there anymore. The older one, that refused to jump on the OTTO bot train when everyone else did?"

"Oh? Yeah? Well, we haven't visited it in forever, either, y'know. Guess we couldn't have known how long it's been outta business."

"And! And, the one bakery down the block! That one's changed, too. Owner's different, and everything. And they sell, like, gluten-free donuts and more boring things now…"

He raised a brow, "What, no more of those chocolate croissants you liked so much?"

"They're different now! Changed recipe and all, you know? Changed the baker, too, probably… They never taste the same as the last time I had them… with you."

Caleb's laughter came out light and easy, and for a moment, the gap between you felt smaller.

Progress was progress.

Oftentimes spending time with him felt like a ticking time bomb; you'd never know when it would end all of a sudden, nor could you guess when he'd suddenly pull away again. Today—tonight—it was one of the very first times that hadn't happened just yet.

There had been small steps.

More of them.

The gap between you didn't feel so big anymore.

And almost as if in an attempt to finally bridge it, you continued—“Oh! And the playground? The old swings are completely gone. Replaced with those weird plastic dome things that look like modern art sculptures.”

“You mean the new climbing domes, right? They've been poppin' up in a lot of playgrounds recently. I'll say… They are a bit… odd-lookin'…”

"Exactly, right?!" You huffed, rolling your eyes. "The swings looked better. Friendlier, too! Now the playground looks all bland and devoid of life that those plastic things try to fill in with colors…"

"Aw, the kids don't like 'em? They're good for climbin'!"

"Some do… If they're like you, I guess…"

Your voice softened when you looked at him.

"…And the tree," you murmured. "The one in our backyard. You know, back… home. It would've been blooming with lots of fruit by now, if…"

Your gaze moved down.

If it were still around.

Your voice faltered, and you trailed off—the words remained hanging in the air; instead of catching them, you could only let them go in a quiet, almost embarrassed motion.

Too soon.

You didn't need to bring that up.

With a light smile, you cleared your throat, and slipped your hand out away from where you had been clinging to his sleeve.

"But, uhm… sure. Nothing's changed."

Some attempt at damage control.

You couldn't dare look up at him now, and the silence that settled now felt heavier—at least, to you.

You'd gone just another step backward.

Your hands settled in front of you, playing instead with the ribbon on your dress. It was different, from clutching at his sleeve. Already a thing you'd gotten used to, even though you'd been walking without it just a couple of minutes prior. Certainly a thing you had gotten used to, in easier years where you were always with him.

So, so many things you would get used to around him.

And now that split-second letting go of his sleeve had you trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, but how could you ever dream of hiding anything from him?

Even without a glance, you felt the pace of his footsteps beside you change slightly.

A shift, and then—

"Hey."

A gentle nudge.

He bumped your shoulder with his, like a little poke as if to get you back onto your feet. When you gathered enough courage even just to peek back at him, the warmth in his gaze seemed to curl around you like the summer breeze that sifted over you.

"'m glad you spent the day with me, pips," he said, soft and sincere. "It means a lot, y'know? Spendin' my birthday with you again."

"…Well, yeah. Again, right?"

You did gather the courage to turn.

In that moment a car passed on the other side of the street, headlights catching in the sheen of the sidewalk. A sprinkler ticked to life somewhere in the next yard over—closer, now, to the residential areas than the busier life of the heart of Linkon. Here, right now, everything smelled faintly of earth, and evening grass. There was that breeze again; picking up with a carried scent of wood.

Like a normal day.

Like an everyday sort of day.

Perhaps to anyone else, it was a day that meant very little.

Not to you.

Not to him, either.

"It's… well, not the first time. We always spend today together." You kicked at a pebble with the toe of your shoe, watching as it skittered on ahead of you.

"No," he chuckled. "It's not."

"But it feels like it."

Your voice went quieter.

A couple of steps before you paused.

He'd moved a little on ahead—caught on to the way you'd stopped walking, and turned around.

Another car.

This time it passed over on your side of the street, and— you remembered looking at him like this once, on that day.

That day.

With the unset glow; darker this time, instead illuminated extra by the headlights of the car that seemed to paint him in a cooler, more silvery glow.

You were used to seeing him in warmer colors. The sun had that very effect; oranges and reds and occasionally saturated pinks. But now he was dressed in blue—the type to wear cooler greys as to warmer browns, platinum whites to beige and cream. Sometimes his voice felt colder; sometimes that uniform on his person drowned his light into a liquid pearl you weren't used to.

The sun was also a star—but the sun was not quite the moon.

And like daytime settling into night, things could change.

You were reminded.

Things have changed.

Caleb looked at you in that moment. Falling silent, still; choosing to let your words pass.

"…It feels like it," you murmured again, quieter this time. "The first time."

Again, but the first time.

Like a culmination of years of knowing each other, and then… months of not quite.

All day, you'd moved together; two people remembering how to be near one another. Slowly, carefully. Down the street, places you used to visit, things you used to see. Laughter that felt a little bit out of practice. Laughter that had slowly begun to blend from forced, back to natural.

Things have changed, and perhaps that was the very reason you needed to relearn it.

Study the moon.

Fall into its orbit.

Again, and again, and again. As many times as it would take you.

“…I had fun,” he said after a pause, quiet and earnest. His voice was gentle, eyes melted softly.

Those strange, sunset-colored eyes of his—they caught the last of the sunlight; reminded you, achingly, of a version of him that you used to know better. But, this Caleb—dressed up in blue, standing right in front of you, one pace away out of this stupid respect for your supposed personal space—

He was still someone you wanted to learn, too.

You smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

Above you, a streetlight buzzed quietly to life. It was back, again. Albeit artificial, there was that amber glow now on the pavement—on you—on him.

And then he tapped your forehead, took a step closer, and nudged his head in the direction beside you.

"Pip-squeak," he grinned, "look. Your gluten-free donut bakery."

Your head turned.

It was true—you hadn't realized it, but you'd stopped right in front of the bakery in question. It sat quietly on the corner, windows warm with light…

You realized, then, that though you passed this place all the time still, you'd never quite… visited. Less, since he'd started going to Skyhaven, and definitely not since what had happened at Bloomshore District.

So how long had it been, really?

You were right to think that it had changed.

The awning had gone from striped red to a soft sage green; handwritten signs replaced by sleek, branded typography.

But the bones of it were still there.

The door was still painted that dusty white; those little flowerpots still hung under the front windows.

And then, taped to the glass, was a poster—Typed out in playful print, with a little cartoon apple pie in the corner.

Apple Crumble Brioche. This weekend only!

Your eyes caught on it without realizing.

They had one on display—it was smaller, now, and not quite the kind you used to eat during summer break.

But the word apple lingered in your head like a ghost.

That was Caleb's favorite…

You heard a laugh beside you.

"Maann," he hummed, dragging the word out, "I haven't had any of their pastries in so long."

A smile tugged at your lips.

"Not that you're missing much," you rolled your eyes.

But already your smile was widening.

"M'kay, but it's still my birthday. So aren't I supposed to be spoiled a little?"

"You wouldn't be spoiled by anything from this bakery now…"

"Nuh-uh. Would be, 'cause you're right here with me, pip-squeak."

You laughed, then. Shoved his shoulder in a playful manner, before going ahead and pushing at the door. "So Colonel Caleb can be a baby, after all!"

The door gave way with a soft ring.

It quieted the banner, despite the playful looks you'd shown each other.

The bell above still had the same tinkling chime you used to know—impressive, after all these years.

And there it was again. That warmth. Fresh bread, cinnamon, sugar melting into butter... Even now it smelled like a memory that hadn’t quite forgotten you yet.

Like stepping into a well-loved painting; a well-loved book.

Something to welcome you home.

Behind the counter stood someone you didn’t recognize—young, cheerful, and definitely not the older woman with the cloud of white hair who used to sneak you extra apple pockets on rainy days. But the smile they gave was kind.

“Evening!” They said. “Let me know if you need anything!”

Everything looked cleaner now. Neater.

Even as you moved towards the counter, you took in the sight of the more professionally decorated display—elaborate presentations of cakes, and pastries, and desserts…

Behind you, you felt Caleb moving around to take in everything that he could, too.

The shelves in the back had packed croissants, cardamom buns, muffins.

You knew that despite your mourning for the more homely bakery you were used to, in the end it was still a bakery of good standard.

It still smelled a little bit like home.

With a warmth curling in your heart, you smiled at the cashier. "Two apple brioches, please," you gestured, before taking out your walled to fish for a bill.

Behind you, Caleb had paused—something on the side wall caught his eye—a corkboard tucked between the napkin station and the drink menu. A little handwritten sign above it read: Take a leaf, leave a leaf.

Papers in the shape of different colored leaves rested in a tray below, colored pens lined neatly in a box. The board itself was dotted with pinned-up notes: doodles, quotes, confessions half-lost to time.

And while you counted the change, he'd stepped over, pulled a leaf from the tray.

Quick scribbles.

When you'd turned, then, he was just straightening and pinning the note to the board with a casual flick of his hand.

You raised an eyebrow—show off.

“What was that?” You stepped closer to peer at his note, but he held his arm out and steered you out the door. "Hey!"

"Shhhh, that was my birthday wish."

"But a wish is made with candles. You made a wish today! And anyway, you're not supposed to write those down—"

With a grin, he flicked your forehead. "Eeexactly. No peekin', pips."

Perhaps he knew how to silence you.

In the next moment his hand reached down to find yours, gave it a little squeeze—

"Let's go home, pip-squeak."

You thought to yourself that you hadn't quite held him like this, not for a long, long while.

When you stepped back out onto the street, the bakery door tingled shut behind the both of you. Now, even standing out under the awning, you could see that the sky had darkened while you'd been inside. The sun was well below the horizon—dusk had given way to the evening, and in the distance, if you squinted, low clouds seemed to roll in slowly.

"Oh…" you murmured. "Do you think it's going to rain? I don't think I brought an umbrella with me…" You shifted around and rummaged through your bag, only to no avail.

The first drops hit before you'd gotten a reply.

Soft, still. Cautious, almost—as if testing the ground.

And as you peeked out from under the awning, little, sporadic drops fell on your head, dotting your hair with light greetings.

Beside you, Caleb shrugged. "We're not too far. It's probably just a drizzle."

"Guess the birthday boy gets a little bit of rain," you laughed then.

You took the pastries back from him and stuffed the little brown paper bag into your own bag—for safekeeping.

And you could pretend the drizzles weren't there.

Could still walk ahead, a few steps, cross over to the next block as the pedestrian signal turned green.

…But then the drizzle turned bolder.

A sudden scatter of drops soaked into your dress, and you let out a gasp.

"Oh, no…!"

The sky gave in completely.

Thick, heavy rain fell in sheets the next second. Testing period was over—the sky doused the pavement, and you were soaking almost immediately.

Hair, clothes—quickly they began to stick to your skin, both his and yours, and—God forbid—Caleb laughed.

"Caleb! Don't—ugh, come on! We've got to get—"

Despite your obvious indignation, he only reached over to grip your hand in his.

One more time, he seemed to say.

He had that knowing little look on his face, one that slowly, slowly turned into one with mischief and pure joy.

"Race you!"

With an aghast cry of disbelief, you allowed yourself to be dragged along with him—race, he said, yet here he was gripping your hand like a promise not to let go this time.

And you could only laugh.

He always knew how to make you laugh.

"Hey! Caleb, you dummy!"

You would shout through the rain, wet droplets splashing on at the two of you. Caleb was fast, and you were more of stumbling alongthan running. Water, puddles, flared up in arcs from your feet. It soaked through the fabric of your skirt, your socks, your collar—but you thought, nonetheless, that it felt so suddenly free.

You couldn’t remember the last time you'd run like this.

Carelessly.

Breathlessly.

Like it didn’t even matter that the two of you were drenched by now.

Caleb knew how to make you laugh.

Caleb knew how to make you feel at ease.

It was his birthday, and yet, he would still be like this with you.

Shoes slapped against wet pavement, rain streaked down your faces as you rounded the block and skidded into the shade of your apartment complex.

"S- seriously!" You half-laughed, half-panted, resting your hands on your knees as you caught your breath.

You offered a playful glare, "Warn me next time you take me for a ride, captain, geez!"

He ducked under with you, water dripping from the tip of his nose.

And all around you, the rain never seemed once to let up. It only got louder, enough to almost drown out your laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of it—

It settled again, and that giddiness bubbled.

"Ugh, just— You…!" You hunched over with laughter this time, only managing to straighten just to wring out your hair. "It's like you even remember the way here better than I do!"

"Pshhh. What do you take me for, pips? 'Course I'll remember!"

He shook his hair, grinning at the incredulous squeal you'd let out at the droplets that went flicking around from him.

Wet dog, you stuck out your tongue at him.

But he followed your actions after another grin—wringing out bits of his blazer, his tie; untucked his shirt just to do the same.

And then he chuckled.

"Well, it's where you are, so I'll never forget. Even through all that downpour… I'll always know the way home, pip-squeak."

The way he said it felt warm despite the cold beginning to seep through your clothes. But, as if afraid it might once again bring you a step away from him like you had been—you didn't address it.

Instead, you responded with a playful scoff.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Colonel."

With a wave of your hand, you walked rain-soaked steps up to your door, eagerly pushing your thumb to the fingerprint system in way of getting out of your wet clothes and hopefully into much drier ones.

Indeed when the door clicked open, Caleb shouldered it wider, allowing you to step inside first. “Geez,” he muttered, still scrubbing a hand through his wet hair. “I can feel my socks squish.”

You rolled your eyes, "Yeah, and you're the one who decided to drag us through the downpour. Which, happy birthday, by the way."

“Aaand, I regret nothing! 'cept maybe not waterproofing my shoes well enough. But that's another conversation.”

He moved to toe them off to the side, and you hovered by the light switch.

Ah, well, this you'd forgotten.

A second of hesitation.

You took a deep breath, and then—with fingers still a little wet against the plastic panel—you clicked it on.

Warm light spilled into the room.

Not just your living room lights, but soft string lights blinked to life. As the area lit up bathed in that amber light, it revealed strings of lights draped across windows and walls, something like lazy stars, gentle and gold, dancing almost delicately along the blankets stacked on the couch.

Balloons floated near the ceiling. Some were clustered in little groups around the corners of the room; blue, and orange, and red, and purple—Sunny Apple balloons, Sunny Apple plushies, even little Sunny Apple paper cutouts were there, too. The cutouts hung like ornaments—hand drawn, made with care… allowed a little glimpse into the innocence of childhood that you'd both spent together, all these years.

Caleb had stopped.

He'd paused, halfway through peeling off his blazer, jaw going slack. "What…"

A hint of red crept up your cheeks.

With a clear of your throat you padded barefoot across the floor, not even caring anymore as the rain still dripped from the ends of your hair. You could still feel the dress fabric clinging to your skin… but now, you couldn't care less. You barely even felt the cold anymore. Instead, your heart was beating far too loudly in your chest, and you crouched beside the couch, and—

There it was.

The real present.

A small, pearly-white box tucked carefully in the corner, wrapped up in a purple ribbon.

The color of his eyes.

"I… I know," you began, picking up the box and standing still. You couldn't dare back look at him—not now, not just yet. "I know I spent the day with you already… And, I know, that maybe I—I made it seem like that was the present."

Silence.

Not even a shuffle.

When you did turn, Caleb hadn't moved at all. Instead his eyes were fixed on you, watching you carefully, a waver of emotion in those sunset eyes of his that you found that you didn't know how to read.

Slowly you walked the few paces back to him, holding the box between your hands. "It's… I mean, that's not enough of a present. Neither is this, really. But… I wanted to give you something, even if it's small, and nothing compared to… uh…"

A wry smile; you swallowed.

The irony of being nervous in front of someone you'd known for more than half your life.

“You’ve… You've always taken care of me, Caleb. Even when you didn’t have to. Even now, after all this time. Even… Even in spite of everything. You've always been here. And you've said that you don't know, anymore, how to to take care of me like you used to, but you… You still do. You still try.”

The words trembled slightly as you spoke. And then you placed the box in his hands.

"…There's still so much you don't tell me," you said quietly, your expression softening. You watched as Caleb looked down, silently slipping the ribbon loose. "I don't know much about your missions, or the things that you have to do… Or what it's really like, out there in deepspace; even what it's really like when you fly."

The lid came off.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet, was a compass. Its face gleamed slightly in the light—simple, elegant, its needle already settling.

Caleb didn’t speak right away.

Instead he stared; a few beats. A couple moments with his gaze studying the eight-point star, before flitting back up to you.

You couldn't read him.

Even now, you thought, there was just so much you didn't know about him anymore, either.

Yet…

“…You always said I knew the way,” he murmured.

And you nodded, almost too afraid to speak in return.

He traced the needles with his thumb, carefully, gently.

"When we were kids, you… You always said you'd thought I was invincible. I had you relyin' on me the whole way, trailin' after me with those stars in your eyes. So, I'd lead the way when I could. As much as I could. I didn't… ever want those stars to go away."

The compass settled down as he reached over to rest it on a little table.

"You don't do that anymore, pips," he said softly.

And you stayed silent, allowed yourself to be gently drawn into him. Again, like always. Again, like he'd make you do.

In the back of your mind, you'd think that Caleb didn't even need his Evol, not when he was with you.

"Now you're this—this diligent, hard-workin' Hunter, best rookie Hunter of the year, and all those fancy achievements... Even made it into UNICORNS, yeah? I couldn't be more proud of you. Just…"

He rest his hands on your waist, pulled you closer just to rest his forehead against yours.

"You're right," he whispered. "Things're different now. All these things keep pullin' us further and further apart… It's like today's the only day we got to be like this. Where things felt like they used to. So when did heaven, and earth start… feelin' so far? When did you become someone I don't have to take care of anymore? When did you become someone I had to let go?"

The weight of his words settled.

In the end, he'd been feeling the same things you did.

"'m not as invincible as you think I am. I can't even accept that you don't look at me like you used to… Isn't that pathetic? Those stars in your eyes were ones I couldn't protect, and I keep messin' up, havin' to—to try to make things right again. But… how am I supposed to do that? I don't know a lot of things either, pip-squeak… All I want is to be by your side."

"Caleb…"

"Only reason I don't drift off into space is 'cause the only home I have's with you. Only reason I come back is 'cause I know you're waitin' for me back on the ground."

Your eyes closed.

Well, through the downpour and morning dew… you're the one I don't want to lose.

"…I'm still here, Caleb…" you murmured. "I'm not going to go flying off without you. I don't want to."

It wasn't even that the hug was particularly comfortable.

Wet fabric against wet skin—he felt cold. Cold, and wet, and—you could pull away.

But he rest his chin on the top of your head, and it was the warmest that you'd ever been.

"You're my home, too, you know." You nuzzled against him, smiled softly even though he wouldn't see it. "So this compass… was me hoping that I'd be yours. If navigation knows only forward motion…"

"…When I'm by you side, I just want to stay still."

You laughed, muffled against his chest. "Yeah. One of your silly quotes."

"Well… When you think about it, you're the only compass I'd ever need anyway, guidin' me back home the way you do." He smiled into your hair—you felt it—before he pulled back a little.

Looked at you properly.

Sunset eyes locked onto your own.

And slowly he reached—brought the necklace back up between your lips, leaned in to share a chaste kiss.

"Maybe this is just a promise," he murmured. "You ground me, pip-squeak. And fate has always guided me back to you… So maybe, yours is the gravity I can never resist. One that I never even plan to."

"My sun?" you laughed softly, "pulled into my orbit?"

"Mm, welll, I think I've only ever reflected the light you shine. Soooo maybe you're the sun. Or the earth. My world, isn't it? That'll fit, too."

"…You're silly."

"Heh. Don't like it?"

"Mn, I've never not liked it."

The necklace fell as you giggled, and your lips brushed together gently.

"You know… I don't know if I can believe in forever," he said, then. "But… Just this moment, here, with you… I want to believe in an eternity with you."

"So let's call it." Your eyelashes fluttered against his. "From this day onward… Caleb, you are my eternity."

And this time, this promise was sealed with a kiss.

Warm.

Steady.

So achingly gentle, it made your breath catch.

And it was a kiss that cradled the very weight of everything you'd shared before this, and everything else that you hadn't dared to speak out loud until this moment. It was a kiss that spoke for you. A kiss that said—thank you. I promise that, too.

So you kissed him back, leaned into him. You felt the way your breath trembled as you did—your hands rose, shaking, pressing lightly into his chest. And it was like breaking the surface, after holding your breath for all these years.

Your fingers fisted, curled, into the fabric of his shirt. Your own anchor. Something to steady you, keep you grounded, remind you no less that despite the weightlessness of this moment, it was still real.

The room faded.

The lights, the windows, the rain…

In this moment, it was just you, and him, and a shared sense of a promised beginning.

When he pulled back, his hands still remained curled at your waist. You noticed the flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes had gone all lidded—glassy, a little bit dazed. And despite the soft, breathless laugh that spilled from your lips, you didn't want to pull away.

You didn't even dare to.

Instead your gaze flitted back down to his lips, watched as the corner of his mouth twitched into a little hint of a smirk.

Caleb tilted his head.

Testing.

And his nose brushed once again against yours, and—

"Mmph—!"

He swallowed your gasp with yet another kiss; this time not as soft, not as sweet.

Hungry.

As if that moment had given him all he'd needed to let loose.

Despite your widened eyes, you willed yourself to breathe, melting like putty immediately in his arms. They'd flutter closed as he pulled you tighter, closer. And your hands slid up his chest, over the soaked fabric of his shirt, clutched at the fabric for yet another reminder of the reality of what was happening.

It was wet, and messy.

Open-mouthed, breathless—you made a noise at the back of your throat, something like a whimper, something like relief, something like—yes, this. More of this.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest.

What had started with a simple kiss had escalated into the intensity he'd pour into you—an intensity you reciprocated; an intensity you dared give back to him, so much so that you couldn't ever think to protest when his hand came up to cup your jaw.

His lips moved fiercely; he continued to press into you.

One step back.

Then another.

Not away from each other, but—towards.

And as the kiss deepened, the backs of your knees hit the couch. It was the only thing that could have made you part—you both toppled over in a tangle of limbs and damp clothing, couch cushions giving beneath you. He landed beneath you—blinking up with a startled look that shone through despite the redness that had reached his cheeks, a little huff of laughter falling at your own lips.

"Geez…" you breathed, one palm flat again on his chest, the other bracing yourself beside his head. “That was graceful.”

Not necessarily addressing the kiss; not necessarily rejecting it.

Instead, you watched as his hands slid along your hips, that smirk of his returning to his features. "Fate ordained it," he hummed. "But I feel like I want to be the greedy birthday celebrant that I am this time."

"Good."

You leaned back down, took a moment to caress his cheek. "You should be greedier with me, Caleb."

His lips against yours were searing.

That hunger was still there.

Fast, and deep, and passionate…

It turned heedy. Open mouths crashing together, again and again.

Soft groans built between sharp breaths and wet noises; there was no need for air, not when you could breathe him instead.

And instinctively, needy—your hips shifted, the gasp between you swallowed into another kiss.

Caleb's hold on your waist tightened. Not to stop you, but to guide.

And that was all the mutual invitation that both of you needed.

Slowly, teasingly, rocking still—you felt him hardening beneath you, felt your own body pulsing in response. You felt a tingle down at your core, already sensitive from the friction of your wet clothes and all this pent-up tension between you. The fabric felt hot, and soaked, and maddening—and even pulling away from him just to breathe took all your effort, and even then you couldn't stop.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice rough and buried against your shoulder. “You can’t move like that and expect me to stay sane, pip-squeak...”

“Oh?” You deliberately moved, eyebrow raised, letting the friction drag right across your clit through the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. A smirk was laced in your voice. “But I thought you liked this?"

His only answer was a strangled sound—half laugh, half moan.

And then he bucked up into you.

Retaliation, perhaps.

Your head tipped back at the sensation, hips meeting his in a frantic rhythm that neither of you were controlling anymore. Your breath hitched each time the ridge of his cock rubbed against you, perfectly caught between the angle of his body and the damp cling of your panties—It was raw.

Desperate.

Each roll of your hips sparked heat in your belly that coiled tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter…

“P-pip-squeak,” he groaned, breath catching against your neck. "You’re damn wet, h-holy...”

You rest your forehead against his, breath coming out in tiny puffs from exertion. "…So are you," you laughed. "We were… ah… We were out in the rai—nnh…"

“Not what I meant.”

Immediately your rhythm grew frantic. Slow grinding turned into more abrupt, hard rolls, the shape of his cock slotting nicely between the outline of your cunt. Your thighs tightened around his waist; his hands slid eagerly down to cup your ass and press you closer.

Caleb had never held you like this becore.

But even now, you looked at him—violet-orange eyes turned a darker twilight from sundown… and he had so much desire in him that you could simply melt.

Sparks shot up through your spine.

Your moans grew louder; swallowed either by his mouth that demanded more, or left completely to echo in your room as you arched your back.

"God, you're so fucking hot, pips," he murmured. This was a lower tone you were far less used to hearing, but it wasn't condescending. It wasn't cold.

It was hot, and searing, and you could only let out a groan of your own.

And eventually your soaked dress became far too much—

You sat up slightly, panting, straddling him still with your own flushed cheeks and unsteady hands.

You lifted your hips—started with the hem of your dress, slowly peeled it upwards.

And then off.

Immediately, Caleb's hands followed.

In heated silence his gaze trained over your body, thumbs brushing reverently along the skin as your dress was thrown haphazardly somewhere in the room. In the next second your bra unclasped, and your panties kicked off, both to join your dress without any more care for being organized.

Because none of that mattered.

Not at all mattered.

What mattered, now, was what was in front of you— all manner of love, and desire, and reverence, all in one gaze. All in the way he would linger, taking in every inch of you with a sweep of his eyes.

All in the way he would speak. Barely a whisper.

But still, enough to make you clench almost pathetically over nothing.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do right now,” he murmured. “You’re… stunning.”

You felt your heart skip a beat—a couple, before accelerating, bringing an undeniable heat rushing all throughout your body in that moment.

"Then… let me see you, too."

You tugged at his wet shirt, nails scraping lightly at his chest. The motion had him groaning, bucking his hips—his cock strained hard through his pants, grinding against the damp press of your now-bare pussy. The friction of his clothing hitting directly on your folds and had your thighs shaking, Caleb's hands moving up and down over them, eyes now glued to your breasts that hung right in front of him.

It was a reverent sort of scramble.

A struggle to stop, if only for a moment, just to bare your bodies to one another, just to finally, finally be free and vulnerable and real.

Wet fabric slapped to the floor.

No more barriers.

Full of desire.

You pushed him back against the couch cushions, climbed into his lap with slow, sure movements. Immediately your pussy slid over the heavy bulge of his cock, bare, and raw, and skin-to-skin, a place where it belonged and simply felt oh-so-fucking-good.

You gripped his jaw, kissed him hard, and then began to grind—slow, and hard, and so sweetly filthy.

But never as delicious as the sound of his own moans.

"Ah-shit—ah! Y-you're killin' me, baby—"

The new nickname had you jolting.

And he would pull you back down into another kiss—he rocked back against you, groaned into your mouth, hands rubbing over from your ass, to your hips, to the sides of your chests, and back down again—

So delicious.

Your clit caught every motion. The air was thick with the sound of wet skin, of uneven breathing, of whimpers and his whispered curses. His cock throbbed desperately, trapped against your heat, teased by the plush drag of your weeping cunt.

It wasn't enough.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “M'gonna lose it like this, you're so damn perfect…"

You shook your head. "No… Not yet," you panted. You leaned in, teeth teeth grazing that tender spot just below his ear. “I want you inside.”

He didn't speak, then.

Just a flash of something darker in his eyes, and then he lifted you slightly—

Flushed and heavy, your eyes were drawn to his length, watching with a wildly beating heart as he guided you over the head of it.

No rush.

Just the tip, first.

You couldn't resist swirling your hips a little, easing the red tip right into your hole—

"Fuckkkk, yes— Take it deeper, baby…"

Your eyes shot up to meet Caleb's, your own lips parted in disbelief.

His moans were so fucking pretty.

You didn't want to wait any more, either.

The stretch made you moan.

Slowly you sank down, pussy fluttering as you took him inch, by inch, every vein and every ridge burning itself into your memory. Your thighs trembled against his hips—he buried his face into your shoulder, breathing hotly against your skin, fingers grapsing at your ass as he fought to stay still.

"Mmnh… Caleb…" you moaned. Your hands gripped his shoulders then, nails practically digging in enough to earn a moan of his own.

He was just so big.

The fullness of him made your hips stutter. Your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Shit, shit,” you grit your teeth. “You’re… fuck, you’re stretching me so much—”

“I know, pips,” he breathed, shaky. “And you’re doin so, so good. You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven.”

He was throbbing inside you, pulsing against your most sensitive places. You felt every twitch. Every heartbeat.

And then your hips met.

You were shaking—he was all the way in.

Your hands trembled, chest rising and falling in strained breath, trying to adjust to his fill.

It burned, but it felt heavenly.

He was right.

“You okay?” he murmured, brushing his lips against your cheek, your temple, your jaw.

You nodded, swallowed hard. “I just… didn’t know I could feel this full,” you laughed, a little breathlessly. “It’s a lot.”

"But not too much, right, princess? I mean, look at you, so full of me…"

A lazy grin formed on his face, then.

He'd nudged you a little, all so his eyes could rake over you seated over his cock like this. A low whistle escaped from his lips, and his hand snaked over to rest on your stomach. "So, so full of me."

He leaned back up for a moment—

"Move for me, baby."

And it was as if you'd been waiting for such a command.

So you did as he'd asked.

A gentle roll of your hips, first.

"Fuck—! Ngh—!"

The first movement had him falling back to the cushions, giving you more of that delicious delicious moan, and your breath hitched.

There was a light whimper on your lips; the stretch of him still sent aftershocks down your spine, every inch of him rubbing places inside you that made your toes curl—

But you needed more. You really, really needed more.

Again.

And again.

And—

You rocked against him in a slow, tender rhythm; every downward push a sigh, every lift of your hips a gasp. His hands moved to your waist again, holding you steady, guiding you…

And he wouldn't look away from you.

Dizzy eyes, brows furrowed in pleasure—his hair, wet from the rain and from sweat, stuck to his hair, and the way he gazed at you was so lustful and so loving all at once that the coil in your stomach stirred.

"So fuckin' pretty," he drawled, soothingly rubbing into your waist. "Look at you go, pips… Takin' my cock so damn well…"

The slick sound of your bodies filled the space between you. Your arousal coated his length, clenching with every curse that spilled from his lips. You moaned, helplessly, almost, as your hips began to pick up the pace.

"Caleb… Caleb, feels s'good…!"

"Mhm… Yeah, you like it, baby? Feels good, huh? You're damn perfect, princess, made for me."

You near-collapsed. Palms on either side of his body, breath coming out in pants, hips moving up, and down, and up, and down—

His lips found your neck. Your jaw, your cheek.

“Drivin' me insane, pretty baby” he groaned. “Every fuckin' move you make…"

He thrust up into you.

"Caleb—!"

You cried out in pleasure, your movements syncing with the pace of his thrusts.

"That's it, baby… C'mon, c'mon— Fuck, pips—!"

You moaned into his mouth, and your rhythm stuttered, but didn’t stop. You moved above him, caught in that rising, desperate tide, the drag of him hit right where you needed, feeling cock along all your tender places with every roll—

His head tipped back against the couch cushion.

His throat bared; a broken moan escaped him so wonderfully.

“God—fuck, I’m close!" he gasped. His fingers trembled where they held you. “I can’t—baby, I can’t hold it back anymore, I need… fuck—need more than this… Please, lemme have all of you—"

His voice cracked with it, the need, the want.

And you could tell that there was more.

This wasn't about just sex—the way he looked at you held something deep something intense; he wanted you.

And you felt wanted.

You leaned forward, flushed and panting, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then don’t hold back,” you whispered. “Take all of it. All of me. Use me."

In that moment, you felt it.

He didn't lunge.

Instead, his body froze. A slight, strangled sound escaped his throat—

"Don't… don't say that…"

You paused.

A frown.

His eyes—those bruised-purple, tangerine-flecked eyes—met yours with a kind of haunted sorrow that you wouldn't have expected out of him.

"Caleb…?" you reached a hand out to push his bangs out of his face. "That's not— I didn't mean…"

“No, I… I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m takin' somethin' from you,” he shook his head. Whispered, pleadingly.

And still your bodies were joined, throbbing, waiting—but his hands had gentled, and his gaze searched yours like it ached to be understood.

"Caleb… You're not using me… I…"

"…But how do you know?" he frowned. "If you say it like that, pips, I… I've already taken so much from you."

"What? No, you haven't—"

"Do you really think so? All this time? I told you, I don't know how to take care of you anymore. All these wrong things I keep throwin' around, and you'd still fall back into my arms after a few coddles 'cause that's what I know to do to bring you back…"

"Stop! That's not—"

"I need you so badly, and I keep givin' in to that, pips. Keep thinkin' what if I’m only hurting you by loving you like this? Do you think I don't know? You're just too used to me to—"

"Caleb!"

You shouted his name, frowning, looming over him as your hands gripped his shoulders.

He'd stopped his rambling, but he still spoke.

Again.

A quieter voice.

"…Do I even deserve you, pip-squeak?" he murmured.

And that was the last straw.

You reached for his face, palms warm and trembling where they cupped his cheeks. His lashes were wet. He looked undone.

And you wanted him to stop saying those things.

“Shut up, birthday boy,” you hissed. "And let me fucking love you."

Fiercer.

Your mouth crashed against his for the nth time that day, willing, insisting, to press your answer into him without needing to speak it. Your hands framed his face gripping something so precious, so precious—

And when you pulled away, you glared determinedly as you touched your forehead to his.

Your breaths mingled.

His lips were wet—kiss-swollen.

And your hips moved once, twice… Slow and grounding, and he groaned.

Your hands down to his wrists. Guided them back to your hips.

"…Don't say such things," you murmured. "I mean it, Caleb. You can do with me whatever you want. But you’re not taking anything I’m not already giving you.”

He stared at you, lips parted, half in sheer disbelief.

"…I've been too much," he frowned.

"No, you haven't. You're not."

"…And this is… really what you want?"

"It's always been."

A pause, and your eyes softened. "Do you trust me?" you whispered.

A nod.

“Then I want you to take me, Caleb. I am yours. It's my choice to give you this much. I choose you."

And you watched as he swallowed, looked into your eyes one last time—

He flipped you.

Your back hit the cushions with a soft thump and he settled between your legs, the tip of his cock swollen and poised back at your folds.

His chest heaved.

His hands, placed on either side of your head to brace himself, were gripping the couch so tightly.

His control was slipping, yet he would fight so hard to keep it in.

"Aren't you scared of me?" he said quietly.

And you smiled.

You reached up, brushing damp hair from his forehead, cupped his face again.

He needed an anchor.

You would be one, for him.

"You're too high up in the sky, Caleb," you shook your head gently. "You need to come back down… to me. Me, who's always been waiting for you. Me, who's always loved you. All this time, every moment. I could never be scared of you, Caleb."

Your hands moved, wrapped around his neck, tugged him down closer.

"So fuck me."

And the strings snapped loose.

One thrust—your body had gotten used to him, welcomed him greedily as he sank his length deep inside you.

"Oh—fffuuuckk—pips, baby, shit—"

The angle was different like this.

More curses and moans strung from Caleb's lips as he buried himself to the hilt, and you yourself groaned from the intrusion, eyes immediately rolling back into your head just like earlier.

You could get addicted to this.

"Yes… Yes! Just like that, Caleb…!"

You clung to him, nails scraping lightly down his back.

And this time, you knew he wasn't holding back at all.

Low grunts were punctuated by sharp, harsh thrusts, driving you into the cushions, echoing the obscene sounds of his cock dragging in and out of your dripping hole.

You could feel it—every vein along his length, burning into you like home—the twitch, of his need, pulsing inside you enough to make you dizzy.

Your walls clenched—pulling him deeper, deeper.

It was driving you insane.

"G-god…!" He choked, moaning against your lips as your foreheads pressed together.

The pace of his hips didn't relent.

"You feel so—haah—so fuckin' good, n'wet, you’re— you're pullin' me in—! Fuck, baby, you’re made for this—!”

"Mmh'all yours, Caleb, was made just for yo—uugh—haah! H-harder—!"

Absolutely insane.

Your thighs trembled around his hips, as he held you open, begging, writhing, under the force of how well he'd ruin you.

And you would let him.

You did let him.

"Harder, harder—!"

Caleb hissed as he pushed deeper, driving his cock into you with a wet, thick sound that made both of you moan.

His pace built—whatever you wished—and his hips slapped against you needy rhythm, your body bouncing slightly beneath him with each thrust.

Frantic, your hands gripped his back, then slid upward to tangle in his hair, then down again—once more, your nails raking hard enough to leave proof of everything.

"H-hnghh—ah—! Cal-e— C-Cal—!"

"Mmm, that's a good, good girl f'me—haah—such a good princess, fuck— pussy's milkin' me, baby, you're gonna make me cum like this!”

Moaning loudly, you arched into him. "Yes, yes! Wanna feel it! Wanna feel you so deep—" With his hips angled perfectly, you felt the tip of his cock nudge your g-spot, and you cried out. "Caleb!"

“Fuckin' hell, say my name like that again, pip-squeak."

And he slammed into you, taking the way you desperately continued to claw at his back.

Just one more thrust, and then you caved.

"Caleb! Caleb…!"

Crying out his name in messy sobs, your back arched, and you trembled—spasmed—gripped him for all that you could. "I'm… c-cumming…!"

His hips stuttered, moans getting higher, the sound of your own cries like a catalyst to his release.

“Fuck!” he gasped, voice breaking. “Me too, pips— I’m gonna— I-I can’t—!"

“Yes—yes—yes!"

You wept, drawing him in, begging for him. "Cum in me. Please, please, I need it—need you to—!"

He crashed into you, burying his face into your neck with a loud cry.

"F-fuck! Baby, princess…!"

Nicknames, pet names, words blurred into sounds of your name.

His cock pulsed hard inside you as he emptied himself, long hot ropes of cum and every twitch and throb leaving you shaking.

"C-Caleb…" you gasped, crying still, tears stinging your eyes from the intensity of your coupling. "Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb…"

His whole body trembled above you, his back taut under your hands, his face pressed hard into the crook of your neck like he could disappear inside you.

"M'here, pips," be mumbled. "I'm right here. Right here… Attagirl, now…"

So gentle, his words, and yet the slick between you was so filthy.

That slick wet noise of your joined bodies, your pussy fluttering around his cock as you clenched him in deeper, holding every drop… This way, his cum stayed in deep. Thick, and warm... Like it belonged there.

Like he belonged there.

In your heart, you knew that he did.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, that stupid, stupid grin on his face that made you pout. "I think you just entirely rewired me," he laughed breathlessly.

You made a face, smacked his arm lightly. "Well, good."

And your eyes softened. Took in the sight of him, wet with sweat and water, and all these messy things… Yet still, he smelled like rain, and skin, and a heat that was entirely just him.

He smelled like home.

And you loved him—God, you loved him.

He caught your gaze, and smiled.

"…Hey, pips?" he murmured.

"Mh?"

"D'you believe in forever?"

You shifted, tilting your head to look at him properly. "Well… you don't, right?" you said slowly.

"…I want to, though."

So you chuckled."Then, I want to, too."

"So… we do, then."

"We do."

You nodded, snuggled into him, kissed his chest. "Maybe, we just… have to be the authors of our own story. Say that we will have forever. And things, like… how forever feels like… this. In your arms. Here."

You heard a quiet yawn.

"Forever must be perfect then, huh?" he sighed.

"Mn… I think that it could be."

You poked him lightly. "So what'd you wish for?"

Caleb didn't answer immediately. For a moment there was a silence, and then came a soft laugh.

"You, 'course. And that no matter what happens, I'll always know my way back home to you, pip-squeak."

The thunder outside was as loud as this moment with him was quiet.

"…Happy birthday, Caleb."

an : i know the moon imagery might be like. a stretch. but oh my god. like. i find it so interesting the possible analogies that could be used to describe it and settled on the moon wkjhkghkdjfg something something how the moon falls into the earth's gravity? something something the light of the moon is only reflected from the sun??? like it FEELS so caleb to me ok WKJHKJGDS anyway i hope if you've read this far that you've enjoyed it! <3 not as much of a caleb character study as i wanted it to be, but i guess it's as close as i could count without going insane- at 9k this was already a lot im CRYING.... caleb i hope you know that you are so loved... and i hope that for any of you reading this you can feel that he's loved through this as well <3 once again !! happy birth week to us <3 and happy gemini season!

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(++ extra tags for @starmocha and @deepspacenova... I HOPE U DONT MIND... this is me saying i love u ty for getting me through this fic via moral support LMAOOO)

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