#please play it when i release it!! :'D

[peevishpants]

i ask you this: how would YOU wear your freshly caught fish hat

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

[screampied]

FAKIN’ IT FOR YOU ?! ☆

gojo, sukuna, nanami, toji, choso. faking an orgasm n how they react

cw. fem! reader, unprotected, faking órgasms, praise, filthy dirty talk, orgasm denial, first time squirt (choso), öral (f! receiving), nipple play, impact play, manhandling, req by anon, mdni. total wc 3.7k

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO

“what the fuck was that?”

he wouldn’t even care he was balls deep—you can’t even try to fake an orgasm with toji because he’ll immediately know. toji knows every inch of your body—he studies it like one would study for an exam, every particular nerve, he knows how to hit it until you break. yet, the moment you decide to fake your release, all hell breaks loose. you’d be on all fours as he stops his churlish hits against you, a hand of his gathers a firm amount of your hair before he tightly yokes it back. sweetly, you play coy and moan, “what was what?”

“let’s not,” toji grumbles, and he’s annoyed. you can hear the extra grit linger underneath his tone as he speaks. ravened eyebrows of his curve into a frustrated furrow before he pulls out. it was so abrupt, you whine before he gives your ass a rude spank, darting his eyes away with an eye roll. “oh, please, girl. was that a fake moan too?”

“it wasn’t f-fake,” you protest, and you’re suddenly quiet from the way he rubs his fatten swollen tip against your soddened entrance. toji could read you like a book though—you weren’t bullshitting anyone. you was so close but instead, you decided to be a bit more of a brat, kind of desperate to see toji’s reaction.

all toji does is pull out. you whine, the friction titillating against every number of nerves hidden within your body before he spanks your ass again. “faking an orgasm for me, girl bye.” and as he speaks, you could hear his sheer vexation. toji brings your hips up to him, having your face laid down against the woolly mattress before he wraps a hand around his shaft. giving it a few pumps, he starts to slap his tip against your entrance. “got some balls, girl. i’ll give ya that.”

“w- why’d you pull out?” you whimper, making a cute attempt at grinding your rear against him. toji snickers, drubbing his plump cockhead against your slit, pushing it in—only to pull it right back out. the dewy squashes your pussy makes only rings against your ears further. all you feel is pure static, you’re panting, chest heaving, everything and above.

with a secure grip against a nice chunk of your hair, toji groans. “b- because i fuckin’ cannn,” he mocks your faltering stutter, a palm of his bedaubing against your folds before spanking it silly. “ooh,” he purrs, watching your thighs shimmy upon impact. you bite your lip, trying to rut yourself further against him and he only resumes to rub his rounded fat tip between your slit. desperately, you try to swallow him whole but before you could even attempt — toji pulls it back out, slapping his hefty cock onto your pussy again and again. “got some nerve faking an orgasm with me when y’er this soaked already.”

“f-fuck,” a mewl dies out your throat as you feel him continue to smear his rotund cockhead all over your most sensitive parts. with your back hunched over, pretty thighs parted, you let off a bratty giggle. huffing out a sweet sigh, you hum, “it’s just … you’re getting a bit old, toji. didn’t wanna be mean.”

toji’s left eye twitches. as he ghosts a few fingers against your cunt — he slowly inserts two thick fingers inside of your lewd opening before pulling his digits back out. “old, huh?” and he flips you over to look straight at him. sable hairs of his run down his brows before he slyly smiles. a gasp wretches out from your throat before he shoves both of your knees up to your chest, realigning himself. with a husky grunt, he snarls. “don’t play with me. old or not i’ll still break this bed, whore.”

“d- do it then.” you almost simper but he cups a hand over your face.

“tch, such a mouth on ya. ain’t nothin’ a few orgasms won’t fix,” and you moan once he starts to finally make his way inside of you. the girth of toji thickens and dilates throughout your walls and you feel his grip tighten against your knees. as the bed starts to creak in harmony again, he darkly cackles, hot breath aerating against your neck. “oh, and just a heads up baby. when i break this bed, ‘s coming out of your pocket to replace it. ‘ppreciate it.”

★ CHOSO KAMO

“h-huh,” he’d stammer in short briskly breaths. choso doesn’t realize you fake it until he actually realizes something wasn’t right. with him being propped up between your plush thighs, he gently gnaws against your chin, panting heavily. “baby, did you just fake your orgasm?”

you only give him a sheepish grin and choso pouts, he leans in to kiss your pout, soft sweet kisses gluing against your chin before he whines. “that… wasn’t nice,” and he buries his face into his neck. choso’s only teasing—but in the case that you do fake an orgasm with him, he’s more than determined to make you cum at least ten times harder. choso would have you laying flat on your back, gradually easing himself back into your sopping accepting walls before he whines. “oh f-fuck,” he’d gasp, feeling you immediately engulf around his length. he’s throbbing into you, various veins that run down his shaft pulse inside of you. your legs immensely snake around his waist before he starts to deeply drill into you.

choso’s pace is different this time — it’s much more frantic, he’s still whimpering praises into your ear as he’s plummeting his dick within your gummy clingy walls. “mhm, just like that baby. s-so good,” you’d mewl out, his hips continuing to drive into you at a full smacking speed. it’s addictive, the way his sharp hips rotate against you—you feel your tongue hang out before he leans in to suck on it.

you’ve always tasted so sweet, choso’s moans only grow louder as he starts to tap against that same spot buried inside of your cunt. he knows your moans are for real this time because of your body language—how you cling onto him tightly with your giddy arms and legs, biting down onto his right shoulder in pure pleasure. “fuck, fuck right there baby. that’s it, that spot, pleaseee.”

choso could have came alone from your melodic words of encouragement. you’re all stupefied with your eyes crossed, warm hot bodies clashing against each other in sync. he whimpers, feeling his thighs ache near the undersides before his hefty cock reaches yet another deep spot. your legs were steadfastly wrapped around his torso, making sure he’d never leave. “come on baby, give me one, please. gimme a real one,” and he licks a long stripe up your neck. “give it to me, make a mess on m-me so i can clean you right up.”

as you’re positioned in a sprawled way, choso’s hands roam towards your neglected bouncing tits. his head lowers down to suck against them as his hips go slow. a growing pool of heat resides near your lower abdomen as his delicious inches drill in and out of you. “f-fuck, ‘cho. ‘s coming, feel w-wet.”

“let go on me, please,” he purrs, his tongue licking against your sensitive nipples. after a while, he csnt help but start to suck against your precious mounds, moaning as you cup his face to look at you. choso grinds against you, verbosely slowing himself down before you let off a real shriek. as the coarse smacks against each body pitched louder and loduer, you feel yourself zealously jolt forward before you feel a sudden sensation gush out of you. the velocity of it all was soaking — you’re panting, chest heaving as you try to recollect breaths before you feel yourself spouting out more onto your boyfriend. choso pauses, his pink dampened lips quavering as he leans in to give you a sloppy kiss on your mouth. “baby,” his eyelids lowers, and he’s puffing for air right with you. a hand of his trails down between your thighs, lifting up your legs before he moans. “did you just squirt on me…?”

feeling a drenching pool of saliva coat into your mouth, you whine out a timid, “y- yes.”

giving you a hungry gaze, his dick twitches inside of you before he pulls out to watch the remnants of your own slick spill out. “o- oh wow,” he gawks at the filthy scenery right before his eyes. in a gruff voice, choso bites his lip, leaning down to press a final delicate kiss against your pussy. “mwah,” his warm lips ghost against your now drenched folds. he can’t help but lick against it, savoring your sweetened taste before he looks up at you with a pleading look in his eyes. “do.. do you think you can squirt for me one more time? pretty please. need you s-so bad.”

★ SUKUNA RYŌMEN

the audacity was beyond him—he knows right away, sukuna was no foolish curse.

if it was anything he knew by heart, it was your body. whenever you’re about to orgasm, he likes to stare dead into your eyes whilst he’s giving you his all. slow yet deadly strokes, he likes draining the pleasure out of you with the thick inches of his cock. oh, how his favorite part was to just hear your babbling little voice sob out his name over and over like a looping vinyl on a record player. your adorable cacophonies of “right there, right there,” and “gonna cum, ‘kuna,” and many more, many of which they all never fail to reverb across the padded walls of his sacred chambers.

although, he can easily tell from how it’s real or fake. sukuna gets up close—hearing the sounds of your heavy breaths as your legs wrap around his waist. as you’re taking in every part of his bare long length, your arms sling around him. you’re a mess underneath him, jostling against his beefy built body. the demon’s pure smoldering heat colliding against yours only makes you throb at a much quicker pace. his scent, you bury your face into the crook of his neck. “i-i’m close, ‘kuna.” you’d mewl out in a desperate cry, hearing his low animalistic growls all close up against the outer shell of your ear.

he knows,

you didn’t even have to remind him, he knows your body. it was his priceless treasure. sukuna groans as you claw your fingernails into the deep depths of his back. his thickened base resumes to jackhammer into your tight sticky walls furthermore until you croak. he’s just so big, you jaw was dangling open all stupid like before it finally comes— that familiar squeal he’s grown to love. his favorite part.

as your cunt sloshes against the repetitive thwacks against it, you whine out your finish—yet he notices something quite peculiar about your concluding climax. as you lean your back, doe eyes staring into the ceiling, his pointed ears twitch at the way you elongated that single orgasmic syllable. “think you’re so funny,” he says as he waits for your seven second orgasm to come to a closing halt. crimson red eyes makes your tummy churn as you meet his stern gaze and he grips your chin. “little girl, you’re playin’ a dangerous game.”

“w- what?” you coyly mutter, an almost smile pulls against each side of your lips before he glares at you.

sukuna pulls out and you gasp, your ankle brushing against the back of his torso and he squeezes your lips together. “brat,” he snarls, his tone all rough and husky. a free hand of sukuna’s sneaks down between your pried open legs to feel against your pussy. a real moan snatches out from your throat as he rubs sloppy circles against it, only to smack it again, and again, and again. your eyes start to roll as he continues to pace. you’re so soaked that it starts to coat his hand. “look at you. can’t get off to dick but you came just from a few pussy smacks? tch.”

“m-more, ‘kuna. don’t stop pleaseee.” you pant, feeling your tummy cave in as you’re directly underneath him. his weight hovers above you as he still grips your cheeks together, giving you a hot, steamy kiss. sukuna’s forked tongue glides against yours and you whimper in his mouth before he lightly pushes you off. you ‘oof’ back onto the fat padded mattress with a pout as he gets up. with a saddened frown, you sit up to whine. “where— where are you going?”

sukuna fixes his kimono before giving you an annoyed glower. “don’t worry about that. worry about how you’re gonna make that pathetic pussy finish since i apparently can’t make you cum,” and he snickers at your little grumbles before he walks out. “change the sheets when you’re done. fuckin’ wet girl.”

★ NANAMI KENTO

“…oh,” a deep voice groans from behind you. nanami’s voice was low, his simple oh sounded offended more than anything. most of the time he doesn’t really have you on all fours, doggystyle. but today, you were being a bit of a brat. nanami doesn’t mind your little antics, but if it’s to a point where he has to remind you of your place, he will. nanami’s thick cock was plunging in and out of you before he abruptly stops, slowing down once you ‘release.’

your moan sounded a bit too dramatic than usual, you gulp as he lightly grips onto the back of your shirt.

“oh….what?” you’d moan out, and you glance at the mirror that’s propped up in front of the both of you. there—you see nanami with a look of what seems to be mere irritation. nevertheless though, it’s hot. the way his gentle fawn irises burn into you, perfectly arched brows of his lower and a scowl forms onto his lips. he was still fully clothed, just his slacks from work hanging low. out of nowhere, he gives your ass a mean spank.

nanami sighs, feeling his dick that was stuffed inside of you twitch from the inside. “let’s not ask silly questions, my love. you faked that one, didn’t you?” and despite how sweet and alluring his delivery was—you heard a faint rasp in his voice, the baritone as he speaks makes you even more wetter than you already were.

you pout, not fond of how he stopped fucking you, you wanted more—you couldn’t help but be greedy for more of him.

“i didn’t,” you lie through your teeth, arching forward in a cute teasing attempt for him to finish drilling into you. nanami doesn’t follow through though, instead—he gathers a strong yet gentle grip of your hair. as his veins coarse through him, his hefty arms bulge as he pulls you forward to stare at your pathetic needy reflection. “f-finish fucking me, ‘ken. why’d you s-stop?”

“why should i continue, sweetheart? tell me that,” and his words were nothing more but a soft purr. his interest was suddenly piqued—you’ve never faked one of your orgasms before, at least not with him. as you lie on your chest, he takes a peek at your ass before letting off another low sigh. nanami gets directly up close to you before he delicately tightens the grip around your hair a tad bit. “ah, don’t be shy now. tell me what ‘m not doing right to make this pussy feel good. i know you faked it, my love.”

your breath hitches as nanami presses his weight against you—his throbbing cock buries itself between your entrance but he’s not even in fully.

he’s just … idle, his shaft remains near you and you whine from the feeling of him not moving.

“i was just p-playing,” you whine, feeling your perky nipples rub against the satiny-made sheets. whilst you smear your glossy lips together, you grind your hips against your husband. “just wanted attention, ‘ken.”

“my wife,” he whispers, planting a hot kiss near the nape of your neck. his touch alone could make you finish. it was that easy, nanami’s fingers skim against your waist before he sucks gently against your collarbone. “there’s other ways to get my attention, you know that,” and his voice softens by a mile. he’s always gentle with you, his throbbing cock all swollen and built up of so much volumes of seed that he was preparing to give to you. “ugh, having you bent over like this ‘s drivin’ me crazy,” he abruptly admits, feeling you wriggle your ass against his cock that was stuffed between the very temples of your ass. “but,” he swallows, sneaking another kiss, this time against your earlobe. “if i give you another orgasm, ‘s it gonna be real this time?”

“y- yes, promise,” you moan, desperate for him to go back inside. nanami’s hands grab onto your hips now as he pulls them up, relishing in your little arch you’ve got going on for only his eyes to see. you’re gorgeous, he huffs out a few breaths as you take your time to whine out your little words of desire. “won’t fake it anymore, jus’ finish fucking me, please.”

nanami groans—his fingers wrapping around his fat length, giving it a few mere pumps before he prods it against your hungry swallowing slit. “atta girl. keep that arch f’me, yeah,” he sucks his teeth, raising his chin up to where his jawline makes an appearance. “now,” he whispers, deepening his voice as he spreads your legs, making your right cheek sink into the cottony pillow. “let’s try this again. let’s see if i can get a little squirt out of you, sweetheart.”

★ SATORU GOJO

once he finds out you faked your orgasm, it significantly bruises his ego—he tries to play it off with a sheepish cackle cutting out of his throat. “heh, i can fake an orgasm better than that, y’know.” he’d mutter, yet you could hear the little tremor in gojo’s tone. he was quite literally pounding into you before he makes you lie down flat against his chest. he makes you spread your legs for him, exposing your dripping pussy before he pinches your clit. you moan, feeling gojo’s bulge brush off against your ass. “kinda hurt my feelings, hmph.”

“i didn’t f-fake it—” you try to lie. with his fingers rummaging near the inside of your cunt, it had you biting back your words in regret. you lean back against his chest, legs all spread and you start to squirm before he hums against your ear.

“squirmy today aren’t we?” gojo jeers with an impish smile. he titters at the way your legs judder all because of the indecourous stimulation. each tantalizing twitch makes him wanna rub his fingers against your clit even quicker. “if you don’t wanna gimme an orgasm, i’ll just have to do it myself, angel.”

you clench onto his thigh, allowing pleasure to overtake you before his fingertips skid against that familiar spot. now— your moans were very much real, gojo’s fingers was so lengthy that he could reach you in areas his own dick probably couldn’t locate. as your eyelids feel heavy, they shut before another whine leaves your mouth. he still keeps up his pace, maneuvering all kinds of circles over your pussy in a rotation manner before your thighs start to shudder in ecstasy.

“satoru, satoruuuu,” a heavenly sounded whimper dies out your throat. you only then roughly gnaw down on your lip, a cute try at trying to suppress your little moans. “don’t think i can c-cum anymore, ‘s good fuckk.”

he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “yes you can, i know you can baby,” he whispers, and that’s when he moves again, moving himself between your legs this time. gojo brings a chaste kiss towards your pussy, slithery strings of saliva peeling from your folds and it’s so sloppy. immediately, his lips get all moist and muggy with your honeyed slit. he creates a bowling ball grip with two lengthy fingers, shoving the two of them in and out before he blows parching hot air against your cunt. “gotta get my baby a little wetter.” he whispers, watching you pulse from the inside. within seconds, you happily coat your boyfriend's fingers with your dingy sheet arousal before he slowly vigorously continues to knead various circles and shapes against your swollen nub. you were throbbing laboriously, pulse after pulse as you panting repeats itself as if you’re running a marathon.

gojo lolls out his long wet tongue against your pretty pussy, savoring your candied taste as he feels you roughly joggle against his mouth. hot puffs of pants fans against your folds as he chuckles, and he then starts to spank your pussy raw. one spank turns into two, then three, then four . .

you didn’t want him to stop anytime soon—his guzzling greedy sucks against your clit only makes you spasm out even faster. by now, you don’t even remember why you faked your orgasm because the real one was finally about to present itself. it’s coming to you like a tsunami wave, you can’t predict it but it’s preparing to crash into you all at once. the build up has you almost drooling before you grip onto his his meaty thigh.

“s-satoru— something’s hnghhh coming. oh my goddd,” and you’re trapped in a haze, yet gojo doesn’t stop there. he’s so offended that he doesn’t just make you cream on his fingers. he makes you squirt on them too, gushing out so much the that sheets are now all soaked thanks to you. whilst your tummy heaves, your legs feel all numb and not before long, he makes you squirt again. your jaw cutely sways itself open as you lie back on the mattress, feeling the few spurts trickle out of you slowly. “f-fuck,” you whine, and your voice is all strained and tiny.

gojo hums before he starts making out with your pussy. his eyes close as if he’s actually kissing you, each smooch sounds more sloppy by the second before he pulls out his fingers, sitting up to slide them into your mouth. “taste yourself baby. now thaaaat’s how you orgasm,” and as you take his digits into your mouth with droopy eyes, your tongue swirls all around his fingertips. as you moan amply from your own taste, he wrenches out his fingers before sneaking a two second kiss on your lips. “awww, don’t tap out on me now. you can give ‘toru one more, right?”

[wolviensabes]

NSFW Alphabet: Wolverine

a/n: I was excited to write a nsfw version of this because his character was surprisingly fun and easy to write for this. I like Logan because you can really be flexible with how he is in bed. It all depends on preference and writer ofc, but still it was fun to write. Wrote mostly gender neutral, on parts where body is described, I wrote for afab and amab. Not edited please ignore mistakes ty <3

18+ under the cut. MDNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Aftercare king.

He knows just what to do, especially since sex with him is normally pretty rough and crazy. He leaves you a mess under him and you're barely able to walk. "Atta girl/boy, princess/prince, up you come." he grabs hold of you and lifts you up, carrying you to the bathroom to get you all clean.

He's a messy partner so you need a shower to get all the sex off you. He leaves you alone to do anything you need privately, but otherwise he's helping you maintain your balance in the shower and drying off.

You're in such a dazed state, you feel dizzy and lightheaded, still a little loopy. He will get you back to bed and lay you down, feeling pride and satisfaction within himself at how he could bring you to such a state. Only he could do that to you.

He will hold you close to him, you feel cold now, his body will warm you up. He likes skin to skin, so unless you want a shirt, he won't dress you so he can feel your softer skin against his own.

The praise he gives you makes you feel so special and worth so much, it helps when you come down from your high, knowing he was satisfied and loved every moment of the act.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

I don't think he really has a favorite part of his partner, but I will die on the hill that he likes his partners a little chunky. He loves to grab onto you, he likes how he can manhandle you without worry of hurting you.

Those plush hips and belly drive him insane. If you are afab, your ass draws his hand in every single time and he loves to smack and grab it. If you are amab, he will grab onto your thighs or soft, relaxed chest muscles and squeeze them. Both afab and amab, his hands come around from behind and gently knead your belly.

Logan is a dude so on himself...he holds his manhood very high, and for good reason.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

Filthy.

He gets that shit all over the place and he loves it.

He loves marking you inside and out. He loves shooting his spunk on your body just as much but something about releasing inside you makes him somehow cum harder and with more.

He's not that bad taste wise, I mean cum doesn't taste great, but he's not bad. Not too bitter, not too salty, but his cum is thick. And when he does climax, he cums a LOT.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Logan, being a primal mutant, loves scents. It's one of the things that he relies on a lot, and your scent is intoxicating. He steals some of your clothes and smells them, or sometimes he will dive into your crotch and inhale you.

Not exactly dirty, but Logan secretly likes when you scratch his head or mess with his hair after sex. He likes to keep himself up as a tough guy most of the time but when you wind down, even if he's the one holding you, he sometimes scoots down enough to let you play with his hair.

He will move his head where he wants your hand to scratch and leans into it when you reach that sweet spot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He's over 200 years old, he's got experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

Literally anything where he can watch you mewl and moan for him.

He also likes from behind or positions where he can watch his cock sink into you with each thrust.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

Logan isn't goofy but he also isn't serious. He's open to messing around and with tossing, turning, all sorts of play, it's not going to be serious 100% of the time.

He will chuckle and tease, sometimes funny noises are made, that's just how it is, and you both will laugh a little...but then you get back to it because who can resist?

Sometimes he will play fight you, wrestle you down to the bed and hold you there, with ease, and he smirks down at you trying to overpower him. It's a fun way to rile him up for sex and he enjoys it quite a bit.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

Logan is hairy, but not insanely so. I think below he is pretty crazy but he trims it down enough once you two get more intimate. Though he thought it was funny watching you spit out his pubes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

He can be romantic but he is more passionate than anything. He likes to make sure you feel good, and he loves doing it. Once he gets you feeling good, he gets a little more rough and tells you what he likes without shame.

He's very forward, and his communication in the bedroom is immaculate. You wished he were like that outside of the bedroom sometimes, because there's no hesitation, no secrets, he's fully confident and tells you exactly what he wants.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

Sometimes he masturbates, sometimes he doesn't. It all depends on how horny he is in the moment.

He'll fist his cock to the thought of you, or since he likes your scent a lot, he will practically inhale your underwear and jerk himself until he cums all over his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

Logan...he's kinky as hell.

Dom/sub dynamics drive him up the wall. He loves being in control, manhandling you, having you listen to what he says without fail.

Slight primal play would be up his alley. The playful wrestling and fighting gets him going and he likes to bite and mark you up during sex. Almost looking like an animal attacked you, but no, it was just Logan marking you as his.

Dirty talk king. He is so brazen with his language, whispering it into your ear as he pounds your poor, swollen hole full of another load.

Praise, praise, praise! He loves to praise you and how good you take his thick cock inside you.

Overstimulation/denial, he loves the control. He often makes you cum multiple times before even penetrating you just to hear you cry and whimper for him.

Maybe a slight breeding kink, since he loves the idea of filling you up to the brim with his thick cum, (this goes regardless of afab or amab), he's going to fill you up regardless if it's biologically possible to impregnate you or not. It's just for fantasy anyway.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

He will do it anywhere he feels like. He doesn't care who sees. You're his and he likes everyone around you to know it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

I love that most everyone agrees that wearing his clothes makes him fucking feral. He would lose it seeing you in a shirt of his...or maybe even naked and only wearing a flannel. Slowly unclasping each button to make him growl and almost rip the damn thing off you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

He'd never want to hurt you. There are things he likes that might harm you but he doesn't actually want to cause you harm.

He can be rough and he doesn't want to actually hurt you. A spank or choking just enough to get you dizzy is about as far as he would go. Logan would never intentionally try to harm you, especially during something as intimate as sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

He has a hard time picking what he likes better. He loves diving between your legs and lapping you. But he also loves to see you choke around his thick cock.

Logan loves the dirtiness of it, his dick in your throat and watching you try your best to please him. He loves seeing you choke and gag on him, your face gets so sloppy with spit and cum, it makes him more crazy in bed when he's fucking you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

With Logan it can be 50/50. He can be rough and hard, or slower and passionate. Most of the time he is ensuring you cum multiple times, and then he fucks you into the bed while you cry around his cock. Then, he gives you another orgasm, he cums, and the cycle repeats until you literally can't take it anymore.

Then he cleans you up and makes sure you know how good you were for him. You'll have trouble walking for a few days.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He's down for a quickie, he can make you cum fast when he wants to. However he does prefer to make you whine and beg instead of giving you a solid, quick orgasm unless you really need it.

Sometimes he needs a quick one too, so a fast blowjob helps. But again, he likes to take his time rather than rush it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

He takes plenty of risks. He loves to test the waters with you and experiment with all sorts of things. He's down to try almost anything.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

His mutation allows him to have enhanced stamina so be prepared for that.

He can go for literal hours and not be tired at all. His mutation also allows his refectory period to be very short. So...you will be filled to the brim.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

I don't think he would have any for himself, but he would start to grow a collection if you had any or showed interest in some. He'd keep them under his bed in his room whenever you wanted to spice things up.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Logan is the king of teasing you. He loves to tease until you can't take it and tears are rolling down your cheeks.

He always gives you what you want in the end, but not without that asshole making you beg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

He doesn't give two shits who hears him, or you, he is loud. He grunts, groans, snarls. Not to mention the insane level of dirty talk he does, and he loves to make you scream out his name.

By the time you're done, you swear half the mansion heard you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

He dirty talks like crazy.

Sometimes he will fuck you when you're wearing his clothes, or when he comes back from a mission, he doesn't bother cleaning up before he storms up to your shared room and he fucks you.

Angry sexxx

He lets out his frustrations from missions as he pounds into you.

"Goddamn slim, stupid fuckin' self-designated leader thinks he can boss me around like I'm nothin' but a loyal scout to 'em." he grunts and snarls with each plap of his hips into you, his cock driving against you. You have no idea what happened on the mission but can you complain? No.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Logan's dick is huge let's get that out of the way.

He's thick, it feels like he rips you open each time he penetrates you and it feels fucking incredible. That also means lots of foreplay~

He's veiny, his cock throbs as he stands erect, and his balls are heavy.

He's a good 8 to 8.5 inches fully erect, the damn thing leaks precum constantly when he's horny.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

Insanely high. He will fuck you every single day if he could.

He is down to fuck all the time, anytime. You just have to say the word and he's on top of you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

Logan makes sure you're comfortable before he even attempts to sleep. He stays awake, letting you curl into him and he watches you, making sure nothing he did was too much or causing pain.

Once you seem okay and have fallen asleep, he will allow himself to relax and fall asleep beside you.

Thanks for reading.

*SNIKT*

Tag list: @strawberryshortcake20

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by leaving a 🧡.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Can I see your d*ck? (pt 3)

pairing: lee felix x afab!reader

synopsis: your pretty best friend shows you some mercy...

wc: 1.6k

warnings: fingering, dirty talk, handjob, oral (m), cum swallowing

a/n: part 3! there might be a part 4...😉

masterlist

You were barely holding on, the last sane part of your mind slipping out just as Felix started teasing your entrance with three of his fingertips.

"F-Felix... Please." you whimpered and he smirked.

"I'm not sure you'll be able to take this." he pouted, teasing you and you were so close to just grabbing his wrist and making him shove his fingers inside you.

"I will, I promise!" you begged, feeling desperate as the embarrassment you felt earlier slowly started flying out the window.

"Hm..." Felix pretended to think, only pushing his fingertips in teasingly and you realized just how much three fingers are. You almost faltered when he smirked at you.

"Spread her for me." he whispered and you almost exploded right then and there as you put your fingers on either sides of your folds, spreading yourself for him.

"Pretty." he smirked and slowly pushed in, meeting some resistance even after you came and were still so wet. A whimper escaped your lips as you tried to relax, spreading your legs more. Felix could see and feel that you were struggling and he stopped midway.

"Does it hurt?" he asked and you could see the concern in his face, making your stomach flutter.

"No. It's just a little uncomfortable." you answered.

"I can stop if you want me to." he offered, his thumb brushing against your swollen, sensitive clit.

"No! Please don't stop!" you were determined to see this through, you were too far gone to back out now.

"Okay, sweetheart." Felix smirked at the way you clenched around him when he used the nickname, your pussy sucking his fingers in as he slowly filled you up.

"Oh, god." your eyes rolled back and you shut them tightly as your hands grabbed at the sheets below.

Felix bit on his lip as he observed you, his heart racing and his dick twitching in his pants. There was only so much teasing he too could take.

Playing with you without giving you what you actually wanted felt like he was edging himself too and it was becoming painful. His dick was straining against his pants so much that he felt as if they were going to burst open soon, he needed some kind of release. So, he used the fact that you were so gone in the feeling of his fingers fucking you slowly and he let his other hand travel down his body.

He gripped at himself, a low moan escaping his lips as he continued his pace, spreading you open with three fingers. Your eyes snapped open and you looked at him in a daze, your gaze traveling down until you stopped, watching him palm and grip himself through his pants.

"Fuck." you groaned. "Please let me see it! I can't wait anymore. Please."

"I think you should- ugh... Be patient." Felix tried to keep his composure but you could see he was slowly unraveling.

"I've been patient enough. I did what you said, three fingers. Come on, no more stalling." you stopped his wrist from moving and he whined, pulling his fingers out and cursing under his breath.

"I guess that a deal is a deal." Felix pulled his sweatpants down and you licked your lips in anticipation as you sat up, the throbbing feeling between your legs becoming almost unbearable.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his cheeks flushed as he looked down at himself before pulling his boxers down finally. You gasped, your legs pressing together instantly. You thought that it was the prettiest dick you've ever seen and all you wanted was to have him everywhere in you.

"See something you like sweetheart?" Felix smirked but you knew he was affected by the way you looked at him like you wanted to eat him up.

"Definitely." you said, feeling your body flush with waves of warmth.

"Better than your little porn videos?" he kept smirking and you returned it.

"I'll decide after I touch it." you whispered and leaned towards him.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, sweetheart." Felix grabbed your wrists gently. "Do you even know what you're doing?"

You knew he was teasing you, the slick bastard.

"I can learn." you freed your wrists from his hands and reached down to wrap your fingers around his length. Felix let out a low groan when he felt your touch, his eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows furrowing.

You bit on your lip as another wave of warmth went through your body, landing in your pussy. The way he felt in your hand, hot and heavy, his tip leaking in anticipation he felt for you only made you want more of him.

You knew he wanted to keep teasing you but his body betrayed him as he leaned into your hand, silently asking you to move. You spread the precum over his length and his eyes were still shut tightly as you started stroking him slowly.

It was almost like all of his resolve started melting with each stroke of your hand and when he opened his eyes and locked them on yours, you could feel him twitch in your hand.

"Am I doing good?" you whispered.

"Looking for praise?" he teased with a smirk.

"What if I am?" you teased back and he rolled his eyes playfully.

"You can go faster, sweetheart." his hand rested on the back of your head and gripped your hair as soon as you sped up. "Yeah, just like that baby. Keep going."

Felix leaned in and kissed you, his tongue swirling around yours as his hips started moving into your hand, matching the pace. You grabbed at his shoulder with your free hand as he knocked the breath out of your lungs.

You could feel him twitch again, leaking more precum as he got closer to the edge but you didn't wanna give him that satisfaction yet so you stopped all movement and removed your hand.

"W-why'd you stop?" Felix gasped, body arching towards you instictively.

"I wanna taste you."

The thought of your lips wrapped around his dick made Felix stutter for a moment as his hand gripped your hair harder.

"Are you sure?" he asked through gritted teeth, holding back from giving in as long as he could.

"I'm sure. Please."

Felix felt his body shiver and he got rid of his shirt before laying down on your bed and propping his hands behind his head, his eyes hazy and a cocky smile playing on his plump lips.

You chewed on your lip nervously before taking off your shirt too, throwing it aside and Felix's eyes darkened at the sight of your breasts.

"What are you waiting for, sweetheart?" he nudged your arm with his knee as you hovered closer to his dick.

"Nothing. Shut up." you felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you but you threw it in the back of your head as you leaned down closer, darting your tongue out to taste him.

"Fuck, sweetheart." Felix gasped instantly as you worked your tongue on his slit and the sensitive underside of his tip. "Put your lips around it." he instructed and you did as you were told, making his eyes roll back.

"Just like that, good girl." the praise went right to your pussy and you pressed your thighs together as you felt arousal drip between your legs.

You sucked on his tip before sliding down and taking more in slowly, driving Felix insane. He put his hand on your head, not gripping or forcing you, just guiding you and making sure you stay in place as he didn't let you lift off of him completely.

You rubbed your thighs together as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked on him, the feeling of him against your tongue, the salty taste, the way he held your head down; it was too much and you moaned around him, making him arch off the bed and slip in deeper. You gagged as his tip almost touched the back of your throat, your eyes filling up with tears.

"Fuck, sorry sweetheart." he bit on his lip and you moaned around him again to let him know you're okay. His fingers tightened in your hair just a little as you continued, speeding up and trying to find the limit of how much you could take, gagging a few times and it took everything in Felix not to snap and start fucking your face.

"K-keep going, baby. Faster." he stuttered, hips lifting into you. You could feel he was close by the way he kept twitching inside your mouth and you ignored the tears in your eyes, the uncomfortable gagging feeling and the way your jaw started hurting, you just wanted to make him feel as good as he did to you.

"Y-yes, oh god! I'm close." he tried to pull you off but you slapped his hand away and gripped the base of his dick, going even faster and deeper, as much as you could.

"S-shit!" Felix groaned and his hips snapped up into your mouth as he exploded inside, the warm liquid filling up your mouth and you panicked in that moment and quickly swallowed, sucking on him a little longer until he gave you everything.

"Did you just swallow?" Felix's eyes widened as you sat up and coughed a little.

"I did." you said breathlessly and he let out a chuckle of disbelief as he sat up too.

"You're crazy, baby." he chuckled and touched your cheek, noticing you were still pressing your legs together.

"Still feeling needy, sweetheart?" he teased with that smirk of his.

"Yes." you whispered, lips hovering closer to his.

"What are you needy for?"

"Your dick." you said and Felix laughed.

"I let you see it. And taste it. You're so greedy, baby."

"Yeah, I am. What are you gonna do about that?" you smirked, teasingly running your finger on his abs and chest.

"I guess I'll give you exactly what you need."

part 4

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr

[aeraminth]

nsfw— zayne who can’t help but praise you the first time you two are intimate. his hands trace the curve of your breasts and his broken sigh gives him away, his gaze never leaving as he cups your tits and you squirm in his lap. “such a pretty girl,” he coos, and his fingers trail down to where you need him most. “so perfect for me,” and he’s sliding two fingers in, committing your scrunched up expression and breathy whine to memory. and when he curls his fingers and rubs your clit, he tells you “look at you, taking my fingers so well—hm? does it feel good, love? should i keep going?” you enthusiastically respond, begging for the feeling of his cock deep inside, and he unravels at the seams. “so needy, hm?” he would tease, even though he rushes to line himself up with your glistening folds, a ragged breath escaping him as he runs the head of his length in your arousal. “so, so wet, and just for me…” he’s so lost in the way you feel that it takes you grabbing his wrist and pleading with him for zayne to realize how long he’s kept you waiting. your eyes, with tears pricking at the corner from desperation staring back at him as you try to move your hips, whines and whimpers falling from your lips with reckless abandon. “don’t worry, baby, i got you,” he murmurs, sliding into your tight heat, his eyes knitting shut from the pure pleasure of your warm walls clamping down, sucking him in and never letting go—he could die happy, enveloped by your heat and blessed by the sounds of a long, drawn out moan from your lips. and you’re not faring much better, with every bit of imagery being put to shame with how good the stretch is, how his cock pulses with need in your pussy and how hard he grips your waist to stop himself from losing control. “m-move-hhngh-zayne..” you mumble, delirious from the feeling, and he snaps, pulling out only to fill you up to the brim. he chases his high, driven by lust as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “d-dirty girl—fuck! taking me so well, hmm? ahh- shit— you feel so good around me—mm—squeezing me..” and all you can do is clench around his cock, his words making your mind go blank. zayne plunges deeper and deeper, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars, babbling how you need him to come inside of you. “please, please zayne, i’m so close—!” and he reaches down, rubbing quick circles into your bundle of nerves in a chase to see you come undone. your hips jerk with the added stimulation to your clit, squirming even more as he pins you down and fucks you even faster, only stilling when he feels you squeeze around him impossibly tighter. your release washes over you, leaving your skin warm and your mind hazy. zayne’s no better, emptying himself and coating your walls white when you tell him to come inside, and his shallow thrusts make you shove at his chest, feeling overstimulated. he can’t help it though, the sound and sight of where you connect puts him in a frenzy, where he can’t find himself to stop even when it becomes to much. “z-zayne—‘ts too much!” but he needs to see you cream his cock one more time, and he’s not stopping until you’re both spent.

“the first time i’ve ever seen you like this,” he comments, his voice barely over a whisper. his finger swipes up and down your damp folds, playing with the cum that oozes on to his finger, “but not the last. never.”

[letsbangts]

mutt || jjk

⤷ summary: when you realize you can’t teach an old dog new tricks

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 6k+

18+ // mdni

⟶ genre: smut, angst, friends with benefits au

⟶ content: fuckboy!jk, tattooartist!jk, porn with some plot

⟶ warnings: explicit language, jk is kinda toxic, jk being a bit manipulative, explicit sexual content: dirty talk, fingering, praising, teasing, kissing/making out, nipple sucking, spitting, oral (f. receiving), biting, spanking, big dick jk, soft dom jk, rough sex (doggy bcuz duh), pet names, multiple orgasms

↬ a/n: hope you enjoy & let me know what you think! angel xoxo

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ mutt leon thomas 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

series masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

I can't smoke on reggie, so pardon my bluntness I see past pretty faces, so I got trouble trusting

You're sitting on your couch watching TV when you hear your phone vibrating against the coffee table where it lies. Sitting up and leaning over to pick it up and check, you gaze at the name read across the lit-up screen. You hold the phone staring at the call for a few long seconds before finally deciding to answer, releasing a heavy sigh as you do.

Because picking up at all means he has a chance tonight.

Feigning ignorance you ask, “Hey Kook, what's up?”

It's a question you already know the answer to. There is only one reason Jungkook calls you, and his reply confirms just that.

“I wanna see you come over,” he bluntly says into the phone like it's the most obvious thing, and him being right is what frustrates you.

Hearing that, a part of you is happy that he chose to call you and wants to be in your presence while the other part of you, the rational one, isn't as delighted knowing this moment will pass. It always does because that is just what you are to him, a moment.

You hear rustling in the background on his side of the phone, clearly distracted by other things while he talks to you.

“I don't know about tonight,” you hesitate, but make no move to hang up.

New crib, told her, "Come through," it's time to bring it in ... New condo, say your name at the front, you can stay if you want

Jungkook has played this game enough times to know exactly what to say. He’s a veteran player skilled in always finding the right words to switch you from the opposing side to his own.

He sighs, “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” You reply.

The rustling in the background stops indicating he's halted his movements and focused on you. You bite your lip sensing Jungkook is about to make his way right through what you thought was your shrinking window of opportunity.

“Don’t act like you don't want to see me too. Don't be distant with me."

“I’m not being distant with you—“

"I've invited you to my new place to visit and you still haven't shown up. It’s not fair for you to withhold that pretty little face from me," he cuts you off persuading with his charm. And you swear you can see his puppy eyes through the phone.

"It's already late, Kook," you try.

"You can stay over if you want," he continues, "I miss you, baby. No one else makes me feel the way you do. You know how much you mean to me, how much I trust you. I had a rough night and it's been a minute since I've seen you. Are you trying to hurt me more like this?”

Your silence on the other end of the line is more than enough to answer his question.

“Just… come over. Let me see you. Please?” Jungkook pleads to sink his claws into you more.

He’s about to pull the phone away from his ear to make sure the call didn’t disconnect when he hears you sigh softly on the other end.

“Okay.”

"I can't wait to see you, baby. Just tell the concierge your name when you get here," he ends with.

And with a quiet parting, you finally hang up and get dressed. Making your way out the front door to your car, headed straight for the man who has you locked in his cage. You try not to ponder on whether he gave the front desk your name because he was hoping you'd come or if it was that he was expecting you to.

It's been one of those nights, one of those nights I ain't had in a minute ... But it's never the same as the first time we did it First time we did it

It would be a lie to say it didn't feel good to hear Jungkook begging to see you, you'd like to think he wouldn’t do it for anybody else.

While driving to his condo you start reflecting on how you got here. Thinking back to the autumn you met him: the way he smiled brightly at you when you entered the tattoo studio, the reassuring squeeze he gave your side to calm you down after noticing you jerk at the buzzing of the needle, and his light praises as he worked on your skin.

Permanently marking your body and your life.

He truly is a charming guy. His sweetness is what drew you in, the way it seemed he cared for you. Calling to check how your ink was healing only to come over to make sure you were right when you said it was doing fine. The late-night visits when you'd say you had a bad day at work. The random car rides after you'd mention you're bored. It was nice back then, you wonder when that changed.

The past seven months of running to Jungkook when he calls, feeling wanted and getting tangled in his sheets. To then be slapped in the face with the reminder that you're not the only one he has on a leash.

Before you know it, you're standing in front of his door. You raise a fist and knock on it, hearing footsteps approaching on the other side before the sound of it unlocking.

JK POV

Jungkook swings the door open wide and leans one arm on its frame looking down at you as you finally come face to face. It’s been over three weeks since he last saw you, and he knew you were slipping through his fingers. When he got his new place it was the perfect chance to see you so he's been trying to convince you to come over since he moved in.

As he takes you in, standing on his stoop with an expression clear you're unsure if you should be here. The tight white tube top snug on your chest and the low-rise jeans you're wearing allow the tattoo he put on you to peek out. Creating a feeling of possessiveness in him without you knowing what you're doing to him. Fuck, it’s been too long.

As you stand there with Jungkook's alluring appearance: white wifebeater that shows off his sleeve of ink, grey sweat pants hanging low, and hair wet—you feel your resolve crumble.

Fresh out of the shower, his musky clean scent engulfs you from here, as he flashes that smile that got you here in the first place.

“Hey, baby,” he says coolly. It's like he's completely unaware of the inner conflict you're going through.

You smile meekly as you brush past him to walk inside. He doesn't move aside, purposefully taking up most of the doorway so you have to press up against him, and when you do, he closes the door with one hand as the other reaches for you. His fingers hook in the belt loop of your jeans to pull you closer he wraps an arm around your waist pulling you in your chest against his.

“You're still being cold with me, huh?" he lowers his head to meet your gaze, "You're breaking my heart, baby.”

You look up making eye contact with his sparkling orbs, "No, I told you I'm not."

"Then where's my kiss?" he questions.

And that's where your inner conflict ends.

But I'll let my guard down for you Said I'll put my guard down for you

You loop your arms around his neck and tilt your head up, his lips find yours at the same time his hands slide down around your hips, fingers slipping into your back pockets stretched taut over your ass and squeezing. You gasp at the feeling and he takes the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth.

JK POV

Jungkook knows that you’ve been pulling away from him. But he doesn't see what the problem is and if you were honestly done with him, then you wouldn’t have come here. And you certainly wouldn’t be twirling your tongue together with his.

Jungkook's head lowers to the crook of your neck and starts kissing to make you squirm the way he likes.

“I need to make up for my Y/N withdrawal,” he murmurs against your skin, and you giggle.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook remarks. He pauses to suck a mark into your skin, only stopping when he manages to bring a soft whimper out of you. “Why did you ghost me? You know that if you want to end this all you have to do is tell me.”

His lips make you shiver, "I-I know."

Jungkook’s lips graze over the shell of your ear “Then am I not satisfying you anymore,”

"No, t-that's not it. I've just been busy," you muster out an excuse.

Jungkook clicks his tongue at your answer and nips at your ear, "You lying to me now," he continues,

"We've always been honest with each other."

You stay silent.

You can't disagree with him, Jungkook has always been straight with you. Before you hooked up the first time he made it clear to you he wasn't looking for anything serious, and you told him you were okay with that. This was true at the time. Back then you were going through a dry spell so a man like Jungkook was just what you needed.

But as you two continued to spend time together, your feelings began to get more blurred. Although unsure if he would regard you as one, you considered him a friend. You both got along so great, not just sexually but beyond that. So as time went on your feelings for him only grew.

That should have been when you stopped what you two started but stupidly you didn't. And that's where your honesty fell short.

Jungkook has always been open with you that he was sleeping with other people, and it did hurt you knowing he was seeing other women because you were only sleeping with him. And as much as you could've done the same, you didn't. You were never the type of woman to sleep around with multiple people. It didn't feel right to you, plus you got everything you needed from Jungkook. So it stung more knowing that he didn't get the same from you, that you weren't enough.

But you enjoyed spending time with him, and you figured he must have enjoyed spending time with you just as much since he could have just stopped seeing you. So you supposed it must have been more than just the sex for him because if he only wanted that you knew he was also getting it from others.

Although lately things have felt different for you, your feelings for him remain but you no longer notice a friendship between you two. Maybe it was never really there to begin with but it started to seem like you were just a good fuck for him.

Just another contact in his phone, a quick and easy booty call. And you now realize you are.

As difficult as it was to keep all this to yourself, you knew if you told him that you had to stop sleeping with one another because you developed feelings for him—that would be it. He would have no reason to see or talk to you anymore. And foolishly that was something you weren't sure you were ready for.

So you decided to settle for just avoiding him instead. It kept you far enough from being hurt by his actions yet kept him close enough to seem like he was still around.

JK POV

Truthfully, Jungkook does like you, not enough to settle down but he wouldn't do that with anyone. You are sweet, beautiful and great in bed. It is easy to talk to you and fun to hang out with you—you're a great match for him honestly. But right now he’s young, and he wants to be carefree and have fun.

Jungkook has noticed that you seem to want more than what the two of you initially agreed upon, yet selfishly he doesn’t want to let you go. He likes having you around, he has never kept someone he was seeing around as long as you. Jungkook wouldn't say this out loud but you're special. He sees how different you are from the other women he hangs out with. Not just in the bedroom, and holy shit are you great in bed, but as a person.

He knows that you haven't been with anyone other than him this whole time, and secretly that made him happy. If what was going on between you two was to end, he knew it wouldn't be difficult for you to find someone to replace him. Someone who would likely give you more than Jungkook is. Any guy would jump at the chance to be with you and that makes his blood fucking boil, the idea of you with someone else.

People would probably say he's a asshole for still seeing you but Jungkook has never claimed to be perfect. That's why he takes time to give you extra attention when things feel shaky with you two, securing his hold on you. You’re always so good for him, always coming when he calls.

It’s probably fucked up, but even though he just told you to say the word to end all this, he wouldn't let you go that easily.

Said I'll be vulnerable So you can break my heart if you want to

When your silence continues Jungkook is aware you don't intend on giving him a truthful answer.

“Hmm if you don't want to tell me, that's fine. Maybe you need to be reminded why you started coming to me in the first place,” he barks.

He moves his hands to your hips and pushes you back till the back of your knees hit the couch causing you to fall onto it. Jungkook stands over you looking down like a predator stalking his prey. The sight makes you wet, panties sticking to you.

Your heartbeat picks up as you gaze up at him. With a smirk, he uses one leg to tease your thighs apart. He leans forward his hands bracing on the back of the couch behind you, arm muscles flexing as he cages you in, and captures you in a heated kiss.

“Pants off, baby,” he growls into your mouth, shifting to grip your neck with one hand as he kisses you again. You whine in his mouth as you do as you’re told.

You missed this: the way he smells, how soft his lips are, the way he dominates you.

Once your jeans are off Jungkook lips leave yours and his knees drop to the carpet as he settles between your legs. His gaze sets on the permanent mark on your hip, the one he put there—the one that brought you two together. His eyes find yours as he gives it a peck then hooks his biceps under your thighs and he tugs you to the edge of the couch.

Jungkook draws out a moan from you when he sucks a hickey into the soft skin of your inner thigh. He bites at it before pulling back with a final lick over the mark that sends a shiver down your spine. You open your legs wider for him, leaning back against the cushion.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises with a smirk.

He takes one hand between your thighs to yank your panties to the side, tattooed fingers spreading your folds apart.

When he leans back he murmurs, "So fucking pretty, I missed this pussy so much."

Making eye contact he dives in and licks a long, slow stripe up the front of the wet material, taking his time, your hips tilt up on their own for more.

“Kook,” you whine, the desperation in your voice only turns him on more.

He works up some saliva in his mouth and lets it dribble down over your slit between his fingers, then follows it with another pass of his tongue.

“Don't worry you know I always take care of you, baby, ” Jungkook purrs, he goes back in sucking your clit.

“Oh my fucking god,” you mewl.

“Shit, baby you're soaking,” he teases along with his touch down to your entrance. He pushes a finger in only to drag it back out, and a thin, glossy string of arousal comes with it.

“Your pussy missed me just as much. That’s why you couldn't stay away,” he winks.

And once again, his being right frustrates you because you could never stay away. Like he knew the moment he called you would end up in the exact position you are now because he knows you can’t say no to him. That fact is evident by how quickly you showed up at his door.

JK POV

Jungkook pulls your panties down your thighs before guiding your legs to hang over his shoulders. Glancing up to meet your eyes, arms locked across your stomach to keep you in place, flashes you a cheeky smile then he starts eating you out like a starved animal. His tongue traces through your folds, lapping at your wet entrance while his thumb circles over your clit to work up more. Jungkook’s brows pinch together and he grunts in appreciation of your familiar taste.

You squeak, and Jungkook just thinks you're so damn cute he can't hold back a smirk as he pleasures you.

He enjoys the way your soft sighs transition into loud moans, hips matching pace to the steady rhythm of his tongue. He likes making you squirm, he can feel the muscles in your thighs twitch in response— always so sensitive.

“Kook,” you moan, “ah, fuck— f-feels so good,” your fingers make their way into his long locks and tug.

Smiling against your folds he hums, and the vibrations make you cry out so he does it some more, lips closing to suck firmly at your clit.

“I'm gonna cum,” you call out as he continues his assault against your clit, tongue returning to flick at the sensitive nub. 

Your hips rise as your orgasm washes over you and he shoves them back down, practically growling as he forces you to stay put and take it. He can feel your legs tremble, your heels dig into his back as he sucks and licks you through your climax. He keeps going until you can't take anymore and push at his head, whimpering from overstimulation.

A final kiss to your pussy and Jungkook pulls back with a cocky grin on his face, chin glistening. He knows no one else will ever pleasure you like him. 

You barely manage to regulate your breathing before he slides your legs off his shoulders. His hands press on your thighs to encourage them to spread further before he slips two fingers knuckles deep into your cunt.

Your walls squeeze so tight around him, the sound of your overflowing juices as he pumps into you so filthy. You reach out to grab onto something and your hands find his bicep your nails digging into his skin.

Jungkook glances up and he can’t help but smile at your fucked out expression. You’re past the point of being able to talk, but that doesn't stop him.

“You missed me too, right baby?”

You can only whimper in response and he halts his movements, fingers deep inside you.

“What was that? Use your words, baby,” he taunts.

You nod desperately until you manage to find your voice.

“Yes.”

You look so innocent and obedient, it makes Jungkook want to fucking ruin you.

“Yes, what?” Jungkook mocks as he curves his fingers to caress over your velvety walls.

"Y-yes I," you take a deep breath, "I missed you," you finally manage to get out.

Jungkook presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his smug smirk and goes back to his fast pace. This time he doesn't hold you down when you fuck yourself on his hand, clenching around his fingers and trembling all over again. Jungkook watches you in awe with his mouth slightly agape as he works you through your second peak. He loves how your nails dig into him with your tight grip like you need him to ground yourself.

Once you finally start to come down your thighs shut around Jungkook’s wrist to still the motions of his hand. When he hears you whimper from oversensitivity, he finally relents. You open your legs so he can slip his fingers out, he lifts them to his mouth to suck them clean. As he watches your chest heaving with your head tip back and eyes closed, he rises to his feet.

In one swift move, Jungkook leans forward, slipping an arm between your back and the couch and sweeping the other under your knees. He tosses you over his shoulder with zero struggle, delivering a swift slap to your ass with the hand that isn’t wrapped around your hips.

You gasp out a laugh, “What are you doing?!”

You haven't seen this playful side of him in a while. This is the Jungkook know—the Jungkook you let your walls down for.

“We gotta get more comfortable, baby,” Jungkook replies as he carries you across the living room, “I can't fuck my girl properly on the couch.”

His girl. Your heart flutters at the notion but your stomach twists at the lie.

He easily opens his bedroom door with his free hand walks in and sets you down on the bed, making quick work of stripping out of his clothes, hard cock hanging heavy between his legs. Bringing you back in the moment, your lingering thoughts pushed aside.

You remove your top and sit fully naked on his mattress. Staring up at him waiting for his next move.

He crawls over to you, you lay down as his body hovers over yours. You bite your lip as you look into his dark eyes.

"Now, will you finally tell me what's been going on?" His voice is low, his mouth ghosting over yours, his hand brushing some hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear.

Your foot lightly kicks his muscular thigh, "Nothing's going on," you sigh.

“Why are you pulling away from me?” His nose runs down from the side of your neck to the valley between your breasts, it makes you shiver and your nipples.

“I'm not,” you whisper.

“You are,” Jungkook says softly. “And I don't like it.”

A hand cups one of your breasts, and he ducks down to suck the stiff peak of it into his mouth, enjoying the airy little moan he coaxes out of you and the way you arch up into him. He switches giving the other fleshy mound the same attention.

“It hurt me, baby,” his eyes find yours in time to watch your expression soften.

You remember his words from the call that brought you here so you inquire, shifting the spotlight off you.

You reach up and hold his face in both hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks, and quietly ask, "What about you? You said you had a rough night, what happened?"

Jungkook sighs. His forearms are on either side of you holding his weight as he leans down and presses his forehead against your chest.  

"I don’t want to talk about that. Let's focus on now, hmm?”

You press a kiss into his hair in agreement, and he tilts his head up to kiss your lips. Your arms come to loop around his neck to pull him closer. The two of you make out like teenagers, tongues colliding together.

“Kook, I need you. Please,” you moan, nails dragging down his back as he presses sloppy kisses, mostly tongue and teeth, to your neck.

His mouth finds yours again, and he bites down on your bottom lip with a smile before sitting up. You whine a little and Jungkook’s hands slide to your waist where he gives a teasing pinch.

“Can you get on all fours for me?”

Turning on your stomach, his hands go to your hips to guide you. You barely get on your knees as you feel Jungkook’s arm under you, wrapped around your stomach as he hoists you up, a hand pressing against your back. He dips down and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Comfy?” He murmurs in your ear.

You look up at him over your shoulder with wide, shining eyes, and you nod, Jungkook can't resist ducking down to kiss you before pushing your legs apart. Then his hand and fingers are back on your pussy, rubbing it slowly and spreading more wetness.

“So fucking sexy, you look so fucking beautiful like this, baby,” he groans behind you, causing you to clench embarrassingly as a soft chuckle sounds behind you.

Although you are lost in a haze of lust and pleasure, you still know to take precautions when it comes to Jungkook.

"C-condom, Kook,"

He shakes his amusingly before he reaches towards his nightstand, the sight of a foil package in Jungkook’s hands brings you back to all those times you’ve seen this exact view. He rips it open, pulling out the condom as you watch his every movement, especially those tattoos and veins decorating his muscular arms through the entire process of putting it on and down his thick hardened length.

The arch in your back, when you press your ass up towards him, makes his cock start to leak against his stomach and he gives your ass a firm slap.

The tip of his cock grazes over your pussy, poking your clit and causing you to whimper needily Jungkook’s name. He can’t help but moan as he starts to grind the head of his dick against your folds.

“Oh baby,” he utters huskily.

Gasping, you grip the sheets and hold them tightly in your hands,

��Fuck me, Kook, I wanna feel you.”

Jungkook doesn't waste any more time and lines himself up to your entrance and he pushes his length into you sliding in until he’s pressed to the hilt. You whine into the crook of your elbow, your walls pulsing, filled up and so sensitive.

Jungkook leans forward, hands resting by the pillow under your head on either side of you until his chest is flush with your back and the tip of his cock presses into your g-spot.

“Feels good?” He murmurs in your ear, and you can only whimper and nod.

"This pussy is all mine, right?" Jungkook asks through clenched teeth, nipping at the skin of your shoulder, and he starts to grind his hips against you, rubbing his cock into your g-spot over and over. 

“Yes, all yours,” you whisper, gasping when Jungkook starts thrusting in and out slowly, your mouth falling open right away at the sensual feeling of being stretched.

“Not anyone else's?” he hums like he doesn’t already know.

Even with your mind somewhere else you still feel the sting of what he’s asking you and the irony of it but somehow you manage to nod anyway.

“No,” you choke out.

He pulls out, not fully just enough to let his tip in as he starts sliding back in, this time even deeper than before.

“Good,” he whispers into your ear, straightening as he grabs your hips and starts moving faster. Ramming his hips into you causing his balls to hit your swollen clit which makes your head spin. Fingers digging into your hips so tightly that they might bruise later but the extra added pain adds just the right amount to your already existing pleasure and the tingle between your legs.

JK POV

"Ah, don’t stop, oh god—” you whimper, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts. Jungkook can’t stop now, not even if he wanted to, not when it feels this good. You’re so fucking precious.

His hands grip you even tighter, hips moving faster when you beg him to, your soft moans and whimpers of Jungkook’s name coax him to move faster and deeper. Jungkook momentarily pauses as he grabs your ass and pulls your asscheeks apart, getting a good view of your pussy swallowing him.

Jungkook hooks his arm across your chest, and his hand gripped tight to your shoulder gives him more leverage to hit deeper.

“God, you're so fucking amazing, baby. Feels so good,” he growls.

Jungkook can feel the way your whole body is starting to shake and can tell by the way you’re gripping around him that you’re already close. He feels his balls tightening and he knows he’s just seconds from cumming too.

“Come with me, baby,” he grunts, “I want to feel you come again on my cock.”

The evident sound of skin-on-skin clapping echoes in your ears and around Jungkook’s bedroom and he takes no mercy on you, chasing his high and you cling to the sheets for dear life.

He feels good, too good to be true and you clench around him even more tightly, almost shrieking that you’re already ready to cum.

“Oh fuck, Kook, fuck, fuck, I’m coming, I—” With a loud cry, you collapse forward, knees nearly buckling as your third orgasm of the night hits you.

“Shit,” Jungkook curses, his breathing harsh and ragged, dick twitching right before a throaty growl makes its way out of his mouth and he’s finally cumming.

His head tilts back and his eyes screw shut as he comes with you. He fills up the condom, thrusts slowing down until they halt. You whimper softly with your head dropped down into your arms, your pussy still shuddering around him.

Jungkook squeezes at the curve of your ass as he pulls out with a hiss of oversensitivity. You cringe at the feeling but miss him inside you right away, the empty feeling making its way to your heart. But as soon as Jungkook’s cock is out of you, your whole body fails you and you fall onto your back, eyes to the ceiling.

He smiles at the way you’re still trembling as he disposes of the condom. He then joins you back on the bed, he lies next to you stretching out an arm for you and you move closer to him your face now buried in his chest.

Your rushed and loud breaths can be heard in the room. Jungkook brings a hand to your lower back to rub gentle circles, “You okay, baby?”

"Mhm," you nod with a small sigh.

“That was the best sex I had in a while,” he chuckles, “You wore me out, baby,” closing his eyes as you both lay there for a moment, bodies still hot and sweaty.

"I don't even know why I bother with other women," he comments, "I should've just called you first."

The heat in your body vanishes, you feel like your blood has drained from your body, and Jungkook's room now feels cold. You lift your head from his chest tilting your head up and look at him.

You dreadfully ask, "What do you mean?

"The girl I had over here before," he grimaced, "Couldn't hold a candle to you."

Your stomach twists and you feel your heartbeat pick up so much you hear it in your ears.

You clarify, "Before? You mean before you called me?"

He looks at you and nods, "Mhm."

"So, you had sex with someone else before you called me?"

"Yeah," he lets out a breath as he shakes his head, "It was such a disappointment, I had to end the night right."

You think back to the call before you came here:  

"I miss you, baby. No one else makes me feel the way you do. You know how much you mean to me, how much I trust you. I had a rough night and it's been a minute since I've seen you. Are you trying to hurt me more like this?”

Suddenly you feel vulnerable, a disgusted look forms on your face as you come to the realization, and you sit up abruptly.

Jungkook looks at you with confusion as you turn to face him.

You furrow your brows, "Is that what you were talking about when you said you had a rough night?

"Woah. What's wrong, baby?"

His ignorance of your question is all the confirmation you need, your heart cracks. Moments from earlier now make you feel like a fool.

His freshly showered body when you arrived wasn't because he came home from work but because he was cleaning himself from the sex he just had and when you asked him what was wrong before you fucked and he didn't want to talk about it.

You try to swallow down the lump in your throat as you look around for your clothing, and you lean over to retrieve the ones you see. You begin to get dressed still stinking of sex, only reminding you of the mistake that you've made adding to your sensation of disgust.

"Where are you going? I thought you were staying?"

You ignore his and continue getting dressed as your vision starts to blur.

Jungkook reaches out to touch your shoulder but you flinch away. He notices the tears in your eyes.

“Hey, there's no reason to be upset, baby,” Jungkook says softly.

“No, Jungkook,” you snap, his eyes widen and he can tell by the way you’ve dropped the nickname that this is serious, “That's fucking low even for you.”

"You know I sleep with other people, Y/N," he notes calmly.

"Yes, I know you sleep with other people, but I didn't think you'd have me in your bed before your sheets could even dry from your last fuck," you scoff already up and headed for the living room for the remainder of your clothing.

She said, "Take your time, what's the rush?"

Pulling on the rest of your clothes now fully dressed yet you feel more naked than you were mere minutes ago. You sense Jungkook's presence behind you and turn to resume your rant.

"Do you even care about how that makes me feel? How when some random girl can't please you, you call me as your second pick, like I'm just some backup pussy."

JK POV

Jungkook should probably take this more seriously, but he can’t help his instinctive reaction, he smirks, "You would have been my first if you hadn't been ignoring me."

You shoot him a look of disbelief, clearly not amused by this response. You move past him to his front door, but Jungkook quickly steps to block you from leaving.

"Hey, hey, hey wait," he grabs your shoulders to stop you, you shrug them off and his arms fall to his side. His eyes meet your own as he rebuts,

"Come on, you know it's not like that with us. You know what you mean to me. I don't see why it's a big deal. I mean, I wear a condom," he shrugs.

"That's not the point," you exasperate, "I didn't think you would do something so disrespectful, Jungkook. Instead of taking the time to have a break in between your dick appointments, you rush to call me over like I'm your bitch."

"Hold on a sec, I respect you," he tries to defend.

"Having respect for someone and disrespecting them are two very different things," you shake your head and continue, "You didn't even mention having someone here tonight until after you slept with me. And said it as if telling me I was the better lay of the night was a compliment," you laugh humorlessly.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Y/N," he says with a heavy exhale.

"If you don't understand why I'm upset Jungkook there isn't anything to do," your voice defeated.

Jungkook knows this is his chance to fight for you or at least apologise but this is who he is. He’s not going to promise he’ll change, and he knows you’re not going to ask him to. He can’t be anything but what he is, but he can hope you’ll stay anyway.

"What can I say, he says,

"Baby, I'm a dog, I'm a mutt"

They say if you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas but all you've gotten is heartbreak.

🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾

↬ a/n: okay so i have an idea for a part 2 of this that i'm probably going to work on once i finish a drabble that's currently in progress for a request...so maybe look forward to that :) let me know if that would be something you're interested in! PART TWO & if you made it this far thank you <3

[minswriting]

I need s1 spencer to ramble to me about rubiks cubes or something like that while I dry hump him

please i love this lol.

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader | dry humping

the night had started off as normal. spencer had invited you over to his place for a small movie date where the two of you were watching some french film based in world war two. spencer had been whispering in your ear all night with translations and truth be told, it was making you hot and bothered.

it was no surprise when you suddenly kissed spencer, forgetting about the movie when you crawled into his lap to kiss him deeply. he had been shocked at first but then just allowed it to happen once his hands met your hips as he kissed you back.

you could feel his hard-on through your leggings and his trousers as you kissed him, causing you to grind your hips slowly against his bulge. spencer pulled away from the kiss to look at you as he let out a small whine from the friction.

“talk to me,” you breathed out, still moving your hips slowly against spencer’s.

“a-about what?” he asked hoarsely, staring up at you.

“anything. just-i want to hear you talk,” you licked your lips.

spencer took a deep but shaky breath, trying to think of something. but it was hard, in more ways than one, when a pretty girl was on his lap grinding against his clothed cock. he glanced around the living room, seeing a rubix cube displayed on the mantle. and so, he began to speak. “d-did you know that the rubix cube was invented in 1974 by a hungarian teacher who originally called it the magic cube?”

you paused for a moment due to the weird topic but didn’t say anything about it as you continued your movements. you leaned down to kiss spencer’s jawline as you ground your hips a bit faster, causing your breath to hitch due to the friction against your clit. “keep going,” you murmured against his skin.

the change in pace also caused spencer to moan as he held onto your hips and bucked his hips against yours. i-it was originally made for educational purposes,” he swallowed and stopped to whine when you kissed the sweet spot on his neck, still moving your hips against his clothed cock. “t-to improve problem-solving, spatial awareness, a-and-“ his voice cracked when you moved your hips harder against his. “memory.”

the whole situation was sexy. the way you moved your hips against spencer’s and the way his voice hitched every time you moved particularly hard. it hadn’t taken long until spencer completely forgot what he was saying when he began meeting your movements with his own, chasing his own release. “oh fuck,” he whined, holding your hips tightly. “i-i’m gonna cum,” he whimpered out as he tensed, holding you firmly against his cock.

you continued to move your hips, feeling your own orgasm nearing. “me too,” you whispered-moan. the pressure against your clit was so good. and with a few more movements of your hips, the two of you came with moans of one another’s names.

when you both were finished, the living room was filled with heavy breathing and the sounds of the long forgotten french film that played on the television. spencer was looking at you while you looked at him. and neither of you could contain the small giggles that escaped your lips.

“should we go to the bedroom?” spencer breathed out, smiling at you.

you smiled back, nodding your head. “yes, please.”

and it was safe to say that your date night with spencer was quite successful.

[silens-oro]

Pretty Damn Close

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Reader Domestic fluff/Established Relationship

The Pitt Playlist located here

Synopsis: Mike gets a reminder that he very desperately needed. Word Count: 1,404 Content Warning: None; Reader is in her 30's A/N: I binged The Pitt over a weekend and was immediately enraptured by this man. I haven't posted a fic in a while, so please be kind. Who wants to scream into the void with me about this show?????

Days off were a rarity for both you and Mike, and when they overlapped you feared pigs would start flying across the skies of Pittsburgh. Sleeping in was an even greater luxury, one you were taking full advantage of in the comfort of Mike’s plush be d. 

Mike’s arm tightened around your waist as he pulled your back closer to his chest, letting you know that he was starting to wake up. He inhaled deeply, then sighed a release before kissing your shoulder tenderly. 

“Morning,” He mumbled against your skin, his beard tickling you as he trailed kisses up to your neck. 

“Afternoon,” You chuckled, knowing you both had slept well past one in the afternoon. Mike had gotten home around eight and you both stayed up until the late hours of the night watching the Penguins game at Anaheim and getting frisky on the couch like a couple of horny teenagers. Needless to say, you were both feeling the late night.

“Ah, shit,” Mike groaned, turning onto his back he kept his arm under you so he could tug you to his chest while rubbing his eyes with his free hand. 

“Thought you were gonna sleep the day away, Sleeping Beauty.” Mike pinched your side playfully in response to your teasing. “Be nice.” You reprimanded softly while tugging a small section of his beard. 

“I am nice,” he grabbed your hand, placing the gentlest kisses to your palm. “Speaking of nice, would it be not nice of me to say we should stay in bed today?”

Jack and Leanne were hosting a barbecue later that afternoon and as much as you also wanted to flake due to your poor choices the night before, you also wanted to not be that friend. Leanne was hosting a get-together for some of the people in her yoga group and invited you and Mike to join in. It wasn't anything crazy, she had said, just some barbecue and drinks while everyone mingled.

“As much as I would love to stay home and have my way with you, it would be a very not nice thing to do, Mike.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not tempted.” He wiggled his eyebrows to butter you up. “We could stay in, order takeout, watch a movie?”

“As tempted as I am to take your offer, any excuse to show off my hot doctor boyfriend to strangers is enough for me to get out of bed.” Mike barked out a laugh he couldn’t contain. 

“Hot doctor boyfriend?” He repeated, beside himself. 

“Yes, my hot doctor boyfriend. I don’t know if you know this, but I hit the jackpot with you.”

“Did you now?” The playful glint in his eyes let you know he’d play along for now. 

“Highly educated, incredibly handsome, thoughtful, compassionate,” You listed off, “A genuinely a good person-” 

“-Oh god-” He cut you off, visibly squirming beneath you. He started to shimmy his way to the side of the bed, but you quickly caught him -laughing- while you pulled him back to the spot he previously occupied. 

“No! Where are you going?“ Your words were broken by giggles coming from both of you. "Come back!" In a quick motion, you straddled his hips, pinning Mike to the bed. 

Your hands cupped his bearded cheeks to keep his gaze on you. “I know it gives you the heebie-jeebies when you have to listen to someone praise the good qualities you have, Mike, but it’s good to hear them once in a while otherwise you lose perspective of yourself to whatever your brain is telling you.”

“I have plenty of some not so great qualities you seem to be sweeping under the rug,” He mumbled once the laughter died down. His fingers twiddled with the hem of the t-shirt you slipped on in the middle of the night -the frayed edges keeping his attention. 

“Like what? You don’t rinse your dishes when you put them in the sink? You leave the same cup on the same corner of the coffee table every single day? That you’re moody sometimes? I think that comes with the whole Emergency Room Attending Physician thing you have going on -just an observation.” Holding your hands up in mock surrender, Mike leveled you with a look. 

“I am also nearly twenty years your senior,” This was a point he brought up out of self-consciousness. You knew it ate at him, even though you didn't see the problem. It took quite a bit of convincing on your part when you began seeing each other that it wasn’t as weird as his brain was making it out to be. A man -who was 48 when you met- dating a then 33 year old was hardly considered robbing the cradle. 

“Which makes you even hotter,” You shut him down, not giving him a second to dwell on it any longer than he obviously already had. “Quite frankly, had you been any younger, I wouldn’t have even glanced your way." Mike snorted. "You’re just making my case for me.” He rolled his eyes. 

“We’re not going to get into the psychology of that,” He chuckled.

“Because you are not a psychologist." You poked Mike on the tip of his nose. "Just because I’m in a happy relationship with an older man does not mean I have daddy issues. I happen to love my father very much, and he also happens to like you.”

“Because we're so close in age,” His quick response had your jaw on the floor. Mike’s bright grin let you know that he had succeeded in making you squirm just as you made him. Tit for tat, if you will. 

“You think you’re clever, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“I have my moments,” You hummed at his response, his grin still beaming up at you. His hands had moved from playing with the ends of your shirt to gently rubbing your hips down to your exposed thighs. 

“Which is exactly why we’re having this conversation. We’re well past due for it, actually.” You could tell the direction of this conversation was killing him, but he needed to hear these things. He gets so stuck in his head sometimes that he begins to spiral, taking your relationship with it -unintentionally. You knew he needed to hear every word that left your mouth, and understand it for the truth that it was. 

Mike wasn’t perfect, but he was pretty damn close. 

On the flip side, Mike spent so long thinking he’d never get to have a person that loved him as much as he loved them who didn’t care about his crazy hours, being called in to work on the few days off he had, missing plans or holidays, not seeing each other with the exception of a few hours at night when he came home dead on his feet. 

His career -and personal lack of balancing his work and personal life- was usually the relationship killer in his experience. Other factors surely came into play, but at the end of the day most women wanted the doctor, but nothing else that came with it and Mike didn’t blame them. 

Then you came along -introduced to Mike through Jack and his wife Leanne- and it felt effortless from the second his hand met yours when you shook it. He didn’t want to believe it then, but laying in his bed with you now made him realize that you were the last piece to the puzzle. The shape that had been missing. 

It was hard to date later in life, as Mike found out through reality check after reality check. Most people wanted to get married, have kids -to build a life. He was pushing 50, running himself ragged at the hospital, and the idea of a baby this late in life sounded like an actual nightmare. While you were in your 30s -still young enough to pursue those things- you didn’t want kids; however, you loved Jake as if he was yours, just as Mike did. Neither of you had any blood relation to the teen, but that didn’t stop you from loving the kid fiercely. He had that effect on just about anyone he met.

That was enough for Mike. As long as he had you, he was more than happy because you fit in a space he didn’t think anyone else would or want to. 

Gratitude was something Mike thought about a lot more these days. He felt it when he woke up next to you nearly every morning when you started staying overnight at his place more and more often, and as you leaned down to tenderly kiss his lips, he thanked whoever was listening that you had fallen into his life when you did. 

“Now get up,” You kissed Mike once more, knocking him out of his thoughts. “Jack will have your ass if you bail. You know he hates having people he doesn’t know over. God knows Leanne is trying to put the poor man in an early grave with the socialization. He needs someone he knows there.” Mike let his hands fall to the bed as you crawled off of him and scampered over to the en-suite bathroom with a fond smile. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be sure to throw the life preserver out for him.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting his head rest back on his pillow for a few moments more before you popped your head out of the bathroom. "I owe him that much, at least."

“As a good friend should. Another good quality to add to the list for our next talk.”

“Enough!” The bathroom door closed milliseconds before a pillow had hit it, but Mike could still hear your giggling from inside.

[mrsriddlenott]

~ BET ~

JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader(kinda implied kook)

Warnings: Smut, Dry Humping, Thigh Riding, Edging, lil bit of Daddy Kink, d/s Dynamics, Creampie, Papa Jay. Kinda Proofread.

Please point out any mistakes

{masterlist}

————

JJ hadn’t even considered how difficult NNN would be, when the idea came up between him, John B, and Pope he thought it would be the easiest 40 bucks he had ever made. He didn’t need to finish to have fun, he could make you come undone with two fingers, easy. However, he gravely underestimated how much you needed him to be inside you, no matter how many times he had you cumming on his fingers and tongue in a day, he would still have to hold back through all of your begging that night.

JJ hadn’t noticed how much he spoiled you until now, he would have you underneath him or between him and a wall every day, sometimes twice if he could. And you had gotten used to that treatment. “But what about me Jay?” You pouted, looking up to him with those big, sad eyes when you came to the Chateau that night, and he knew he messed up. There was no way he was gonna make it because he didn’t realize he had you addicted to his cock until you were already fiending for it. All on account of his stupid bet.

And it just got harder from there.

Your lips grazed against the back of his neck, your hands feeling the tense muscles in his lower back as they danced across his skin, “Please Jay, I can’t wait, I want you now,” JJ held back a groan, his eyes fluttering shut when your hands made there way around to his front, hidden under his shirt where your fingers traced down his happy trail, testing him and pushing him further. He felt himself twitch in his cargo shorts, hardening almost immediately as your scent surrounded him, the feeling of your soft fingers almost sending him over the edge.

“It’s only day one Gorgeous, don’t test me.” He stated, his hands stopping yours when your fingers began playing with the button on his shorts as if they had a mind of their own. You groan behind him, retracting your arms and the warmth that came with them from around him, crossing them over your chest teasingly.

“You know I won’t tell them if you crack Jay, they would never know.” He sighed, head falling back before turning to watch you walk away from him, the sassy little swing in your hips almost making him jump at the offer. Almost.

But, his rejection sure as hell didn’t stop you from trying, if anything it egged you on further.

————

“What if I just sit on it Jay, I’ll warm you and when you’re about to cum I’ll get off Baby, I promise.” JJ chuckled at the desperate tone in your voice from below you, his head leant against the back of the couch displaying his Adam’s apple that bounced up and down every time your hips moved against him again. “Please Jay, I wanna feel you.”

“Nuh uh Princess, I know you can’t control yourself,” He laughed through a groan, the desperation of his voice making you speed up, proving him right. The friction building between you two becoming too much for him, your hips speeding up even more to chase the high he can’t have. He watches your chest rise and fall quicker as you drop your head into his shoulder, whining in his ear the closer you get to your release. You can feel him twitching against your clothed cunt every time you clench against nothing.

“Can you feel how wet I am for you through my underwear Jay?” His teeth dig into his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood, he’s testing himself now seeing how close he can get to the edge before he stops himself. Part of him just wants to let it happened, but he can’t lose in the first week, he would never hear the end of it, “Fuck Baby I am so sorry.” He groaned into your neck, tugging you up by your hips, moving to the side and aggressively pushing you down to reconnect with his thigh.

His large hands keep your rhythm when you falter, pushing you and tugging you against his thigh, pulling whines from your throat and making you twitch in his lap. Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging on it uncontrollably while the band in your abdomen tightens. Your slick coats his leg forcing him to bite into your shoulder to control himself, whining into your flesh every time your knee brushes his tip, edging himself even further. You stutter and gasp, twitching against his thigh and soaking his shorts, his hands slow with your hips speed. Your watery eyes looked to him and his dick strained against his zipper further.

“You’re taking this so seriously, if I wasn’t so pissed at you I’d actually be kind of proud,” Your voice was breathy and came out strained, your glossy eyes held onto his, the little pout you had making him twitch and groan.

“I’m pissed at myself too,” He sighed, letting his head fall back into the crook of your neck, “I’ll tell ya’ what, if JB breaks soon, I’ll let Pope win and then you can ride me all you want Mama.”

“Really?! For me?” You squeak, so excited you would be embarrassed if you weren’t with JJ, “Fuck you’re amazing you know that?” You squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck, letting your fingers tangle into his hair again. Your soaked panties rubbing against his still hard cock, mixed with the sting your nails left at the base of skull forcing a whimper from his throat, and you know right then there is no way he is lasting the whole month.

————

“Cleo just texted me and Sarah, she broke Pope,” You giggled, typing away on your phone, his blue eyes watching you more intently than usual, just as they had been for the last ten days, “I kinda thought he would beat you both honestly.” You stated, tossing your phone beside you on the bed he made his before crawling over his thighs, his semi-hard cock already pressing against your entrance when you settle. He was so used to fucking you every night before you both slept in each other’s arms, that his body seemed to be prepared for it. Every time he looked at you recently he felt like he was about to bust, he was never doing this again. He decided he wouldn’t even be taking a trip without you ever again.

“Do you wanna fuck me now Jay?” Your breath fans across his ear and JJ bangs his head against the bed frame with a groan, your lips trail down the warm, salty skin on his neck stopping at the spot he loved the most and licking a stripe back up to his ear. You were desperate he could tell, and he absolutely loved it, and hated not being able to take care of it.

“Baby, you know I said if JB breaks….” He sighs into your skin, “Now I gotta win Princess, especially now that I know you thought I would lose.”

“Nooo, Jay, you can not imagine how horny I have been without you inside me,” you whined against the shell of his ear, exaggerating your neediness only a bit to try and get him to crack, “I won’t tell, not even Sarah.”

“Oh but Baby, that’s not winnin’,” He tsked, grabbing your cheeks, tugging your pouting face away and forcing eye contact, “If you wait I’ll use the bet money on anything you want.”

“I jus’ want you Daddy please.” You gripped his shoulders, thinking you knew exactly what the nickname would get you. Your teeth bit into your bottom lip as you began to rock your hips slightly, wanting him to finally give you what you want.

“Oh so that’s what you’re gon’ do huh?” His head tilted, slipping into his more dominant personality on instinct, his jaw twitching, his large hand gripping your hair in a flash, tugging it back and exposing your neck to him, “You can’t play that card and win Princess you know I’m in charge here.” He whispered into the flesh of your neck before his lips began their assault, sending a shiver down your spine and heating your abdomen even more than it had been.

“Do you want me to make it even worse for you Gorgeous,” he teased, “You can join me in this bet if that’s what you really want? I’ll bring you right up to the edge,” he whispered, his free hand slowly falling into your shorts to tease the hem of your underwear, “And then pull you right back with me.” He finished with a chuckle, snapping his hand out of your shorts, leaving you whining and wiggling against him.

“That’s no fair, you always make me cum, even when you’re mad.” You lean away from him and he lets you, resting you on his thighs before crossing your arms across your chest in the teasing way you know he likes. Shoving your breasts together right in his face, playing up the bratty attitude to get what you want.

“I make you cum when you’re good, and since you chose to pull out the Daddy card when you know damn well I can’t slip out of control until I finish,” He sighed between his words, eyes bouncing between your eyes and cleavage, controlling himself before he just fucks you right now, “Now you need to deal with his consequences.”

Your smile grows on your face, giggling at his words before you speak, “Okay, okay, I did do it on purpose but only because I need you so much.”

“Ah ah ah,” The teasing tone of his voice knocks your smile right off your face and you know you messed up, “I am dead serious, you’re stuck now Sweetness, you fucked up and now Papa Jay is gonna get what he wants. If you don’t act right I am gonna watch you beg for release every singe time I wanna fuckin’ cum until I can, do you understand me?”

Your eyebrows squeeze together, watching his face for a sign of hesitation, but the dominance stays. You whine as you wiggle your way off his legs to lat beside him, scowling at him before turning your back to him and laying down for bed. “If you change your mind in the middle of the night don’t hesitate to….wake me up, but only if you wanna fuck me awake.” You tease, wiggling your hips to poke out your pantie clad ass cheeks his direction.

“You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that in the morning Gorgeous,” He laughed, slotting himself behind you in the dark, his arm pulling you into him and moaning in your ear at the feeling of your ass against his tightening boxers. You wiggled against him, pushing into him as he pushes back, his large hand splayed out on your lower abdomen tugging you impossibly closer. In one quick motion his leg locks against yours and his arms tighten around you, halting your movements as he speaks into your ear.

“Goodnight Baby, I love you so fucking much,” He growls into your ear, halting for a second to nip at your flesh before continuing, “and when I win this bet I am gonna give you the best dick of your life I promise you.” You whine again, desperately trying to run your thighs together for some type of friction.

“I love you too Jay, but I still want it now.” You huff, stopping your feeble attempts at movement at his soft, sleepy laugh behind you.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” He says with a yawn before you’re both slipping into a restless, sweaty sleep tangled together.

————

Your phone lights up beside you on your bedside table, prompting you to grab it and read Sarah’s message in the group chat made for your fellow victims of NNN. “Fuck yes.” You whispered under your breath as you typed out your response, letting them both know your man was the winner. The smile grew bigger on your face when your eyes met JJ’s as he entered your bedroom, his shirt was discarded, allowing your eyes to trace the drops of water left behind after he brushed his teeth as they make a pathway through his chiseled abs.

"See somethin' ya like?" He asks with a teasing smirk that widens into a grin when you toss your phone aside for him, sticking your arms out silently begging him to join you on the bed, wanting to finally feel his skin against yours again. He stalks towards your bed, eyes on you intently as you wiggle in excitement at his proximity,

"Who were you texting?" He asks, his voice deep and demanding, as though he would throw the bet away if you answered wrong.

You smile even wider at his question, "Sarah and Cleo." You state matter of factly, crawling towards JJ where he stands at the foot of the bed. His eyes follow your movements closely, taking notice of the fact that you had already shed your pants for bed. Your hips rocked teasingly the closer you got to him, your cleavage free of if it's usually confines was visible entirely from his angle above you. You stood on your knees proudly when you finally reacher him, drifting your hand across his chest, letting it slowly fall lower while he groans at the contact.

"If you stop right now I promise I will fuck you tomorrow whether John B breaks or not." He growls, dropping his head as though he was ashamed, gripping your hand to stop it's decent. He knew if he let it fall any further he would lose control. You only giggled in response, leaning your head up to reach his ear, leaving a trail of kisses and bites behind as you did so.

"You know JB already broke right?" You whisper even though you knew he didn't, giggling when JJ’s head shoots back into place immediately. His ears excitedly perked up at your words like a golden retriever, eyebrows furrowed as if to ask if you were lying to him.

"Really?" His voice comes out forced, loosening his grip on your hand and letting it continue it's pursuit past the hem of his boxers. Sighing at the contact of your cold fingers against the steaming temperature of his skin when he lets you wrap your fingers around his base.

"Yup, Sarah just texted me and Cleo, she got him, you won Baby," Your sultry voice in his ear sends tingles all over his body, "Do you want your prize Daddy?"

“Oh, fuck yes I do.” JJ was on you in seconds, shoving you hard down against your soft bed, maneuvering your body around so he could slot himself between your thighs where he belongs. His hand fell between your bodies, carelessly tugging the hem of his boxers down just enough to let himself spring free, not caring to grab a condom in his haste. He quickly uses two fingers to tug your underwear aside before sinking into fully in one thrust, a broken, strangled sigh escaping his lips as he immediately sets a slow pace. His gorgeous blue eyes flutter shut above you causing a wide, triumphant smile to to grow across your face.

“Yeah I am not gon’ last long, fuck.” He whines, dropping his head to groan against the flesh of your neck. Your hands find hold on his shoulders as you dig your nails into his back, marking him and holding on to your release as it builds for the first time in days. His lips latch onto your skin forcing you to moan his name, his pace picks up while he pushes himself up on one hand beside your head wanting to watch your face when you come undone for him. His free hand runs it’s way down your side to grip your hip and hold you steady while he thrusts into you. You can feel him against you as you clench around him, earning a strangled mix between a moan and a groan from JJ’s throat, his thrusts stuttering slightly before he regains his composure. You can feel how close he is, his tip hitting just the right spot every time but becoming frantic while his mumbled words become slightly incoherent.

“If you let me cum inside I’ll buy you Plan B.” JJ huffed out above you, his eyebrows crinkling in concentration, trying to hold himself back, his blue eyes getting lost in yours again. He didn’t want to pull out, he had edged himself too much and he didn’t want to risk doing it again. His eyes fell to where you connected, watching the way his dick thrusted in and out of you making a mess on the sheets below. You sucked him in so perfectly that he wanted to stay inside forever.

“No shit, I know you will.” Your fingers melt into his hair, tugging his eyes back up to yours while you speak, “You can cum in me whenever you want Jay.” Your moan mingles with your words, accentuated by his final, hardest thrust before he stutters and twitches inside of you, collapsing on top pf you while his warm cum fills you and leaks past him onto the bed.

Your nails tickle against his back, your other hand playing with his hair, content while you stay connected as your breathing comes back to normal. JJ’s face rests in your neck, his breath fanning your skin as he wraps his arms around you fully. “I may have only lasted 12 days Mama, but I won us 40 bucks.”

“Okayyy but 12 days is still impressive for us,” You respond with a chuckle, tugging his hair to force eye contact with you, “It could have been day one Jay ya’ know.” He groans, his eyes fluttering shut again as his hands begin to run their way up his shirt you so often wear to bed, pinching at your hardening nipples and watching your eyebrows furrow in response.

“Round two?” JJ asks, biting at his lip and staring up at you with desperate eyes. You can feel his cock beginning to harden inside of you, your walls tightening around him at the feeling.

“Well you did say I could ride you Daddy.” Your voice comes out in a beg and you watch JJ’s face as it changes into a dominant scowl despite your growing smile. His jaw ticks and his tongue pushes his cheek out slightly at your words. JJ shoves himself off of you leaving you feeling empty while he settles on his knees. His dick bounces proudly in front of him as he tugs your panties down your legs before ridding himself of his own. You waste no time in removing your shirt and watching his mouth water at the sight of your bare chest as you tug yourself impatiently onto his lap.

You sink onto him, filling yourself up again with a sigh as his cock hits every spot perfectly. You bounce on him, setting a steady pace that your thighs can handle. JJ however, knows how much of a pillow princess you are, preemptively dragging his hands down your sides and to your hips, squeezing them lightly to let you know he can take over whenever you want. Your lips crash into JJ’s in a messy kiss, your tongues battle as your breath mixes. Moaning in each other’s mouths while your hands find perch on his shoulders.

JJ’s lips fall to your jaw, groaning into his kisses, nipping at your neck every time you speed up or slow down. You whine in his ear, your fingers finding his hair and tugging at it as you slow, telling him to take control of you completely. JJ’s wicked smirk widens, his hands tightening on your hips, his lips falling to suck your nipple into his mouth and swirl his tongue against it. His finger nails dig into your flesh as he starts to bounce you against his thighs, making you whine and grind into him further. “Faster Jay please.”

“You like that Princess?” JJ teases, his hands on your hips guiding you up and down his cock at a faster pace, “Do you like ridin’ Papa Jay Sweetheart?” He coos, tilting his head to watch you bounce on him, matching the pace he set as he thrusts up into you.

————

I think JJ is definitely the typa guy who talks ab himself in the 3rd person during sex😂

Idk how yall feel about Papa Jay but😮‍💨😮‍💨

[invoncible]

i loved your mark and popstar girly piece, it made me imagine the popstar girly making a song about mark but not telling anyone, but he knows because it describes his appearance and a moment he had with popstar girly perfectly. not a request just an thought i wanted to share

MARK GRAYSON & popstar! girly! reader (II) ✧˚. — this is basically a whole story at this point but no regrets

— thank u for sharing ur thoughts anon !! now you have to take responsibility for giving me brainrot cuz i fs went overboard with this one !! <3 — i hc the music career as sabrina carpenter coded, but tbh you can envision whoever u want !

being as big as you were, you liked to keep your private life under wraps. but if people listened to your music they'd be able to piece the story together.

when I talk to my friends so quietly / (who he think he is?) look at what you did to me

you and mark weren't dating yet when your debut album came out. you had finished your one year of fake school with him, amber, william, and eve. within that time, you fell for mark hard.

he was a dork, cute and funny, and he was the sweetest when he was with you. never talked about your wealth and actually treated you like a teenager instead of a spoiled daddy's girl.

you just had to write about him. your audience noticed a huge shift in the tone of your music. when you released your album, the love songs really hit because you really sounded like you were in love. they could hear the smile in your voice on the tracks.

when mark heard it, he wasn't as pleased as other fans for the exact same reason. he could tell you were feeling something for someone, and as far fetched as his hope for being with you was, he still felt some kind of way when you reminded him that you were out of his league. way out of his league.

william threw you a listening party to celebrate, and out of the corner of your eye you could see mark deflate more and more with each song.

did he hate it? you thought in a panic.

he got up abruptly to help out with 'family work,' as he called it.

"are you sure you can't stay?" you shot to your feet as he threw on his jacket.

he smiled sympathetically, a heavy sigh escaping his lungs. "m'sorry. it sounds so great so far, though. you're gonna blow up for sure. you look... uh," he cleared his throat, eyes darting back to the TV where your music video was playing. "really good, too."

heat rose to your face as you nodded minutely. "thanks." you mumbled.

he reached out to you on an impulse, his hand hanging in the air when he hesitated halfway through. he settled for awkwardly patting your shoulder.

"i'll listen to it all the way through once i'm done with work, promise." he shut the door with a swiftness.

"ughhhh, i give up. i hate him." you groaned, head in hands. william rubbed your back soothingly as you complained. "this is so embarrassing."

you thought you made it obvious that you liked him. you flirted and everything, but either he was stupidly dense or ignoring your advances.

"don't..." william exhaled tiredly, like he was close to giving up on mark himself. "don't give up. he's stupid, but he gets the point eventually."

"i must look crazy," you dig your wrists into your eyes in frustration. you hated feeling like this. your heart was swirling with affection but your head was telling you to stand up and drop him since he was obviously set on dismissing you.

"you're not crazy. i'll talk to him."

"don't do that!" you whined. "i'll look desperate..."

he raised an eyebrow, a smile spreading on his face. "you are desperate. but so is he."

i can see the stars all the way from here / can't you see the glow on the window pane? / i can feel the sun whenever you're near / every time you touch me, i just melt away

the whole world could tell you had a man when released your next few singles. the beats were bubbly and the lyrics were so sickly sweet that the only reasonable conclusion for being able to write them in the first place would be for you to be deep, deep, deep in your feelings.

with the help of william's nudging, mark finally confessed. it took a lot of encouragement, but he did it.

he stopped you from going home with a pull to your wrist, threading you along to a secluded corner of the school grounds. he looked tired, and you couldn't tell if that was a bruise or not on his cheek, but whatever he was going through did not dim the light in his eyes.

"look, um..." he took a slow breath in as if meditating. fear pounded in your chest. he was looking at you with a gravity one would expect to have when delivering bad news. was he delivering bad news?

"i like you." he blurted out.

oh.

"i like you," he repeated with a firmness, making the world stop on its axis. "and i would really like to take you out sometime. please."

you blinked at him for a moment, searing his cute determined expression to memory: the nervous pull of his brows, pouty frown, and clammy fists at his sides.

"yeah." you answered quietly but resolutely. "i'd like that."

he brightened, the tension on his face gone in an instant. poof! "really?"

his excitement was infections and rooted in your bones too, straightening up and mirroring his grin. "mhmm."

"okay." he muttered, stepping closer to you and hesitantly hugging you. you rolled your eyes and embraced him fully, circling your arms around his waist and squeezing. he smiled into your hair and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

dating mark was easy. for a time, that is.

i've never seen an ugly truth that i can't bend / to something that looks better, i'm stupid, but i'm clever / yeah, i can make a shit show look a whole lot like forever and ever

a couple months into your relationships, your audience picked up a little animosity in your lyrics towards the reoccurring 'boyfriend' figure you often sang about.

being busy was something you were familiar with—your entire life was busy. so that's why when mark was off in university and balancing a full time job (that he always described too vaguely for your liking), you understood.

but there came a time you were just sure he was cheating on you. he left to take calls, promising the person on the other end he'd 'be right there,' and disappear for weeks at a time. can someone really have five different work trips in the span of a month?

"mark," you accepted his hug with a heavy heart. you hated to do this when he just got back, but you couldn't go on without knowing.

"missed you," he mumbled into your shoulder, squeezing you tightly. he pulled back, pausing at your downturned expression. he frowned. "what's wrong?"

"mark." you started, glossy lips pursed in a pout. "is there someone else?"

the mere idea of cheating made him want to punch a hole through a wall. the fact you thought he was cheating—you thought he was cheating on you? the most perfect thing in the world, the reason he worked so hard? it made his heart twist painfully.

"no!" he scoffed in disbelief, cupping your face and looking into your watery eyes. "of course not. how could you think that?"

you shrugged his hands off and stepped back. "you're always talking to someone. after you get their call, you run off. i just—it doesn't make sense—"

"it's work stuff, y/n, you know that!" he chased after you, letting his backpack fall off his shoulder with a loud thud to the floor.

"what's work?" you snapped. "you always say it's work, but what are you doing, really? that you have to be away from home for so long?"

his mouth opened, then closed. his breath caught in his chest as the thought raced through his mind: do it. you trust her, so do it.

but no matter how much he wanted to tell you the truth, he couldn't bring you into that life. he wouldn't turn you into his mother. for as happy as she was by his father's side, one wrong move, one mistake... it could cost you your life.

you had so much life in you, he couldn't bear to be the one who takes it all away.

you watched him wilt in real time, nothing but a sigh leaving his lips.

"unbelievable." you whispered. "you're not going to tell me?"

he grappled for the words, hanging his head when he came up short. "i can't."

"can't what?"

"tell you," he shot back, fists curling at his sides dangerously. "i can't tell you."

"why?" you crossed your arms and jealously and paranoia rear their ugly heads. "is there someone else?"

"no!"

"then what, mark?" you snapped.

nothing. he said nothing, standing in the entrance of your room numbly.

"fine. don't tell me." a confusing mix of heartbreak and embarrassment pulsed through your veins, mustering up whatever bravado you had left to end things. "get out."

you couldn't handle the desperation on his face as he stepped forward. you turned around to save yourself the trouble of giving in.

"y/n, it's—"

"get out."

pour my feelings in the microphone / i stay in, and when the girls come home / i want one of them to take my phone / take my phone and lose your / number, i don't wanna be tempted

there wasn't a lot of activity from you when you broke up with mark. your first real boyfriend, gone, without so much as closure. you never understood his secrecy about his job and it gnawed at your soul. could things have worked out if he was honest? or would it have wrecked your relationship even more?

"you need to get out of this house, y/n." william was gentle with you, dutifully listening to you vent and offering real advice.

"i can't." you choked, curled in blankets that hadn't been washed in weeks.

"you can."

"i don't want to." you revised, letting your heavy eyes fall shut.

william was torn. he knew everything about mark, including his secret identity, and he felt like shit withholding that information from you. but it wasn't his place to tell you as much as he wanted it to be. he was both your friend and mark's friend which made it all the more harder.

you hand him your phone. "will you... delete his number for me?"

william slumped in his seat, a deep frown on his lips. "y/n... are you sure?"

"just do it." you muttered, tossing your phone to the cushion between you and burrowing back into your cocoon of misery.

"sure." william whispered, taking your phone. his finger hovered over the block button, but...

he set your phone down and called mark instead, demanding he make things right.

[]

that's how he ended up outside your window. you were just about to sink into your fluffy sheets and doze off when you heard the faint tap tap tap at your giant bay window.

you frowned, prowling over to the glass and peering through.

"ah—!" you shrieked when mark's face popped up, looking like nightmare fuel itself hanging there in the darkness.

"shh!" his voice was muffled on the other side. he smiled sheepishly as he pointed to the window lock.

your first instinct was to rip the window open and pull him into your arms, but...

"you're ... flying..." you whispered, staring at him in disbelief. after a moment, you let him in.

he hovered outside before slipping in, touching down on your carpet. he pulled off his civilian clothes to reveal the invincible suit underneath. "this is what i didn't want to tell you." he murmured.

you just stared at him, your mind already putting together the pieces. all the times he's had to run off, all the days he's come home tired... if you weren't so busy with your own career, you'd probably have picked up on it sooner.

"i was scared that i'd put you in danger." he frowned, walking up to you and placing a gentle hand on your arm. "i didn't want to put that burden on you."

you instinctively leaned into his touch, the familiarity overwhelming your confusion.

"you don't look so good," he mumbled, cupping your face and dragging his thumb over your cheeks. dark circles had bloomed on your skin.

"yeah, well..." you sighed, trying to steady your breathing. "i missed you."

mark softened, pulling your into his chest and tucking your head under his chin as he cradled you. "i missed you too, baby. i'm so sorry. i would never cheat on you, you know that, right?"

"yeah." you exhaled, burying yourself into his chest and soaking up his warmth. it felt good to be in his arms again. then your nails dug into his back.

he hissed. "wha—"

"don't make decisions on my behalf." you began, glaring up at him. "you're so sweet for thinking of me, but i'll choose what burdens to bear."

there was an apprehension on his face, as if he thought you didn't understand the gravity of being in a relationship with a superhero entailed, but he wasn't going to push you away again.

he needed you as much as you needed him.

"okay?" you pressed for an answer.

he smiled and kissed your forehead. "yes, ma'am. i love you."

you tumbled into bed together and the rest is history.

who's the cute guy with the wide brown eyes and the big bad mm, like—

after you and mark were completely open with each other, you were so full of joy and love; of course it seeped into your music. as well as your hornier thoughts.

you and mark didn't have to go anywhere in particular to feel like you were spending time together. relaxing in bed, hanging out with his family, or visiting your studio were the most common ways you enjoyed each other's presence.

you were recording your latest album, the tracks ranging from an i love you vibe to i want to fuck you vibe.

mark was there when you were recording one of the later, lounging on the couches in the producer's box as they listened to what direction you wanted to take the track.

he was always so enraptured with your singing. however when he started clueing into the lyrics, he might as well have shut down.

the first time he heard these lyrics, he sunk into the couch and pulled his hoodie over his head. it was obvious to the crew that the song was about him and everything he did to you, but thankfully they didn't pass him any weird looks or anything. how could they, when you were smiling so brightly in the booth as you giggled over these references, ones that only two people in the world would truly understand? he kept their talent happy, and that was what mattered.

of course, he didn't mind you writing about him. he loved it. but hearing your thoughts—how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, or how you're looking at me, yeah, i know what that means, and i'm obsessed—was the best gift in the world.

after your workday ended, mark had so much pent up energy to release.

"'bed chem', huh?" a lovesick grin spread on his face as he pulled his shirt over his head. "s'that what you think we have?"

"yeah." you giggled, pulling him in and rolling on top of him. your hand trailed down his chest. "you like the song?"

"love the girl who made it," he craned his neck to peck your lips, delighting in the giggle he drew from your lips and ramping up to give you more inspiration for your next album. better to start early.

wanna try out some freaky positions? ...have you ever tried this one?

it seems he gave you too much inspiration.

it was no secret you and mark were freaky. literally, it wasn't a secret—the team at the GDA always kept tabs on the people their heroes engaged with, so of course they knew of you and what you did.

mark learned this the hard way when your album finally released. the entire world loved it, tiktok dances and trends popping up left and right. unfortunately, because of its popularity it reached guardians' HQ and the pentagon (thanks to the younger employees who enjoyed a couple coffee breaks).

rex snorted as he blasted this song from the computer. "what do you and your girl get up to for her to be making bangers like this?"

mark's lips twitched up, his skin warming as he remembered the many times he gave you reason to write these lyrics. "i mean, she's telling you, isn't she?"

rex's smile grew as the song progressed. "fuzzy pink handcuffs?"

"nothing more you need to know."

the sound of someone clearing their throat made them both whip around.

cecil stood in the landing, unimpressed that they were using government property to listen to bubblegum pop.

"didn't realize this was a recreational facility, boys." he grumbled as he walked up the stairs.

mark's cheeks reddened. cecil's frown deepened when the chorus grew close to it's end, where you sang one of me is cute, but two though?

"...please don't be having children any time soon." the director's eyes flickered up to the lyric video playing on the screen. "you and your brother are trouble enough—"

"okay, okay!" mark cut him off, embarrassed this was even a conversation. his arm reached to pause the video when the bridge neared, knowing how crazy you went when writing it.

"no, no, i wanna hear it." rex pouted, slapping his hand away from the keyboard.

"yeah, you can listen to it all you want when our boss isn't in the room."

cecil rolled his eyes, waving him off. "i've already listened to all of it. against my will, of course, y/n is very popular at the pentagon."

in that moment, mark wanted the ability to teleport.

i'm working late 'cause i'm a singer / oh, he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger / my twisted humor make him laugh so often / my honeybee, come and get this pollen

this song was dubbed the song of the summer; it played multiple times on the radio, in grocery stores, in coffee shops... mark couldn't escape it. and that's how he liked it.

mark is your number one fan. to have such a smart, loving, funny girl write songs about him was a blessing in of itself, and sometimes he watched your performances from the front row like ... how did i bag her?

100% started crying at the end of your concert. his phone was filled with hundreds of photos and videos of you. as confetti floated down from above and the colorful lights danced over the crowd, he felt overwhelmed. he's been surviving for so long, but with you it's like he finally got to just... live. exist without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

he was allowed backstage after you signed off on another successful night. he came up behind you, pulling your back to his chest and squeezing you tight.

you squeaked, trying not to spill your mouthful of water, setting down your water bottle. you gulped and pat his arms around your abdomen. "hey, baby."

he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, uncaring as you squirmed away from him.

"mark," heat grew on your face as you laughed. "i'm sweaty and hot—"

"you are hot."

"hot, as in warm." you chuckled with a shake of your head. "lemme shower and we can cuddle?"

mark let out a small laugh against your neck, his hold on you firm but gentle. "don’t care. i just wanna be close to you."

your heart squeezed at the way he said it... so soft, so full of love. you turned in his arms, brushing damp strands of hair from your face as you looked up at him. you knew you smelled like hairspray and hours of dancing.

"you okay?" you asked, voice gentle.

he nodded, but his eyes were a little glassy. "i just… what did i do to deserve you?"

you cupped his face, pressing a tender kiss to his lips and rubbing away the lipstick sticking to the corner of his mouth. "you don't have to do anything to 'deserve' love, mark. "

he exhaled shakily, a wobbly smile breaking through.

you rested your forehead against his. "and if you give me fifteen minutes, we can cuddle properly."

he pulled away, taking off his hoodie and offering it to you. he helped you get it over your head and found it so cute when your eyes peeked out of the huge hood. he chuckled as he squished your cheeks together, kissing your pursed lips. "with this pretty outfit on, it's definitely gonna take more than fifteen minutes to take it off and shower."

you hummed, thinking. he could see the idea pop into your head.

"you can come watch, if you want?"

mark was a simple guy. of course he took you up on your offer.

but if you want my kisses / i'll be your perfect mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies

you didn't tell him about your deluxe bonus songs. he listened to them on his own as soon as he could. something about this line made him contemplate his future with you.

he immediately flew to your house.

"mark!" you exclaimed, sitting up when he shot through your window. you settled for leaving it open nowadays, with how often he sneaks in.

"you mean this?" he panted, catching his breath. he held his phone up with your voice playing out the speaker.

you recognized the verse he was referring to, a bashful heat blooming on your face. "of course i mean it. but if—"

"no." he cut you off with a swiftness.

he chucked his phone aside, ripping off his mask and jumping onto the bed. he crawled between your legs, resting his head on the fluff of your tummy. he breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering closed as his arms snaked around your waist. "i love you."

you giggle, heart squeezing as you ran your fingers through his hair. "i love you, too, baby."

"i'll make it happen."

"yeah?"

"yeah," he smiled against your skin, pressing a sweet kiss to the apex of your thigh. "anything for you."

© invoncible

[nereidprinc3ss]

relax

in which spencer helps university student reader de-stress after a particularly exhausting assignment

18+ (smut) warnings: fingering, overstimulation, happy crying, lowkey softdom spencer, slight d/s dynamics, reader is referred to as a girl, ????idk i've never had to tag for smut before lols wc: 2624 a/n: been doing some insane literary cooking. lots of smut AND more fluff in the works (all uni reader... lol... ). idk if i love this but again need to fucking get it out of my word doc so here u go, PLEASE lmk if you like it!!

You don’t even realize the room has gone completely dark until Spencer comes in the front door and flicks on the light. 

“Why did you do that?” you snap immediately, looking up from your laptop screen for the first time in potentially hours, blinking hard as your eyes painfully adjust. Your boyfriend gives you an odd look. 

“Hello to you too...” 

“I’m sorry. Hi. How was dinner?” 

“It was good,” he says, crossing the room to the couch that has been your entire world for the past five hours. You sigh, releasing some of the tension in your shoulders when he leans down to kiss your head and set down a to-go box on the coffee table. “Have you moved since I left?” 

“...no,” you admit, moving your eyes dejectedly to the keyboard.  

“You made progress,” he appeases, leaning over you to angle the laptop upward. Immediately you wrench it away, holding it protectively against your chest. 

“Stop! I don’t want you to read it yet!” 

“I could help you with it though,” he pleads, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch. You look up into his hazel eyes, where he’s definitely playing up the puppy dog factor. His tie brushes your stomach, and he smells like lavender and clove and-- 

“You need to go away,” you realize, snapping back to reality and shrinking into the couch, away from him—trying to escape his all-encompassing sensory presence.  

“Wh- I just got back!” he scoffs, straightening. 

“You’re distracting me,” you accuse, throwing him a baleful look. 

“I’m literally offering to help you.” 

“And I’m respectfully declining because I care too much about your opinion to show you this essay until it’s less terrible. I really just need a couple more hours to finish it, please?” 

Spencer sighs, regarding your pitiful state before moving to sit down next to you. Automatically you move your legs out of the way before settling them in his lap and damn it he’s supposed to be going away. Your iron grip on the laptop involuntarily loosens a little as his hands begin to run back and forth over your legs. No—you must stay focused.  

“Spencer,” you whine, flopping your head back. You let the implied complaint hang in the air. 

“You’ve been writing all day. Your brain is exhausted, and your synapses aren’t firing at a rate that is intellectually productive.” 

“What is the point of having a brain if I can’t even use it half the time!” you almost-shout, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes until you see fireworks.  

The couch shifts and you feel the warm, robotic weight of the laptop unpin you as Spencer lifts it from your lap. “Don’t read it,” you beg, watching through parted fingers as he sets it on the coffee table, and relaxing slightly when he settles back into the couch.  

“Come here,” he says, holding out an arm. Too mentally exhausted to do anything but comply, you pull yourself up just enough to fall into him. Immediately he wraps his arms around you, one hand slipping under your shirt to rub your back in hypnotizing passes. “I think you burnt yourself out,” he mutters. 

You nod into his shoulder, surrendering yourself to his warmth, letting yourself sink into a lavender-clove fog, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into it. The darkness behind your eyes glows an inviting amber, threatening to pull you under...  

But the essay... 

“Stop thinking about the essay,” he demands. 

“But I have so much to do,” you sigh against his jacket, the words coming out muffled. 

“The best thing you can do now is give your brain a rest. I promise you you’re not making that paper any better if you’re exhausted.” 

“I am not exhausted,” you insist, although your eyes are still closed, “I’m just really stressed.”  

Spencer hums, continuing to rub your back.  

“Do you need me to help you relax?” he says innocently. 

Oh? 

One of your eyes opens to peer up at him suspiciously. He sweeps some of your hair out of your face. 

“Because I would be happy to.” A moment passes—him looking down at you fondly; you wondering if you’re picking up what he’s putting down. 

“And how would you go about doing that?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Orgasms reduce tension and stress and improve brain function.” 

Damn. Why did the nerdiest, most un-sexy pickup line ever just turn you on?

You groan, burying your face further into his shirt—mostly to hide any trace of a blush. 

“You know what else would reduce stress and improve brain functioning? Taking an Adderall and finishing my fucking essay.”  

“Angel, you're such a smart girl, and you are fully capable of doing whatever you set your mind to—but I will lock your laptop in my gun safe before I let you look at that essay again tonight.” He speaks so softly, and his fingers are still gently combing through your messy hair... all in all, you put up a good fight, right? Maybe you should just listen to him...

“... fine.” you say eventually, reluctant to give in too quickly even though the idea quickly has filled your stomach with butterflies. 

“Fine?” he says, pausing his motions as you turn your head just enough to look up at him. “Sounds like you don’t really want it, baby. Maybe we should just go to sleep. Or I could take you back to your-” 

“Spence,” you whine, gently grabbing the front of his shirt. Now he’s going to make you beg? As if it wasn’t his idea? Those puppy dog eyes of his are deceiving. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he sighs, hand moving from your hair to your outer thigh. 

“Please?” you whisper, dignity forgotten as you look up at him imploringly. 

“Lean back, sweet girl,” he says, helping you adjust your position til you’re lying against his chest, legs sprawled across the couch. Your head lolls on his shoulder, intoxicated by his close proximity. “Perfect. Such a good listener.” 

Normally, you’d be quick to make a defensive remark, but with the way he’s slowly hiking your shirt up, running his hands over your sides so lightly it gives you goosebumps—you're really in no position to argue. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands grow bolder in their explorations, crossing your stomach, fingers just slipping under the waistband of your shorts and skimming over your hipbones before coming back up. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, and you nod lazily, apparently losing access to your language facilities after running them dry all day. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem good enough for your boyfriend. “Do you remember when the last time I touched you like this was?” 

Through the hazy blur of your exhaustion, you try to think back. Was it... two days ago? Three? More? 

“Almost a week ago,” he supplies the answer for you when you take too long. What? That can’t be right. 

But when you think about it harder... it is right. It was right before finals week started.  

An errant hand straying up your torso distracts you. “Do you remember what I did?” 

You flush. 

“You... yeah,” is the best you can offer, too flustered to say exactly what he did to your body. That stray hand moves over your breast. Your back arches just slightly at the stimulation through the thin fabric of your bra.  

Thankfully, he lets you off the hook.  

“I made you cum three times, right?” 

“Mhm,” you hum through closed lips, tense with anticipation as he finally slides both hands down to your shorts and wordlessly directs you to lift your hips so he can pull them all the way off along with your underwear. 

“You’ve been so busy lately, huh. Working so hard.” 

You unconsciously drop your bent legs open, brain too foggy to be insecure about how utterly bare you are—allowing him to slowly rub up and down your inner thigh. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, honey. I don’t think three times was enough for such a stressful week.” 

You gasp when his fingers finally brush your clit, whimpering slightly when they just barely skim your entrance before tracing the wetness back up.  

“Give me your hand,” Spencer says, taking his own from between your legs and holding it up. You don’t even think about it, releasing your grip on the arm he now has wrapped around you and holding it out for him. At this point, you’d do anything he tells you to without hesitation.  

He takes the proffered hand, gently guiding it back between your legs. Your fingers meet slick, soft warmth. “Do you feel how wet you are?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, seeing how your fingers glisten when you pull them away. His remain, running slowly up and down your clit. Your brain seems to be vibrating in your skull as warmth spreads throughout your body. 

“Who’s that for?” 

“You, Spencer,” you whimper. He hums in approval before the room falls into silence as you both watch his teasing intently, your breath baited as you try to be patient. But your body isn’t with the program, you keep twisting slightly, your hips cant upward. “Please, please,” the words escape on a held exhalation as you finally break, arching your back against him as your search for more friction.  

Without warning, he sinks two fingers inside you. The slight stretch after not having taken anything in a week scratches an itch you didn’t even know you had, and you let out a broken moan. 

“I know, honey. You’re so good, I know.” Spencer kisses your head as he speaks over your cry, barely moving his fingers for a few moments while you get comfortable. 

Still you’re not ready for it when he withdraws and pushes back in. 

“Look at that,” he breathes. 

“Oh, fuck,” you choke, watching how your arousal completely coats his fingers as he slowly, slowly begins to fuck you with them. 

Again you feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs slightly—probably at your earlier insistence that you didn’t desperately want this. The laughter fades as you both become entranced by the sight of his fingers disappearing into you, and your stomach twists with pleasure. His pace remains languid, and he seems to delight in the filthy, wet sounds his hand is producing between your legs.  

“You okay, baby?” he asks after a moment, seemingly snapping out of some trance. 

“Uh huh,” you whimper. One particular drag of his fingers at just the right angle has you dizzy, and then he’s speeding up. Your jaw drops at the change in pace and your hips chase his hand, wanting even more. 

“So pretty,” he mutters as his other hand moves to spread you open.  

You attempt to shut your legs around his wrist, but instead he just ruts his fingers deeper into you, palm pressed against your clit. You attempt to twist away from the extreme stimulation, but he doesn’t allow it. 

“Too much,” you squeak, bucking your hips inadvertently. 

“No it’s not,” he states, like you’re talking about the weather. 

“Spencer, I really c- ah- can't!” 

“It feels like a lot, huh?” he asks soothingly, not letting up one bit. 

“Yes!” you cry, eyes stinging as tears begin to well. 

“You’re okay, angel. It’s just been a while.” 

You are so completely fucked. Each stroke of his hand feels like an electric jolt through your whole body. It is too much, but at the same time, pleasure is pooling deep in your stomach and at the base of your spine and you never want him to stop. You throw your head back onto Spencer’s shoulder, eyes screwed shut.  

“Relax,” he mutters, carefully bearing down the pressure across your waist with his arm to try and keep you from squirming. 

A rhythmic whine breaks through the barrier of your sealed lips as you focus all your energy into taking it, when the all-consuming need to kiss him hits you. You twist your neck to look up at him, observing the furrow of his brow and the way he’s tucked his bottom lip into a bite. Thankfully he notices your movement—his eyes dart from your own half-lidded gaze to your lips and he understands what you want. 

The kiss is messy and the angle is awkward and you’re moaning into his mouth half the time anyway, but it feels so good to have his lips moving on yours that you don’t care about any of it.  

“I—ah,” you cry into him, unable to form a coherent thought as your stomach drops like you’re mounting the peak of a roller coaster. 

His fingers again change their angle and he finds the spot inside you that makes your legs spasm. Attempting to hold in whatever noises you were making is now futile—the whimpers and pants turn to full-fledged keening moans interspersed with taut silences as you fail to breathe properly.  

Your wrench your gaze and lips away from Spencer to watch through a blurry haze the rapid movement of his hand between your bare legs, the way your hips buck and twist and the way your leg bends as he hooks his free hand under your knee and hoists it toward your chest. 

“You’re doing so well, honey. Being so good for me.” 

Moisture spills over from your eyes, tracing down your cheeks and down your neck as you begin to come with no warning and a desperate, broken cry. 

A string of praise from Spencer underscores your pleading moans, but you can’t focus on anything other than the buzzing warmth emanating from your core, the bright, pulsing white that blinds you and the feeling of stardust flowing through your veins. 

Your boyfriend continues pumping his fingers slowly in and out of you for a blissful few moments, before sensing the tail-end of your orgasm and bringing his fingers up to rub lazy circles over your clit. Aftershocks resonate from the hypersensitive area and make you clamp your legs shut around his hand as your toes curl and you attempt to squirm out of his grip. 

“Done! I’m done,” you squeak, rocking your hips back and forth to try and escape his toying. 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, relieving the pressure of his hand between your legs and moving it to run over your stomach as you come down. 

You lie in silence for a minute, enjoying the liquid sensation weighing down your muscles and basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm.  

“Shit,” you breathe shakily after a moment. Spencer chuckles. You manage to turn yourself over, laying your cheek on his shoulder and slipping your arms under his waist. He looks down at you as he moves on to massaging your back and bare hips, eyes full of warm adoration.  

“Feel better?” 

You hum an affirmation, wiping your eyes on his shirt. 

“Oh, honey, did I make you cry?” 

You laugh into his chest and nod, a few stray tears leaking from your shut eyes. “It’s okay. Not sad tears.” 

“What kind of tears?” 

“Orgasm tears,” you mumble, a tidal wave of exhaustion you’d been fighting all day finally washing over you. 

“That makes sense. Orgasms can be cathartic or even therapeutic depending on your head space. Major losses and life changes are often associated with sexual dysfunction but the opposite is actually just as if not more common. A spike in libido can—” 

Spencer pauses, looking down to see that you’re either asleep or close to it, and smiles to himself. You’ll probably be mad about it when you wake up, but he had to get you to stop thinking about that paper somehow. 

[heavyhitterheaux]

NSFW Alphabet

See Me Through You Series

Synopsis: It's pretty self explanatory lol 🤭

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a gorgeous anon 😍

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

A (ftercare)- Joe has always been a gentleman in this regard from the first time you two slept together (which was also your first time ever and was very surprised when you told him). He always helps you to the bathroom, but not before turning on the shower first in order for the water to heat up. He usually gets in with you before going to change the sheets on your bed. He then helps put your hair up no matter what style its in, feeds you if you want something before you both settle into a deep sleep.

B (ody part)- Joe's favorite body part of yours is your eyes. As cliche and cheesy as it sounds, he could get lost in them for hours on end. The color reminds him of honey which is no surprise considering what a sweet person you are to everyone around you.

Now your favorite body part of his was his hands. You loved when he inserted his fingers in you of course, but you always found yourself wanting to hold his hand or having him touch you. Joe doesn't know this, but he always brings attention to them and he obviously doesn't mean to. A lot of times that would consist of him playing with his wedding band.

C (um)- You like to be covered in it and Joe likes to see you covered in it. His favorite place to release besides inside of you was your chest and your face. But ever since he got it in your hair that you had just gotten done hours before, he's been put on restriction.

That interaction ended in A LOT of yelling.

He paid for you to get it redone the next day as an apology.

D (irty Secret)- Joe loves to face fuck you and see you whimpering and moaning underneath of him. The two of you don't do it often, but when he does it takes no time for him to release in your mouth.

Besides that, he absolutely loves watching you sleep and this has been a thing ever since the first night you stayed with him in his apartment at LSU. He loves how peaceful you look and when you had been terrorizing him all day, he can finally be at peace too (But he'll never admit it out loud).

E (xperience)- Although Joe wasn't your first boyfriend, he is the first person that you have had sex with and you're definitely glad that you waited for him. He is always so thoughtful and takes his time with you.

Joe on the other hand had a few girlfriends in high school and when he was at OSU, so the experience is there. Because he knows you aren't as experienced as he is, he takes his time and introduces you to different things slowly and not all at once.

F (avorite position)- As simple as it is, missionary is his favorite simply because his eyes are on you the entire time. As mentioned before, he loves the sounds that you make as well as the faces to go along with it.

Bonus if he can get you in front of a mirror to take you from behind. He makes you keep eye contact with him the entire time. The moment you look away, he stops.

A close second is you riding him as he tightly holds onto your hips.

G (oofy)- Joe takes your pleasure as well as your well-being very seriously which is no surprise. But of course, he has a smile on his face just about the whole time because he has your full attention.

Especially when he knows that you're close.

H (air)- There is definitely a happy trail present and it's very neat and trimmed. You on the other hand hate having hair anywhere on your body except your head so to the wax lady you go.

I (ntimacy)- Joe always makes you feel loved and deeply cared for and you have never felt any differently. He takes his time exploring every inch of your body as if it was the first time.

He has always been possessive of you and makes sure to tell you that he knows that no one will ever be able to make you feel as good as he does.

Your eyes are trained to stay on him the entire time.

J (ackoff)- So does he do it? Not a lot since you officially moved to Cincinnati to be with him. However, the long distance took a toll and the two of you put facetime to good use.

Mutual masturbation.

You also remember getting a surprise in the middle of class which was a video of Joe jacking off. It definitely sent you over the edge and your vibrator got put to good use that night over and over again.

K(ink)- Joe loves to tease you every chance he gets which happens to be often. He'll bring you so close to the edge where you feel as if you couldn't take it anymore and immediately pull away, making you complain. But when he felt as if he had teased you enough, when he did bring you to an orgasm, you swore you could see stars.

Choking is another kink, but more so for you than for him. It's not the fact that he doesn't like it, but it's not his favorite. The only reason why he does it was so that you could reach your peak faster.

He does love tying you up and blindfolding you and you simply go along for the ride knowing that it's going to be worth it.

Spitting is something that you absolutely loved and that's all Joe needed to know in order to bring you as much pleasure as possible.

L(ocation)- Favorite place to pleasure you is of course your bedroom, but his car used to be a close second.

He had toned down a lot since having his NFL status and being in public was now usually a no go.

His most recent spot that was now considered a favorite was the balcony of your newest house in Louisiana.

M(otivation)- Seeing you in lingerie that he himself picked out for you was his number one motivation, but something that also turned him on was you doing the most simple everyday things.

You could be doing something as watching a movie and you would casually be sitting there on the couch in one of Joe’s t-shirts and nine times out of ten nothing else and he would literally walk up to you and throw you over his shoulder and you knew what was about to happen.

N(o)- Something that Joe would never do is cause you physical harm on purpose. One time he tied you up a bit too tight and once he took them off, all you could see was red and indentations on your skin where they had been. He beat himself up over it for a while despite you telling him that it was okay and that you were fine, and you knew that he didn't mean for it to happen.

He literally didn't do anything again with you until everything properly healed despite your obvious protests.

O(ral)- Joe could spend all day in between your thighs and it was his favorite place to be and you obviously had no complaints. He loved making you feel good with his tongue and your favorite thing was obviously when he sucked on your clit.

Now when it was time for you to switch roles, Joe absolutely loved when you deep throated him. As many things as he would do for you, you were more than willing to return the favor.

P(ace)- He loves to take his time with you and make sure that you knew that he loved and cared about you through his actions and him making you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

If he could have you underneath him all day he would.

Q(uckie)- Not normally his favorite since he liked to make you cum multiple times and not just once. But this would happen sometimes in the morning when he had just woken up and wanted to feel you near him.

Inside and out.

R(isk)- Joe is always down to experiment, but of course he has to hear what your thoughts about it are first before anything can happen. If it's another way to make you feel good, he'll do it.

S(tamina)- During the season is a little different than when it's the off season and for good reason.

Joe is so focused during the season so you might get two rounds out of him on a good day. But, once the season is over, Joe is attached to you every second of every day and if it was left up to him probably wouldn't let you go until the paint on the walls were peeling.

T(oys)- During your first semester when the two of you started dating, he bought you a vibrator as an early Christmas gift and he kept it at his apartment to use on you whenever he wanted.

However, over Christmas break, you took it home and put it to good use on a facetime call with Joe because you were missing him so much.

He also bought you a rose vibrator for your 19th birthday and that combined with him inside of you at the same time was a pleasure like no other.

U(nfair)- Joe will tease you to no end and as much as it might annoy you, you also knew that when that orgasm hit that it was going to be like a ton of bricks.

And you better not cum unless he tells you too.

V(olume)- You can never get over how Joe's moans sound and it was like music to your ears. You really loved it when you two were in missionary and you would have your legs wrapped around him as his head is buried on your shoulder and you can hear his soft moans directly in your ear.

W(ild Card)- You two definitely had sex in the locker room at LSU after hours and it's your little secret.

While you happened to be wearing his jersey.

X(-ray)- We've seen the dick print and we know that there isn't anything small about him.

He makes sure that you always feel every inch of him.

Y(earning)- It’s not the fact that Joe's sex drive is high, but if he knows that he wants you, there isn't a reason for him to hold back so he is of course going to tell you.

Z(zzz)- When everything is said and done, his usual position when he falls asleep is on top of you as his head lays on your (usually) bare chest.

Clothes are probably unnecessary at this point, so when he wakes up he has easy access to you.

[screampied]

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ RIDE DA D!CK LIKE A CARNIVAL ! ’﹒⺡

geto, choso, gojo, toji, nanami.

જ warnings. fem! reader, riding, cowgirl / reverse, praise, degredation, shotgunning, (toji) overstim, impact play, size kink, unprotected, breeding, cőckwarming, toy usage, nípple play, mdni.

𖢺 CHOSO KAMO.

“princess, wait,” choso huffs out. he leans back, still gradually catching his breath whilst you straddled him. he swallowed thickly, dark irises staring right into yours. his gaze lingers down your body, and he lets off a soft pout at the feeling of being so buried deep into you. “i- i can go again, want you to ride me,” and then he pauses, running a hand through his hair. “oh. i mean—please. if you still have energy.”

“okay baby,” you hum, and your voice was so smooth. the way you called him your baby, it had him so weak. choso stared intently as you playfully give him a soft shove on his back. “just lie back ‘n let me ride you, yeah?”

choso’s heavily panting, he goes mute for a split second and it’s if as words was practically nonexistent for him. with a raring nod, he brings two big hands towards your hips.

“good boy,” you murmur, pressed right up against his ear. you were merely teasing. although, you felt his dick twitch eagerly inside you. choso’s fingers softly stroke against your waist, and he moans once you start to move your hips forward. he’s still so sensitive from before, just barely over the intense mess he made — and now, you were about to make an even bigger one.

“oh f-fuckkk,” he drags out. it was awfully cute, choso’s pitchy deep voice turning out to be far more whiney than he intended. you were gripping him tightly, hugging him with your walls before not even seconds go by and he throws his head back. “yeah, yeahhh. ride me like that, fuck me, fuck me good, princess. please.”

he leans back before groaning at the way your walls grip around him, hugging him so tightly. choso can’t keep his hands off of you, he runs the tips of his fingers against the edges of your waist before pouting. “harder, f-faster.”

you’d giggle, leaning in to kiss his nose. “are you rushing me, baby?”

“n-nooo,” he breathes, and he feels you gradually grinding your hips against him. you stare at choso’s face—beads of sweat race down the sides of his forehead, and he whimpers. “your hips, ‘s killing me. so good,” and he’s just rambling to you by this point. it was adorable, the way his jaw would clench or tighten. the angle you had against him made his mind spiral. his cock reached deep, hitting all the right spots to even elicit a sweet moan or two from you as well.

choso’s panting, you playfully run a finger down his bare chest and he grunts. you had an compelling rhythm, making him only want you more. he lets off a sweet whine once you lean right up to his ear, whispering a sweet, “don’t be shy, baby. you can hold my hips.”

“fuck y-your voice ‘s gonna make me cum,” he babbles, bringing his rough hands towards your waist once more. he was so cute, far sensitive from his recent release. choso was gentle with his touch but his fingers were no stranger towards your body, roaming all over your hips sensually.

the sounds your pussy made in retaliation, squelch after squelch — it rang in his ears. it drove him dizzy, his mind was in for a loop.

choso’s eyes sexily roll back, and a tiny smile presses against his lips. you watch as he removes one hand from your waist, reaching above him to hold onto the headboard. his biceps, they curled and flexed and it made you stare a bit too long.

���how’s it feel? is it good?” you’d hum, leaning in to sneak a kiss near the corner of his mouth. his lips twitch, and it's so cute.

“you always make me feel good, princess,” he huffs out, one arm wrapping around you. your rhythm . . it was purely hypnotizing, you knew just how to take him.

so much of his inches burying into you, you made sure not to bounce your hips but grind. adding just a bit of pressure—he loves when you start to get a bit sloppy. the way he’s leaning back, it was unintentionally attractive.

it doesn’t take long before choso was approaching another heavily anticipated orgasm. he felt it, and he squeezed your hips with a cute needy look in his eyes. “i-i’m gonna make a mess again,” and his breathing cutely picks up. choso pulls you closer towards him. you don’t expect for him to bring his mouth towards your chest, softly lapping his tongue against your perky nipples. “gonna, ‘m gonna cum.”

“m-make a mess for me, baby,” you moaned, making your hips slow down just a bit so he could stimulate your nipples with his tongue. “it’s okay.”

your words were so smooth, he got off to simply your tone. it was building up and up—his thigh continued to bounce. and for yet a second time, he whimpers out once he feels himself pouring inside of you. a thick stringy load, ropes and ropes of his cum filling inside of your sweet cunt.

“f-fuck,” he’d whine, and it was as if everytime choso sweared, it made him ten times cuter. you giggle, panting yourself before kissing near his nose. choso’s eyes—he could barely keep them open. “ride me,” he pauses between his words, and you watch as he leans back, bringing a hand towards between your legs to feel his mess he created inside you. “ride me again, and a-again, and again….please.”

𖢺 NANAMI KENTO.

with nanami, he prefers for you to ride him whenever — especially whenever he gets home from work. a long tiring day at work, he loves coming home to you in hopes that you’d ride all of his pent up stress away. and you certainly do, happily.

“i missed my wife,” he’d grumble, and he was so knackered. you could hear it in his voice, whenever nanami was a bit drowsy his tone would deepen a bit. he was so tender with his touch against your hips. softly tracing against your skin to make you nearly lose your mind. “and i really missed these hips.”

you sat still with nanami’s dick being stuffed deep inside of your pussy. just a single move and he’d be even deeper. the thought of that made you salivate. he knew he was big just as much as you did. always the perfect size for you, never otherwise.

“good girl. get niiiice ‘n comfortable for me, okay?” and his words went straight down between your legs, you let off a moan once you buried your face into his neck. his strong scented cologne he had on all day at work wafts against your nose.

“okay…okay,” you’d mutter, feeling his big hands make its way towards your ass. he was always so handsy, allowing his rough hands to meander and roam all over your rear. you shiver a bit, feeling the coldness of his watch band run across your skin. “s-so big, kento.”

“ah. don’t hide that pretty face from me my love,” he’d purr, making you sit upright to face him. once you start to move—he grips your waist with one hand, another cupping your face.

nanami brings you into a loving kiss the moment you start to jerk your hips forward. you moan into his mouth, skimming your tongue against his and he even grunts lowly. a smile pokes near the corner of his lips before you hear him chuckle.

he adored how weak he had you for him, your hips stutter the more he swiftly runs a finger against your waist. once he pulls away, strings of pretty spit departing — he huffs out a sweet, “are you gonna move or do i have to do all the work like usual, sweetheart?”

“s-sorry,” you’d pant, and he was merely teasing. nanami simpers at the cute pout spreading on your lips and you start to adapt to a sweet sweet rhythm. he was so thick, stretching out your walls with such ease. nanami groans, he was still in his work clothes. long black slacks of his were just lazily pulled down and he had a button up shirt. his worn out collar was covered with nothing but a few smeared marks of your lipstick. “f-fuckkk, kento.”

nanami’s breath gets caught in his throat, feeling how wisely you used your hips against him. the lights in the room were dim. a few sweetened candles lit, the perfect romantic scene.

nanami stared at you with such a look of love, a soft smirk purses on his lips before he pulls you closer towards him.

“always know how to make me feel good, my love,” he murmurs against your ear. his voice was a low rasp. nanami’s face started to get a bit flustered once you started to moan directly into his ear. “i know, i knowww,” and he was talking you through everything in that smooth rich voice. it got you ten times wetter than you already were. you didn’t even know if that was possible. “keep looking at me, sweetheart. i wanna get lost in my wife’s pretty eyes.”

your started to whine once his dick reaches a pivotal spot. so deep, you feel him expand anywhere and everywhere like it was nothing. as you stared into his pretty brown eyes, you quickened your pace by a few simple thrusts. nanami returns your gaze, and he’s so in love that he can’t help but smile as you’re completely losing yourself on him.

“kento, k-kento, ‘m gonna cum soon,” you’d start to babble after a while—you felt a bit woozy, leaning into his neck to softly suck against his skin. you nipped near the inner part of his collarbone, and he lets off a low groan. nanami leans back a little, just a little… and once he feels you grind in a back and forth motion he nearly loses it. so slow, the repetitive motion made his jaw tighten. you slip out a whimper once his cock prods against your g-spot, and your hands yank onto the fabric of his shirt.

“the pretty girl’s gonna cum on me, hm?” nanami teases, feeling you spread your legs against him a little bit. he brings a kiss towards your chin before bringing both hands towards your waist again. “look at that face, so cute ‘n needy,” and he can’t help but kiss you again. as you rocked back and forth, rotating your hips in long circles . . . he starts to pant himself. you start to nibble on his tongue and he chuckles, squeezing your waist before you whimpered.

once you came, it was so powerful. a bundle of nerves coursing all through your veins—you were speechless, breaking away from his lips before wrapping your arms around nanami. he found it cute at how you came a bit earlier than usual, but nonetheless he still made sure to praise you. “what a good girl,” he mutters in a husky voice before softly caressing your ass. “my good girl.”

𖢺 GOJO SATORU.

“pft. girl pleaseee,” gojo scoffs with a snort. he was so sassy, way too sassy for even his own good. he leaned back against the chair as you straddled his lap. “you wanna ride me while i wear my blindfold? easy, knock yourself out.”

“and you can’t touch me either,” you roll your eyes at him. he snickers with an attitude, not used to people matching his cocky energy.

a pout goes on his lips before he mutters, “whatever….fine,” and it’s so cute. he loved touching you whenever you rode him, so you can just imagine how he’d act right now. gojo sits up straight, and he watches as you drag his blindfold that was half on his face—moving it right down to shield his eyes. he can practically feel you glaring at him and he grumbles. “i won’t cheat or try anything, hmph.”

“good satoru.”

“the nerve,” he grouses cutely. “shut up.”

gojo grows quiet the moment you start to align yourself, he was definitely long. long and lengthy, staggering inches that was enough to stretch you out for hours. not even a second goes by and he whines once you make him pin his arms back.

perhaps he was a bit too cocky though, because he desperately wanted to grab onto your waist whilst you rode him. his tip was leaky, dripping profusely with his own pre-cum. his breathing was slow, becoming a bit irregular once you started to gradually sink down on his length.

“aw. for the strongest, he’s got such a cute little pout.” you tease, and he lets off a choked gasp once you start to move. you’d bet money gojo was glaring at you - but his eyes were hidden away, so you’d have no idea.

that made you smile, he lets off a husky groan the moment he feels you create up a slow yet steady pace. whether he wanted to admit it or not, gojo was no match for your hips. your hips, probably the only thing he’d fight against and lose. proudly though, he loved having you on top—despite being a brat about it or not. “heh, baby, if you’re gonna fuck me, go faster would ya? ‘m gonna fall asleep at this r-rate.”

and he literally eats his words the moment you push him back against the cushion. he found you doing things like this to be so hot. your pussy had him in a chokehold, no doubt. your torso was upright and your thighs briefly moved with your movements in sync. this angle, it had his head spinning. he wanted to touch you so bad, to see your face — but he couldn’t, and it made him pout even more.

“mhm. lot better.”

“do you ever shut up?” you snicker, leaning in to kiss near the corn ever of his mouth.

“so r-rude,” he’d moan, and he had to admit he was always quite talkative. especially during intimate times like this. each time you pressed a wet kisses against his mouth, his lips would twitch. he wanted more and more, becoming entirely greedy for more of your sweet touch. he was so shoved deep inside you, you felt him reach everywhere. his dick twitched inside you in more ways than you could count. “lucky i can’t see you right now. bet you got the most s-stupidest look on your face.”

“maybe i should have taped your mouth shut too.” you roll your eyes, swaying your hips in a circular addicting motion. it made gojo moan, his thighs aching for more as you continuously went against him.

“damn, that’s—kinda kinky,” he murmurs in a low tone, huffing out a single breath. “maybe you should have.”

despite gojo putting up a pompous front, trying to act like he’s not about to cum for the umpteenth time—you kiss near his neck to make him let off a moan. “you wanna touch me so bad.”you whisper, licking near his neck to hear his breathing hitch. you’re steady with your hips, and he swallows thickly before feeling himself start to approach that familiar finish. you’re so pressed up against him, your body heat forevermore clashes against his. the moment you jerk forward for about the dozenth time, gojo whines before he ends up shooting inside your cunt.

he’s panting heavily, heaving as he trickles ropes inside of you — you moan yourself as he stays still. your hips pause and he feels the tips of his ears grow a scorching hot. “i can feel ya smiling at me,” he grumbles, his abs flexing the more huffed breaths he took. you smile, kissing underneath his chin for a final time before removing his blindfold. his hair was all messy and ruffled, and gojo’s face grows flustered. “…don’t look at me like that. i’d still top you any day.”

“okay, princess. whatever you say..”

“….”

𖢺 SUGURU GETO.

“go ahead ‘n lie back,” he murmurs in a soft smooth voice. a voice that had you soaking from underneath. your panties were still on, just barely though.

with strings lazily pulled to the side, you were propped up against geto and he has his chin softly resting on your collarbone.

“good girl,” he whispers once your back meets direct contact with his chest. by this point, you were basically cockwarming him. he stood tall and still inside you—geto groans, nipping a kiss near the inner part of your neck before uttering, “you have that toy i bought for you, angel?”

“y-yes,” you immediately reply. your voice was so shaky and soft. just a few touches from geto and you were easily stumbling over your words.

he feels you reach beside him, near the nightstand to grab the pretty pink wand he bought you as a surprise. not even wanting to waste time, you turn the switch on and with a loud buzz — it vibrates a singing tune.

“suguru,” you’d whimper out, trying to move your hips but he holds you steady in place. “can i move please?”

“you may,” he says in a low undertone. he brings a hand over you and grabs onto your wrist. you let off a moan once he holds the toy with you, bringing it between your achey clit. “spread your legs a little bit more for me. good, perfect.”

you gasp, feeling him gently rub the head of the toy against your clit whilst you were starting to grind. geto groans, feeling your left hand dig into his thigh.

“s-suguruuu,” you’d sob out, your lips cutely pursing together. he was very much thick, your thighs quivered and quavered from the sensitive stimulation. “fuck, ‘s good. turn it up a little more p-pretty please.”

he smiles, hearing you use such graceful manners like a good girl — his good girl.

geto goes through with your wish, turning the level up a single notch and you moan. sucking in a sharp breath, this position was so lewd. riding geto in reverse, it was heavily g-spot friendly. you went slow, moving your hips in the same recurrent rotation. it makes him bite his lip, his eyes flickering down towards your ass.

“so good for me,” he whispers against your ear. yet that’s when geto pulls you closer into him, biting softly near your neck. the vibrations had you trembling all in his lap, every nerve throughout your body, you felt its presence introduce itself.

geto snickers, feeling you grab onto his hand, moving the toy up and down against the entrance of your clit. in such a sensual manner too—he starts to whisper such filthy things against your ear while you’re getting off. “hear how wet you are for me, baby? so sloppy. pussy’s just talkin’ back to me. no fuckin’ manners, ‘s kinda cute.”

his words, it was so dirty.

you could barely process anything. you panted, staring right in front where a mirror was stood tall. the lewd reflection of you, you’re laid back against geto’s bare chest, slowly rotating your hips. your legs start to shake more and more from the toy’s vibration. teeth clenching, eyelids lowering, it was purely euphoric..

geto’s knees were raised just a bit to better support himself, and he brings a hand around your waist. his touch, it never failed to make you weak. he filled your pussy up with so many thick inches of his cock, his girth nearly had you drooling.

“easy, girl,” he whispers once you start to fasten your pace a bit. you were getting so close, you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue. his words stirred up butterflies in your stomach, and you moan once geto moves the toy aside just to take matters into his own hands. he starts to rub against your slick entrance himself, feeling just how soaked you were, mindlessly throbbing.

if it was anything geto was good with, it was his fingers. he snickers against your ear, maneuvering sweet circles against your cunt before your thighs start to lock and tremble. by this point, you were slowing down and you whimpered, feeling a familiar feeling brew up.

milliseconds later, he coaxed an orgasm out of you like it was nothing. your body felt limp, and you cutely went back against him, pant after pant. “awww,” geto hums, and his dick remains still inside of you. geto removed his lengthy fingers, only to bring them towards your face. “open wide for me, baby. taste how much of a mess you made on me,” and without a second of hesitation, you part your lips, moving your tongue, and take his fingers right into your mouth. you moaned, making your hips start up again because you wanted more — it was salacious, tasting your sweetness all on his fingers, lapping it up. “such a messy baby. should make you clean my cock up next with that pretty tongue of yours.”

𖢺 TOJI FUSHIGURO.

with toji, he’d have you riding him whilst he’s watching some movie or tv show. it’s playing in the background, and he has to keep turning the volume up notch after notch to drown out your cute moans. “doll, y’er gonna make me miss the good part.”

you huff out a single hitched breath, wrapping your arms over him. it was your idea to ride him, he didn’t mind, not in the slightest. toji was smoking too — a perfectly rolled up blunt sticking out near the corner of his lips. toji brings a rough hand towards your head, giving you a stiff pat.

he was so big, regardless of how many countless times you took him. you could never get used to his size. his cock stretched your walls out so easily, it had you drooling for more.

his base thwacked against you the more you piston your hips, moving back and forth in a repetitive rhythm. toji’s attention was mainly focused on the movie, a raspy chortle leaving his lips from the cheesy written dialogue.

he spots you glaring at him and he smirks. “what? can’t you see i’m busy.”

“pay attention to me,” you whine, and toji only snickers at your cute needy tone. your pussy wrapped around him, a tight snug and an even more perfect fit. your rhythm was smooth, it was a perfect mixture of not too slow — yet not too fast either.

as you stared into toji’s dark eyes, his senses was severely heightened and he takes the blunt from his lips before raising a brow. “gimme a kiss.”

“eh. don’t gotta give you shit,” he mocks your tone, making a pout form in your lips. he was such an insufferable tease, his left hand spanks your ass sharply, earning out a sweet whimper from you. toji caresses it afterwards, only to spank it again. “say pretty please. go ‘head, talk to me nice, little girl.”

you cutely glare before looking down, clawing near his perfectly toned chest. “i— can i have a kiss, pretty please?”

“it’s may i, not can i.”

“toji!”

he slyly smiles, rolling his dark green eyes. “i’m just fuckin’ with you,” and he brings a hand towards your ass yet again. his touch was so smooth, tracing your curves gingerly all against your waist. “c’mere ’n open y’er mouth.” he was balls deep, buried to the hilt and he lightly groans from feeling your warmth swallow him.

you were so toasty inside, you inch closer towards his face before opening your mouth slightly. toji licks his lips briefly, his tongue dragging against his scar before he blows smoke right into your mouth. you whine again from his teasing and he smirks. “oh. the baby’s still not satisfied?”

“want a kiss,” you pout, your weight just hovering over him. he felt your rhythm slow down and he chuckles — seeing you grow frustrated with your eyebrows curling into an irritated furrow. toji grabs your chin, and he pulls you right into him. you moaned, feeling him smack your ass to start riding him again. “t-toji please.”

“such a needy baby. always wanting a kiss,” and he gives you that kiss you so desperately yearned for. you whimper in his mouth, tasting how sweet he was. he places his blunt back near his tray and you were handsy, wrapping both arms over him. he chuckles, feeling you start to rock against him, his swollen cock was so fat inside of you—you just imagined the thought of him dumping yet another sloppy load into you. toji grunts, feeling you start to suck on his tongue, he leans back against the sofa while you deepen the kiss even further.

he groans, a hand curling around your throat, softly running a finger down the middle part of your neck before he briefly pulls away. toji’s eyes were half-lidded and right before he was about to finish inside of you, he pushes you aside to stare at the movie. black end credits were rolling and he grumbles. “tch. made me miss the ending.”

“s-sorry.” you mumble, catching your breath. you clearly wanted more . . still, he was stuffing you full with thick inches of his cock. you let off a gasp once toji lightly jostled you off of him. you land with a ‘oof’ — face flat on the sofa before he brings your ass a spank.

“yeah right,” he grumbles, grabbing his blunt again to stick it right between his teeth. he sucks through the air of the joint before groaning at your teasing arch. “know one way you can make it up to me. jus’ bend over ‘n face straight just for me, girl.”

[jmstoesblog]

D.

Pairing: bf!Jungkook x gf!reader

Summary: it’s just smut tbh

released: 14.05.24

Warning: eating out from behind, spanking, doggystyle, dom!jk, unprotected sex, little bit of dirty talk, readers called a slut (during sex), breast play, chocking (pretending to), hair pulling, not proofread!!

Note: sorry for being inactive, I’ll try to post more. I actually have a lot of unfinished story in my drafts. I’ll try to finish them and post them soon.

————

“It’s too much!” You cry out as your boyfriend eats you out from behind. You’re on all fours on the bed with your boyfriend making you see stars.

“Take it.” His voice gets muffled by your pussy but you still manage to make out what he said, “take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his tongue which is inside you and Jungkook grunts, his hands on your hips, squeezing them.

Jungkook slides his tongue out and sucks on your clit making you moan out at the feeling. You buck your hips but Jungkook stops you by keeping you in place by the grip on your hips, “ah ah,” he says, detaching his mouth from your aching core, “You take what I give you.” He grins.

You look back at him, “Kookie please!” You whine like a little toddler, Jungkook chuckles at your state, “that’s not going to work, baby. Now be a good girl and take what I give you or I’ll edge you.” His stare turns sharp, so does his voice. The amusement in his eyes and voice long gone.

You huff and turn your head around. You wince when you feel a spank delivered to your ass, “Did you understand?” He sternly asks you, deciding to not act like a brat and do what he tells you to, you nod. Another spank is delivered to your ass, this time harder than the last one, “words.”

“Yes, I understand.” You just need to feel his mouth on your pussy again, or yet better his cock.

“Good.” Jungkook rubs the spot where he spanked you, trying to soothe the pain. He parts your fold and gives you a little kiss on your heat as an apology.

You bite your lip to surpass the moan threatening to spill out. You try to ignore the burning sensation on your ass and focus on the pleasure.

Jungkook has his hands placed on your hips, his shirt laying somewhere on the floor, his pants pushed down to his knees, the bulge evident through his white Calvin Klein boxers. He keeps sucking on your clit, an endless string of moans and whimpers leave your mouth.

Jungkook pushes your pussy harder against his face by using his hands that are placed on your hips. When he feels like you’re nearing your edge he stops.

“What….” You turn your head to look at him. Your juices on his chin and lips, “I was so close!” You whine and watch him lick his chin and the area around his mouth, tasting you.

“I can give you something better.” He shrugs.

In the next minute his pants and underwear are also on the floor, he aligns his cock with your entrance, pushing the tip in is enough for your thighs to quiver, “look at you,” he mocks you, “my cock isn’t even inside you and you’re already shaking like that.” He quietly laughs at that.

Without any warning he pushes his cock all the way in. Jungkook groans in satisfaction and you moan.

All that is heard, is skin clapping, moans and squelching noises your pussy is making.

“You take me so well.” Jungkook grunts, “you feel so good, so tight.” You whimper at his praise.

His cock sliding in and out of you at a rapid speed, his thighs meeting your ass at every thrust, “s- so good, kookie!” You gasp out.

His one hand is playing with your pussy while the other one is pushing your head into the pillow.

“Yeah? You like getting fucked hard?” He rasps out, “y-yes!” You cry out, “fuckin’ me so good, gguk!”

“You filthy slut.” He slaps your cunt and more tears roll down your cheeks due to pleasure. The bed is making weird noises, it might break.

Jungkook grabs a handful of your hair and yanks your head back, your back pressing against his front. The thrusts don’t stop.

His hand travels to your waist, holding it tightly to keep you in place. His other hand is playing with your breasts, flicking the nipples and rolling them between his thumb and forefinger.

When you clench around his cock, he’s sure you’re close to coming. His hand that was previously playing with your breasts, is holding your neck now, choking you.

He isn’t actually chocking you, just squeezing your neck every time you clench around him, “fuck I’m close, baby. Wanna come together?” You only manage to nod.

“Gonna make you so full, full with my cum, full with my babies.” He mumbles shakily, spurting his seeds into you. You moan his name when cumming.

————

do not copy or translate!

Maserlist

[leejenowrld]

back to you — two

pairing - lee jeno x reader

word count - 39k words

genre - smut, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

synopsis — you can’t stop thinking about that heated night you shared with jeno. the memory clings to you, leaving you on edge, but when you realize you want him too badly to pretend otherwise, you strike a deal with him—opening the door to secret motel stays and  late-night dates. the more time you spend wrapped up in each other, the heavier your guilt grows. every move feels risky, especially as you juggle the need for jeno with the need to keep everything hidden.

chapter warnings — college au, small town vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content(18+), explicit themes, one tree hill inspired, early 2000s vibe, power play, dom reader/sub jeno dynamics (both switches tbh), rough sex, explicit language, deep-throating, nipple play, reader choked jeno, spitting,  degradation, praise kink, fingering, intense grinding, overstimulation, unprotected sex, oral sex, different + softer side to both yn and jeno, creepy motel vibes, tension as always, push and pull dynamics, really cute date scene between yn and jeno, they move fast and if you think it’s too fast then please remember that it’s happening for a reason and that it’s for the plot!!! also jeno and yn may appear quite domestic in this but trust me <3 all will make sense. don’t expect it to last :)) hehe enjoy

listen to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 whilst reading <3

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

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐋

The campus thrums like a living heart, each breath of crisp autumn air a pulse, pushing life through its veins and leaving the world trembling with quiet anticipation. The pathway stretches ahead, lined with towering trees that are both beautiful and unsettling, their branches shedding leaves like silent confessions. You walk through a mosaic of amber, crimson, and ochre underfoot, each crunch a jarring reminder of time slipping away. Students mill about in small clusters, their laughter ringing out like echoes of a simpler life. A flyer for an upcoming party flutters loosely on a lamppost, its edges curling in the wind, barely holding on—much like you feel you are. Somewhere in the distance, the sharp rhythm of a basketball bouncing on concrete interrupts the morning stillness, grounding the scene in a reality that feels foreign to your own inner turmoil.

The campus moves like a living organism, its pulse in the scrape of sneakers, its breath in the faint rustle of wind through leaves. Beside you, Nahyun exists effortlessly within it, her voice threading into the currents of sound, each laugh she releases sparking against the energy around her. You walk in her orbit but feel adrift, the world sliding past like water you can’t touch. The wind stirs the leaves into fractured patterns, their sudden, frantic swirls echoing the chaos buried beneath your carefully guarded exterior. They don’t fall neatly—they spiral, scatter, catch, like control slipping through your fingers, too fleeting to grasp and too beautiful to ignore.

Nahyun’s words come effortlessly, her laughter easy as she weaves through a conversation about campus gossip. “So, rumor has it,” she begins, her tone conspiratorial, “Jeno’s been in bed after bed since Areum dumped him. Bet the breakup wasn’t as mutual as he made it out to be.”

You glance at her, surprised by how sharp the comment cuts through your thoughts. “Didn’t Areum dump him?” you ask, trying to sound indifferent, though your voice betrays a flicker of curiosity.

She shrugs, raising an eyebrow at you like she can’t quite believe you’re interested. You’re not the one for campus gossip or drama, and she knows it. “I don’t know,” she says with a smirk, as if the details don’t matter. To her, it’s just another piece of entertainment.

To you, it barely registers—just another fragment of his reputation folding neatly into place. Of course, he’s been fucking other girls; it’s what he does, a script he knows by heart. The sex you had wasn’t an exception, just another scene in a story he’s told a thousand times. You tell yourself this, repeat it until the words feel smooth, rehearsed, like armor against the truth. But your resolve falters for a split second, a crack in the facade you didn’t see coming. Why would it have meant anything? He’s Jeno—the kind of person who burns through moments like they’re endless, never pausing long enough to see what he’s left behind. You shake your head, not at the thought of him, but at the absurdity of how easily people let themselves get caught in his orbit. It didn’t mean anything, and yet it lingers, faint as smoke, stubborn as a bruise.

It comes back in flashes, unbidden—the rough drag of his hands over your hips, fingers curling with purpose, his breath hot and ragged against your skin like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear. His voice lingers in your ears, low and dark, the kind of sound that wraps itself around you and doesn’t let go. You feel the heat of him again, the way it burned through the careful walls you’d built, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. The taste of his kiss, the weight of his body, the way he pressed into you as if the world outside didn’t exist—it’s all still there, etched into you like a brand. Even now, a week later, it claws at you, a phantom ache you can’t shake, unraveling the threads of control you’d held so tightly.

It’s been a week, but the weight of that night hasn’t shifted—it sits heavy in your chest, unrelenting. You feel it in the way your hands tighten into fists when you’re alone, in the way your throat constricts whenever someone says his name. The bar flashes behind your eyes like a crime scene: the amber haze of the lights, the low thrum of bass in your ears, the taste of secrets spilling before you could stop them. You can still see the way his eyes burned through you, like they’d pulled something raw and unspoken straight out of your chest. The memory doesn’t leave; it hovers, pressing at the cracks in your resolve, clawing its way deeper every time you try to shake it off.

“Hey, Nahyun,” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence. “How do you know so much about everything?” The words are sharper than you intend, but she takes it in stride, her grin unfaltering. “Is it because Jeno has been in your bed too?” you add, your tone sarcastic, daring her to deny it.

Nahyun’s cheeks flush instantly, her reaction betraying the confidence she usually wears like armor. “I wish,” she says, deflecting with a laugh, though the way her gaze flickers away tells you there’s more to the story.

You arch a brow, unwilling to let her off that easily. “How’s it going with Shotaro?”

Her throat clears audibly, her composure visibly faltering. “It’s going fine,” she mutters, brushing the question aside with a wave of her hand. She turns the spotlight back on you, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.“What about you? You’ve been so… mysterious lately. Even more so than usual. Anything I should know?”

Her voice trails off, but the words don’t dissipate; they linger, needling at the edges of your composure. You track the subtle shifts in her tone, the way her gaze narrows just slightly, like she’s cataloging every micro-expression you might betray. The weight of her question settles into your chest like a slow drip, pooling in the spaces where you’ve kept everything carefully compartmentalized.

You feel the secrets pressing against their walls—the night with Jeno, the bar, every calculated decision that unraveled in a moment of heat and impulse. You can’t afford for her to see the cracks. So, you breathe evenly, straighten your shoulders, and let your mind dissect her words for any hidden implications. Mysterious. Even more than usual. You can hear the unspoken curiosity, the hunger for something salacious, and you know how quickly a misstep could fuel it. It’s not just a question to her—it’s a thread she wants to pull, and you can’t let her. Control is everything. You’ve stitched your exterior too tightly for her to unravel, no matter how heavy the seams feel under her scrutiny.

Your lips curve into a faint smirk, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You know how busy I am with all my assignments and projects,” you say, the words slipping out smooth, light, a deliberate misdirection. Nahyun doesn’t press, but you catch the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. It’s enough to hold her off, to keep her on the surface where you need her to stay. Beneath it, though, your mind churns, restless and uneven, the cracks in your control spreading faster than you can patch them.

Your mind circles back to the inevitable: you’ll have to face him. Avoiding him for the past week had been easy enough, your schedules conveniently misaligned, but today, the fragile buffer is gone. It’s the first study session for the project, and there’s nowhere left to run. The thought lands heavily, an unwelcome weight pressing into your chest, growing heavier with every step. You feel the dread coiling tighter, sapping what little energy you have. There’s no way around it. No way out. Just the sharp, inescapable reality waiting for you on the other side.

You wave goodbye to Nahyun as she veers off toward Shotaro, who’s leaning against a low stone wall near the student union. His grin stretches wide when he sees you, and he calls out, “Y/N! Wait, I’ve got a question—important stuff.”

You stop, eyebrows raising slightly. “What’s on your mind, Shotaro? You look way too pleased with yourself.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You remember that snack you wouldn’t stop talking about? The one that’s, like, ridiculously hard to find? All crunchy on the outside, creamy in the middle, and dipped in whatever magic they put in that chocolate coating?”

Your eyes widen. “Don’t tell me you forgot about it,” he teases, the corners of his mouth lifting like he already knows he has you hooked.

“Forgot about it?” you blurt, incredulous. “I’ve been thinking about it every day. It’s my white whale, Shotaro.”

His grin widens as he pulls something out of his pocket, and the sight of the familiar packaging hits you like a lightning bolt. “You mean this?” he asks, dangling it casually like it’s no big deal.

You gasp—an actual gasp, high-pitched and unrestrained, something you never do—and launch forward, practically tackling him. “Shotaro! No way! You’re a literal angel!” You wrap your arms around him without thinking, squeezing him tightly as he bursts into laughter.

“I had to,” he says, his voice light but warm. “You’ve been mourning it like you lost a family member. Figured it was time to step in.”

You pull back, still clutching the snack like it might vanish. “I love you. No, seriously. You’ve just saved me. Nahyun, he’s a hero!” you shout, glancing over at her as she rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.

“Glad I could do my good deed for the day,” he says, giving you a mock salute as Nahyun grabs his arm. “Now go enjoy it, Y/N. You’ve earned it.”

You wave goodbye, your hand brushing over the snack wrapper as you slip it into your pocket, smoothing the edges with precise folds until it lies flat. Your steps fall into an even rhythm, the soft click of your shoes against the pavement matching the steady beat of your thoughts. Shotaro’s words replay in fragments, fitting neatly into the quiet order of your mind, each one cataloged and stored without disrupting the pace you’ve set. The weight in your chest eases—not gone, but quieter, like the air after rain, leaving just enough clarity to focus on the path ahead.

The warmth from Shotaro’s easy kindness slips away as you move toward the quieter side of campus, the distant hum of laughter and footsteps fading like a song you’re no longer close enough to hear. The air feels heavier here, the stillness pressing against your skin as the study rooms come into view, tucked away like secrets waiting to be uncovered. When you step inside, the door clicks softly behind you, and the sterile hum of the air conditioning fills the space, its coldness sharp and precise, wrapping around you like an invisible boundary between the world outside and the one you’re about to face.

You lower your bag onto the table, movements precise and deliberate, each item placed with exact purpose. Your laptop sits perfectly parallel to your notebook, pens arranged in a neat line beside it. The sunlight filters through the blinds in sharp, angular beams, striping the table in a rigid pattern that mirrors the order you’ve imposed. The steady tick of the wall clock feels louder in the quiet room, marking time with a deliberate rhythm that matches the controlled cadence of your breathing. Everything is in its place—except for the restless churn beneath your calm exterior.

Your fingers brush over the edges of your notebook, flipping through the pages for the third time even though you already know their contents. This is just a project, you remind yourself, the thought slipping into place with the same deliberate care you give to everything else. Jeno’s presence, loud and untethered, is simply another disruption to neutralize. You’ve dealt with his kind before—the ones who thrive on dominance and disorder, who carry chaos like a second skin. But you’ve built yourself to withstand this. Each plan, every careful calculation, has been tailored to hold him at bay. He’s not a challenge; he’s a variable. And variables can be controlled.

The door swings open without warning, slamming against the wall with enough force to make you flinch. Jeno strides in, still in his basketball jersey, the fabric clinging to his chest, damp with sweat that gleams under the sunlight. His water bottle clunks onto the table, droplets scattering across your carefully arranged notes. He collapses into the chair opposite you, sprawling out with casual arrogance, legs spread wide, one hand drumming against the edge of the table.

“You’re late,” you say without looking up, your voice cool, clipped, refusing to give him the satisfaction of rattling you.

“Practice ran over,” he shrugs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve got the first away game coming up.”

“And that’s my problem because?” you reply, your tone sharp enough to cut.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair, the damp fabric of his jersey clinging to the sharp lines of his torso. “Relax, princess. I didn’t say it was your problem.” His tone is casual, but the glint in his eyes is pure challenge as he sprawls further, every movement deliberately careless. “I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”

Your jaw tightens as he casually knocks one of your pens off the table with the back of his hand, watching you tense as it rolls to the floor. You bend down to pick it up, forcing your movements to remain calm, even as the tension coils tighter in your chest.

“Can we just focus on the project?” you say, voice steady, though your gaze flickers—just for a second—to the bead of sweat trailing down his collarbone, catching in the hollow of his throat. The moment passes in an instant, but not quickly enough. When you glance back up, his smirk has sharpened, his dark eyes locked on you like he’s caught you in a game you didn’t agree to play.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says suddenly, leaning forward, his fingers brushing against your notebook as he shifts closer. The movement is deliberate, his thigh pressing against yours under the table. His voice drops lower, edged with something teasing, something dangerous.

“I haven’t,” you lie, the word coming out too quickly, too thin.

“You have,” he murmurs, his gaze steady, unwavering, pinning you in place. Before you can respond, his hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over the edge of your cheekbone with a deliberate slowness that sends a spark down your spine. He tilts your face toward him, and then his lips are on yours—no hesitation, no room to retreat. The kiss is hard, insistent, a collision of heat and intent that steals the air from your lungs. His tongue parts your lips with a boldness that leaves no room for doubt, claiming the space between you as his own.

A gasp breaks free from your throat, and your notebook slips from your grip, forgotten as your hands press against the solid plane of his chest. He’s impossibly warm, the damp fabric of his jersey clinging to the defined muscles beneath your palms. His scent wraps around you, woodsy and raw, intoxicating in its closeness, filling every inch of the quiet room until it feels as though nothing else exists. His hand slides down to grip the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepens. There’s a hunger to it, an urgency that seeps into your skin, making your body arch into his without thought, without restraint. It’s intoxicating, the way he moves, the deliberate press of his chest against yours, his lips trailing fire along the edges of your carefully guarded self-control.

Somehow, you’re in his lap, your thighs framing his as if you’ve always belonged there. His hands explore without hesitation, slipping beneath your top to grasp the warm skin of your back, his fingers pressing into you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. The friction between you grows with every grind of your hips against his, his arousal pressing hard against you, undeniable and electric. His lips trail down your jaw, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and a low, gravelly sound rumbles in his throat as you move against him, each motion pulling you deeper into the heat pooling between you.

His hands shift, fingers hooking at the hem of your top, tugging it upward with intent. The fabric rises slowly, dragging against your skin, until the sharp chill of the room brushes over you, and reality crashes down like a bucket of ice water. Your heart pounds as you shove against his chest, harder than you mean to, the strength of it forcing him back. His hands drop away instantly, and you scramble off his lap, stumbling to your feet, your breaths ragged and uneven as the moment fractures around you.

“Come back,” he says, the words simple but heavy, his voice low and commanding.

“No,” you reply, firm despite the way your chest rises and falls unevenly.

He leans back in the chair, watching you for a beat too long, his gaze searing through your resolve. And then, before you can react, his hands are on your waist again, and with one smooth motion, he pulls you back into his lap. A startled yelp escapes you, your hands bracing against his shoulders as his grip tightens, holding you there. His smirk is sharp, deliberate, as his lips brush close to your ear.

“You don’t sound so convincing,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, the heat of it making your breath catch. His hands slide over your waist, firm and unyielding, as if daring you to move, to fight against what your body has already started to betray.

“Stop,” you manage, your voice trembling but firm. “We can’t do this.”

He doesn’t move, his dark eyes flashing with frustration as he runs a hand through his damp hair. “Why not?”

You square your shoulders, your voice steadier now. “Because the idea of us working is impossible. I’m Mark’s best friend.”

He lets out a dry laugh, leaning back in his chair, his smirk cutting. “Well then, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, anger rising to the surface. “I could never be with someone like you, Jeno.”

His smirk sharpens, but there’s something darker behind it now, something challenging. “Oh, someone like me? Go on, tell me, Y/N. What am I like?”

Your composure hardens, your voice calm but cutting as you straighten. “You’re arrogant. You think everything revolves around you. You hurt people without even noticing because you’re too busy pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re cruel to Mark, to my Mark, and you don’t see how that affects the people around you.”

His smirk falters, but he doesn’t look away. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“You’ve been like this your whole life,” you press on, the words sharp and deliberate. “Even when we were kids, you were that spoiled boy who always had to win. And that one night—it doesn’t change anything, Jeno. It doesn’t change who you are, and it doesn’t change how I see you.”

His jaw tightens, and his voice drops, quieter but no less intense. “You think keeping people in boxes makes them easier to handle. But me? I’m not some puzzle you can solve. I’m not a neat little project you can file away once you’re done.”

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to recover. “And you think you’re so special, don’t you? That you’re worth breaking everything apart for? You’re not. You’re just… you’re just a mistake I won’t make twice.”

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/N. But you don’t look at me like you think I’m a mistake. You look at me like you don’t know what to do with me. And that scares you.”

You rise slowly, his hands still firm on your waist, their grip neither tightening nor loosening, just holding—steady, deliberate, as if the act of letting go isn’t something he’s ready to entertain. The warmth of his touch seeps through you, a quiet defiance against the distance you’re trying to impose. The air feels thick, charged with something unspoken, his thumbs brushing lightly against your skin in a way that feels more like a question than an anchor. Your voice comes out low, restrained, trembling at the edges but layered with quiet resolve. “You’re right,” you say, each word deliberate, cutting through the silence. “I don’t know what to do with you. But I know what to do for myself and that’s forgetting this ever happened.” The weight of it hangs there, as heavy as his hands, daring either of you to move first.

The silence stretches, thick and charged, before you move back to your seat. The sound of your chair scraping the floor feels too loud, too abrupt against the tension still pulsing between you. Jeno leans back in his chair, his posture infuriatingly relaxed as he picks up a pen and tosses it at you, the slight arc deliberate, landing just shy of your notebook. It lands just slightly out of place, the disruption deliberate, his smirk daring you to react.

You exhale sharply, leaning forward to grab the pen, your fingers moving with precision as you set it neatly back in its place. His gaze doesn’t waver, watching every movement with that maddening, amused grin. “Can we get on with the project now?” you snap, the edge in your tone betraying the lingering frustration that still coils low in your stomach.

His smirk doesn’t falter; if anything, it sharpens. “You’re really trying to pretend we didn’t fuck?” he asks, the words cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You don’t look up, your voice icy and firm. “We didn’t because nothing happened.” 

He chuckles low, leaning forward just enough for his next words to reach you, each one dripping with deliberate weight. “His smirk grows, his voice dropping as he leans closer, his breath brushing against your skin. “Didn’t sound like ‘nothing’ when you were moaning my name, when I was inside you all night long. Pretty sure your body had other ideas.”

The sharp scrape of your chair against the floor fills the room as you shift, refusing to let him see the way your pulse quickens. “If you spent half the energy you use trying to rile me up on this project, we’d actually have made progress by now,” you say, your tone clipped, pointed.

“And miss out on how cute you look when you’re mad?” He leans forward, his arm brushing yours, the proximity making the air feel heavier, his smirk daring you to push him away.

You sit straighter, your eyes narrowing as you try to pull the conversation back into focus. “You’re the one who claimed that a team’s success hinges on how well players adapt to shifting dynamics under pressure. So, why don’t you back it up— was that just another excuse to waste time?”

Jeno’s smirk falters slightly, his gaze dropping to your laptop. His fingers tap lazily against the edge of the table, but his eyes sharpen as he skims the notes and diagrams on your screen. A scatterplot of player movements during a key game flashes across the display, annotated with your meticulous notes on decision-making patterns and communication breakdowns. Your outline includes a dense analysis of leadership strategies and how positional shifts influence the outcome under pressure.

“You’re overthinking it,” he says finally, his voice casual, though his assessment cuts cleanly through the tension.

You bristle, snapping your head toward him. “I think. You don’t. That’s the difference.”

He doesn’t flinch, the corner of his mouth curling upward again. “I see the problem now,” he replies, pointing at the laptop screen. “You’re trying to force structure into something that works on instinct. Basketball isn’t about perfect lines and rigid rules; it’s about rhythm. You can’t analyze every second like it’s a chessboard and expect it to make sense. You’ve got to feel the game—not dissect it to death.”

His words linger, cutting through the air and planting an idea you hate to admit makes sense. Your fingers hover above the keys, frozen for a moment as your thoughts stutter and fall out of rhythm. You never falter like this—never let someone’s perspective shift the order in your mind. You never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to, never expose the cracks in your logic for someone else to see. But now, for some reason you can’t fully grasp, the structure you cling to feels… insufficient.

Your voice comes softer than you expect, almost hesitant. “How can I feel the game? It’s not like I’d ever play.” The words slip out before you can stop them, a crack in your usual analytical exterior. It feels foreign, exposing even this small piece of uncertainty, and you almost regret it the second it hangs in the air.

Jeno’s movements slow, his eyes sharpening as he takes you in, and for a moment, his teasing demeanor fades. He leans back slightly, his hand brushing against the table as if considering something. “I have an idea,” he says finally, his voice softer, carrying an edge of intrigue that feels entirely too dangerous.

Your brows furrow, instinctively returning to skepticism. “What is it?”

His smirk returns, sharp and infuriating, the tension diffusing as quickly as it had risen. “You’ll see,” he says, tilting his chair back with an infuriating nonchalance. “But only if you stop overthinking everything.”

Annoyance surges back, grounding you like a sharp inhale. “Do you even care about this?” you bite out, your tone sharper now, cutting through the strange vulnerability that had settled between you.

He leans in, his face hovering close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath, his grin widening with a deliberate slowness that makes your stomach tighten. “Care enough to spend time with you,” he murmurs, his voice low, teasing, but underpinned by something darker, something that sends a faint shiver through you.

The air between you thickens, every glance, every word, every movement a layer in the game neither of you is willing to admit you’re playing. He leans closer under the guise of looking at your notes, but the subtle shift brushes his arm against yours, the contact lingering just long enough to make your skin burn. The heat of him is palpable, invading the small space you’ve tried to maintain.

“Do you mind?” you say, your tone clipped, but the edge falters, betraying your effort to keep composure. “You’re in my space.”

His smirk curves wider, deliberate and slow, his voice dropping lower, his breath ghosting over your skin. “I thought we were past personal space.”

The words are like a spark to kindling, sending a shiver down your spine. His presence presses in on you, the sharpness of his gaze locking you in place. You try to resist, to pull your focus back to the project spread out in front of you, but Jeno has never been the type to let you ignore him. He moves closer, his frame dominating yours, his hand brushing against your papers in a move that feels far too intentional. It’s not just the way he towers over you—it’s the way he watches you, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You shift back, but he doesn’t relent. He pretends to give you space, his hands moving to straighten the papers he just messed up, lining them up with a precision that mirrors your own. His fingers linger on the edges, the sharp, clean lines of the rearranged sheets tug at something deep within you, the kind of satisfaction that settles in your chest like a steadying breath. His movements are unhurried, precise, and you catch yourself watching too closely, a flicker of warmth blooming at how unexpectedly attentive he is.

“What?” he murmurs, catching the shift in your expression.

“Nothing,” you reply, returning to your notes. “At least now it looks decent.”

The highlighter sitting just out of reach catches your attention, and you lean forward to grab it, the movement fluid and unthinking. It’s a small gesture, one you’ve done countless times before, but Jeno’s gaze follows it, his attention snaring on your wrist like a hook catching on fabric.

His eyes narrow slightly, the shift subtle but there. It’s not suspicion—it’s curiosity, the kind that digs deeper the longer it lingers. The bracelet you’re wearing catches the light, its silver chain delicate, understated, and almost entirely bare. A charm bracelet, but one with hardly any charms. The sparseness of it seems to hold his attention, like it’s saying more about you than the silence between you ever could.

He doesn’t move or speak, but the weight of his observation feels palpable, hanging in the air. His gaze sharpens, deliberate in a way that feels out of place for someone so naturally impulsive. There’s something about the emptiness of the bracelet that sticks with him—something unspoken, a question without words.

You catch the flicker of his attention too late, and the realization makes you pull your sweater sleeve down instinctively, the fabric sliding over your wrist in a move meant to obscure. It’s automatic, almost defensive, but the brief glimpse of the bracelet lingers in his mind, unanswered.

He doesn’t react at first, still leaning back in his seat, but his posture shifts slightly, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, softer, the edge of curiosity still there but buried beneath something gentler.

“Are you hungry?” The question feels sudden, out of place, but the warmth in his tone keeps it from sounding abrupt.

You pause mid-sentence, blinking up at him. The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “Kinda,” you admit, setting your pen down as you study him, unsure of where this is leading.

He nods once, as if that’s all he needed to hear, and then turns on his heel without another word. The quiet resolve in his movements leaves you momentarily stunned, your eyes following him as he strides toward the door. He doesn’t take his bag, doesn’t look back, and the simplicity of it—the lack of his usual teasing or smug comments—throws you.

Your gaze drifts back to your work, but your focus wavers. The room feels emptier in his absence, the air thinner, like it’s waiting for something. You try to push the moment aside, eyes scanning your notes, but the sound of the door opening again pulls you immediately. You glance up, heart skipping when you see him, his hands full—two coffees and a small paper bag that smells faintly of something sweet.

You reach for the coffee, the warmth of the cup grounding you as you take a tentative sip. The moment the hazelnut hits your tongue, mingling with the creamy smoothness of oat milk, your eyes flutter shut, rolling back slightly in unguarded bliss. The taste is so perfect, so unmistakably yours, that it makes your breath catch. How did he know what you liked?

Jeno sets the other cup down on the desk beside a paper bag, his movements unusually measured, almost careful. It’s such a contrast to his usual recklessness that it makes you pause, your gaze shifting to him. “Thought you might need fuel,” he says, the words casual, but the subtle curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes betray him. There’s something deliberate about the way he says it, like he’s gauging your reaction, daring you to read into it.

You glance at the spread in front of you, a thoughtful assortment of pastries spilling from the paper bag. Your lips twitch into a faint smile. “Thanks,” you say, the word soft but genuine as you reach for another sip of the coffee, savoring the unexpected gesture more than you’d care to admit.

You brush a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear again. It’s become a repetitive distraction, an absent motion, though you can’t seem to bring yourself to tie it back. Maybe it’s laziness, maybe it’s something else, but the loose strands keep falling, teasing against your cheek, pulling your focus away from the task in front of you.

Jeno moves without warning, his presence at your back catching you off guard. His hands reach for yours, brushing against your knuckles as he takes the hair tie from your wrist. The motion is deliberate, unhurried, as though he’s not just helping but laying a claim to the moment. You turn your head, your breath hitching slightly, and meet his gaze—steady, soft, and unreadable. The warmth of his touch lingers, spreading across your skin in waves that feel intimate, almost too intimate, as your furrowed brows betray the sudden shift in the air between you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

He meets your gaze, his expression softer than usual, his eyes steady on yours. “Stay still,” he murmurs, his fingers gathering your hair with surprising gentleness. He ties it back, the motion slow and deliberate, and for a moment, you wonder if this is the same Jeno who thrives on chaos. The tenderness of it feels so foreign, so out of character, that you can’t help but stare at him as he finishes.

“You look so pretty with your hair up,” he says, his voice low, almost reverent.

Your breath catches. “It was in my face,” you reply, trying to sound dismissive, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, your name slipping from his lips in a tone that sends a shiver straight down your spine. His voice is darker now, laden with something unspoken, something impossible to ignore. His hand slides to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there, and before you can think, his lips crash into yours. The kiss is molten, pulling you under with its heat, his hands tangling in your hair as he draws you impossibly closer. A low, needy moan escapes him, vibrating against your mouth, and the sound alone makes your knees weaken. Every movement of his lips, every tilt of his head, carries a desperation that’s as heady as it is dangerous.

His hands are already tugging at your shirt, fingers brushing bare skin, when you shove him back with a strength you didn’t know you had. His groan is guttural, raw, his chest rising and falling as he stares at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with want. “Y/N,” he growls, the sound of your name stretched out like a warning, or maybe a plea. The space between you feels electric, every breath shared hanging heavy, the kind of tension that feels like it’s seconds away from detonating.

You smile, sharp and teasing, and grab your ID card from the desk. Pressing it into his hand, you grip his fingers tightly around it, your eyes locking with his. “Go to the closest printer and print off everything on this card,” you say, your voice dripping with command. “Then I’ll think about kissing you.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might argue. But instead, he nods, his eyes dark with determination as he turns and walks out the door without a second glance. The air feels heavier in his absence, the silence thrumming with the echo of what just happened. You can’t help but smile to yourself, knowing that you’ve won this round. For now.

The air is thick and electric when he returns shortly after. He doesn’t say a word, but you notice the stack of papers in his hand—stapled, collated, and arranged with a precision you hadn’t expected. He places them neatly on the table, his movements deliberate and uncharacteristically calm, like he’s presenting you with proof of something you can’t name. It shouldn’t affect you, but it does. There’s something about the way he moves, the quiet efficiency that makes your pulse quicken in a way you can’t explain, and it frustrates you that he can elicit this reaction without trying.

Before you can think to speak, his lips are on yours again, hot and insistent. He pulls you flush against him, his body radiating a heat that seeps into your skin. His hands are firm on your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you who’s in control now, and you moan against his lips. The sound seems to spur him on, his grip tightening as he angles your face to deepen the kiss. But the haze doesn’t last long. You break away, gasping, your hands pressing against his chest as you try to create distance.

“Jeno,” you whisper, your tone heavy with breathlessness, your lips still tingling from the contact. “We can’t do this.”

His response is immediate, his hand sliding beneath your shirt with a deliberate slowness that makes your back arch. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch sending sparks through your body as a moan slips from your lips, unbidden. You bite your lip hard, your head falling back as your eyes flutter closed. It’s maddening how easily he breaks your resolve.

“Why do you care so much about what this looks like?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, but the words cut deeper, each one precise and unforgiving. His thumb moves again, circling, teasing, drawing another shaky sigh from your lips. “Afraid people might think you actually like being here with me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a second, you can’t speak. The small hitch in your breathing betrays you, and you hate that he hears it, that he knows. But you recover quickly, your glare sharpening as you spit back, “What I care about is not letting you ruin this project—or my life.”

He laughs then, a low, intimate sound that makes the heat in your chest flare. “You’re so good at running away, Y/N,” he says, his tone laced with something almost tender. His fingers don’t stop, coaxing and persistent, and it’s impossible to think clearly. “Is that how you handle everything?”

Your glare sharpens. “Not everything is worth staying for.”

Before you can pull away, his hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against the desk. The papers you had so carefully arranged scatter across the surface, forgotten, as his other hand grips the edge of the table behind you. His chest is so close you can feel the heat of him seeping into your skin, his presence consuming, his voice dropping to a low whisper that slices cleanly through the tension.

“You’re so used to controlling everything,” he murmurs, his breath grazing your lips, the words curling darkly between you. “What happens when you can’t control me?”

Your heart stutters, the weight of his words sinking into you, twisting your pulse into something erratic. His hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, the firm press of his body against yours making it impossible to think. Your hands move without permission, trailing up his chest, fingertips grazing the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt before curling into the fabric, pulling him closer still. Your body betrays every ounce of resistance you’ve clung to, your hips brushing against his in a way that sends heat spiraling low in your stomach.

Your breaths are shallow, uneven, your chest rising and falling against his as you force out, “This doesn’t mean anything.” The tremor in your voice betrays you, cracking under the weight of the moment. His smirk sharpens, his grip on you tightening as he leans closer, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a way that makes the air between you feel unbearable.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, his touch maddeningly light, like a dare.

The last threads of restraint snap, breaking in the heat of his proximity. You surge forward, closing the distance with a fervor that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with release. His lips crash against yours, his grip on you tightening as he matches your intensity with his own. It’s hard, heated, the culmination of every sharp word and lingering stare between you, a clash that leaves no room for anything but this.

His hands glide firmly to your thighs, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric as he lifts you onto the desk with effortless strength. The sunlight cuts through the blinds in uneven slashes, casting fleeting shadows that dance over your skin, over the curve of your legs now bracketing his hips. The crumpled papers beneath you are a faint reminder of the order you once clung to, now buried under the weight of his body pressing into yours. Every shift of him is deliberate, the tension in his grip matched by the unrelenting push of his chest against you, each motion tightening the pull that coils low in your stomach.

“You gonna take charge this time,” he rasps against your neck, his voice rough and edged with heat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp. His fingers grip your thighs harder, digging into the flesh as he drags you closer, the space between your bodies dissolving until every inch of him presses against you. “Or are you gonna let me ruin you?” The words land like a challenge, heavy and dripping with intent, his lips trailing along your jaw to punctuate it.

Your breath catches, and instead of answering, your hands dive into his hair, threading through the strands with a force that makes him groan low in his throat. The sound rumbles against your skin, shooting straight to your core as you pull him closer, tilting his head to give yourself control for just a moment. Your lips find his, hard and demanding, as you shift against him, arching into the solid press of his body like you’re daring him to follow through.

“You don’t ruin me,” you gasp between kisses, the words sharp and cutting as your nails rake down the back of his neck, leaving him breathless for a moment. “I let you.” The way your hips roll against him contradicts the defiance in your voice, but the flicker of something darker in his eyes tells you he doesn’t mind the contradiction—it only makes him want more.

His response begins as a low growl, vibrating against your skin as his lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, along the column of your neck. Each kiss lingers just a moment too long, his breath warm and heavy, his teeth grazing with just enough pressure to send a jolt through you. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, fingers digging in as he shifts closer, the movement controlled yet rough, a silent demand for more.

Your back arches slightly against the hard edge of the desk, the papers beneath you crumpling further under the weight of your body pressing into them. His knee slides between your legs, forcing them apart, his body leaning into yours with an unrelenting heat that pins you firmly in place. One of his hands grips your hip, the other sliding under your top with a deliberate slowness that sets your skin alight. His thumbs brush over your sides, dragging upward until his grip borders on possessive, the fabric rising with him. Your breath catches as his lips find the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping lightly before he bites down harder, pulling a broken gasp from you.

The weight of him presses you further back, pinning you to the desk with an intensity that makes the air between you feel suffocating. But as his hands move higher, fingers skimming dangerous territory, a cold blade of clarity slices through the haze, sharp and unrelenting.

Your palms flatten against his chest, the pressure hard and purposeful, shoving him back with enough force to break the spell. His movements still, the heat in his gaze flickering into something darker as he meets your eyes. “No,” you say, your voice cutting through the air with a cold finality, steady and sharp, even as your heart races and your skin burns from where he touched you.

His eyes flash with frustration, the tension in his jaw tightening as his hands stay rooted on your waist, firm and unrelenting, like he refuses to let you go. Instead of stepping back, he leans in again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s rougher, more demanding, as if he’s trying to pull you under with him. His groan is low, guttural, vibrating through you as his fingers press harder into your sides, anchoring you against him. The kiss deepens, his tongue teasing yours with deliberate control, his breath hot and heavy as it fans across your skin.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, holding him close for just a second too long, the heat of his body searing through the thin barrier of fabric. His hands move, one sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you closer until his arousal presses against you, unmistakable and deliberate. The pressure sends a jolt through you, sharp and electrifying, his lips devouring yours as if he knows exactly how close he’s bringing you to unraveling.

But clarity cuts through the haze like ice against fire, snapping you back. With a sharp shove, you push against his chest, breaking the kiss. The sound of his breath catching—half a groan, half a growl—lingers between you, the tension snapping taut again as he stumbles slightly, his hands still reaching as though unwilling to let the moment go.

“I said no,” you snap, your voice sharp and unwavering, even as your chest heaves and your skin burns from the memory of his touch.

He doesn’t step back, his gaze dark and fixed on yours, daring you to take the next move. His chest rises and falls, his breath uneven, but he stays rooted, his hands reluctantly falling away as you slide off the desk with deliberate precision. You take your time, smoothing your top, running your fingers over your hair as though every detail must be perfect before you turn away.

“Figure out how to handle that,” you say, your voice cool and cutting as your gaze drops briefly to the tension still evident in his body. Your lips twitch into the faintest smirk, sharp enough to sting, before you meet his eyes one last time.

You turn, walking away without a glance back, your steps unhurried, your head high as if the entire room doesn’t still hum with the heat of what just happened. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving him standing there, breathless, frustrated, and impossibly hard, his composure crumbling in the wake of your absence.

“Wait, so you have to work with Jeno?” Mark asks, his tone cautious but laced with curiosity. He leans forward slightly, his eyebrows pulling together in that familiar way that makes you feel like he’s already assessing the situation too deeply.

You hesitate, the weight of your answer catching in your throat. That’s why you told him about the project in the first place—because if Mark ever saw you with Jeno, it would be easier to explain it as purely academic. You’d decided it was better to let him know upfront, to control the narrative before it spun into something else. Something dangerous. Something that could lead to the truth about the night you and Jeno shared—a night you’ve sworn to bury in the deepest part of yourself. A night that will not happen again.

Finally, you nod, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. “Yeah,” you reply, letting out a breath. “Coach Suh wouldn’t let me pick anyone else.” You cross your arms, forcing an unimpressed edge into your voice. “Apparently, it’s because he’s the captain.”

Mark’s eyes narrow slightly, and you know that look. He’s analyzing you, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the full story. “How’s that going for you?” he asks, his voice light but probing.

“It’s not that bad,” you say quickly, waving him off. You know Mark. He worries—too much sometimes—and the last thing you want is for him to dig deeper. “He’s not the most helpful person to be around, honestly. But…” You pause, the faintest flicker of a smile brushing your lips before you catch yourself. “He kinda makes an alright assistant. He’s actually organized a few things for me. And—” you shrug, playing it off as casually as possible— “he brought coffee the other day.”

Mark’s expression shifts slightly, subtle enough that you almost miss it. He’s listening carefully, but there’s something else there, too. Something questioning.

“You’re spreading yourself too thin with this project thing,” he says suddenly, his tone soft but firm. It’s not a question, and that’s what makes it land heavier than you expect. “I mean, you’ve already got so much on your plate.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Jeno…” The words catch briefly, and you pause, not quite sure what to say. “He’s not great, but he’s trying. And that makes it easier.” There’s an unexpected shift in your tone as you speak, quieter, more thoughtful, though you don’t notice. It’s a subtle softness, slipping in without your permission, a calm that feels out of place amidst the usual edge in your voice.

Mark notices.

He doesn’t comment right away, but you can feel his eyes on you as you start talking about your next session with Jeno—how you plan to structure it, what you think might actually help. Your voice is patient in a way it rarely is, a quiet care slipping in as you outline your thoughts. You don’t even realize the change in tone, but Mark does.

Mark knows you. You’re firm, unyielding, the kind of person who doesn’t take anyone’s shit. Not from students panicking about deadlines, not from people asking for shortcuts. But with Jeno, there’s something different. Something quieter, more deliberate. Mark sees it in the way you’re willing to explain things to him, in how you talk about the work you’re doing together like it matters, like you want to help him.

And it’s not just about the project. There’s something more. Mark can’t place it yet, but it’s there.

Mark tilts his head slightly, his brows furrowing as he studies you, confusion flickering in his eyes. “You’re really patient with him,” he says, his tone careful, more curious than teasing. “More than I thought you’d be.”

You glance at him, your eyebrows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, raising his hands in mock defense. But the look in his eyes lingers, a quiet understanding he doesn’t voice. Instead, he stores the thought away, filing it under the things he loves most about you—your sharpness, your strength, your ability to care in ways you don’t even realize.

And now, apparently, your willingness to be in Jeno’s corner, even when it surprises him.

The room had become quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, but your mind drifted to the scenes playing out just beyond the walls. You could almost hear it: the campus alive with energy, footsteps pounding against concrete, voices raised in excitement. Students would be weaving through the pathways, duffle bags in tow, their laughter cutting through the crisp air as they prepared for the Seoul Ravens’ first away game of the season. It was easy to picture the buzz of it all, but it felt like another world entirely—a world you had no interest in stepping into. Basketball had always been background noise to you, something you tuned out unless it involved Mark. The only game you’d ever bothered to attend was his first, and even then, it wasn’t about the sport. It was about him.

But this time, you couldn’t escape it. The project had pulled you into the fold, tethering you to a world you didn’t belong in. You’d have to watch the matches, take notes, and analyze the dynamics on and off the court. You’d have to observe the players, the cheerleaders, the crowd—people you normally avoided without hesitation. Just the thought made your stomach twist, the weight of obligation settling heavy in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at your suitcase, half-packed on the floor. The weekend stretched ahead like an endurance test, but at least Mark would be there. You’d endure it for him, like you always did, even if it meant sharing a motel with people you could barely stand.

You let out a small groan, leaning your head against Mark’s shoulder as you both sat perched on the edge of your bed. The faint scent of his cologne, familiar and grounding, filled the small space between you. Your eyes fluttered shut, and your voice came out muffled against the soft fabric of his hoodie. “I really don’t want to go,” you muttered, the words laced with resignation. “The thought of being stuck in the same motel as half these people makes me want to scream.” 

His laugh rumbled softly under your cheek, a sound that made the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. You’ll survive.”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, but as your eyes opened, a sudden thought lit up in your mind. You jabbed his arm, sitting up straight. “Hey—”

“What?” he asked, feigning offense as he rubbed his arm. “What did I do now?”

“Have you submitted those documents I told you to submit an entire week ago?” you demanded, your tone sharp with authority. His silence was telling, and the sheepish look he gave you only confirmed your suspicion.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Mark Lee.”

“I was gonna do it,” he defended, though the guilty look on his face gave him away.

“Do it tonight, or I’ll move in with Shotaro,” you warned. “This apartment is a perfect contender—it’s in a great area, and the price is actually decent. But they’re not gonna wait around for us if you keep slacking on the documentation.”

He nodded quickly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it tonight. Promise.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I knew I’d lose my best friend to the shackles of college basketball and popularity.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “I’m still the same guy. Basketball hasn’t changed me.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but the sound lacked its usual lightness. The truth lingered unspoken between you. It wasn’t that Mark was slipping away—not exactly—but his world had expanded in ways yours hadn’t. His name seemed to echo everywhere now, woven into conversations you overheard on campus. It wasn’t just about his basketball skills, though those were undeniable; it was the way he carried himself. Mark had that unassuming charisma, the kind that made people orbit around him without him even realizing it. He wasn’t loud or flashy—he didn’t need to be. There was something magnetic in the way he smiled, the way he treated everyone like they mattered.

And yet, sitting here in the quiet of your room, he wasn’t the campus star. He wasn’t the guy everyone whispered about or cheered for. He was just Mark. The same boy who teased you relentlessly, who knew your favorite snacks, who’d always had your back no matter what. In moments like this, it was easy to forget how much he’d become to everyone else because, for you, he was still simply your best friend.

“I can’t believe you’re left packing until the last minute,” he teased, mock tutting as he gestured to the half-packed suitcase on your bed. “This is so unlike you.”

“I didn’t,” you argued, crossing your arms. “I didn’t even know I was coming on this trip until this morning. Coach Suh told me last-minute that there was space for me in the motel and on the coach.”

His laugh filled the room, warm and familiar, as the two of you got to work packing. There was an ease between you, a rhythm to your friendship that needed no explanation. He handed you a sweater, and you tucked it into the suitcase, glancing at him with a soft smile.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter, more sincere. “It’ll be nice to see a familiar face in the audience. It always helps me feel grounded—makes it feel more like the river court.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached out to hug him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. “I’ll always support you,” you murmured. “I’m always so proud of you, you know that, right?”

Before Mark could respond, the door burst open, and Donghyuck groaned loudly, flopping onto the bed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Can you two not?” he muttered, glaring at you both like you’d personally ruined his day.

You rolled your eyes, pulling away from Mark as you got back to packing. “Don’t you have your own packing to do?”

“I’m already packed,” Donghyuck announced proudly, stretching out like a cat. “I just came to see what you’re up to.”

Yangyang appeared in the doorway a moment later, grinning as he held up a neatly folded shirt. “Thought I’d come help too. I’m already packed, and, let’s be honest, you’re the most fun to hang out with.”

The room buzzed with an easy kind of chaos, the kind that came from familiarity and years of friendship. Donghyuck moved through your carefully arranged pile of clothes with a theatrical lack of care, pulling out random items and replacing them with things he deemed more “appropriate.” A ridiculous hat landed squarely on your bed, bright and obnoxious against the muted tones of your neatly folded sweaters. He didn’t bother to hide his smirk as he tossed it into the mix, his movements careless but full of intention. You shot him a pointed glance, shaking your head as you picked the hat up and flung it onto the floor, but your lips twitched despite yourself.

Yangyang lingered at the edge of the bed, his attention caught by something that had slipped through your usual meticulousness. The black lace thong and matching bra lay out in the open, striking against the practicality of the rest of your packing. His brow furrowed, his movements faltering as he caught sight of it. A flush crept up his neck as he glanced toward you, then quickly back to the lingerie. The moment stretched as Donghyuck’s eyes darted to the bed, his realization arriving a second later. His amusement bubbled to the surface, evident in the sharp rise of his shoulders and the quiet shake of his head.

You moved without a word, your face calm, betraying nothing. Folding the lace set with precise hands, you tucked it into your suitcase and resumed your packing, brushing away the moment as easily as you might smooth over a wrinkle in a shirt. The weight of their gazes lingered—Yangyang’s awkward but fond, Donghyuck’s teasing, and Mark’s quiet but steady—but you didn’t acknowledge it. Even as the room swirled with disarray—Donghyuck’s deliberate chaos, Yangyang’s awkward fidgeting, Mark’s steady presence—it all seemed to balance perfectly, as if each of you instinctively knew how to fill the space left by another. The warmth wasn’t in the words unsaid but in the way they didn’t need to be spoken, a kind of trust built over time, binding you all together in ways that felt effortless.

The door flew open with a sharp bang, and Chenle stormed in, his movements quick and frantic. His gaze darted to the scattered clothes across the bed and floor, eyebrows knitting together in visible disapproval. His sharp inhale filled the room as he threw his hands up, gesturing wildly at the chaos surrounding you. The tension in his posture was mirrored in his voice, which cut through the warm atmosphere with an exasperated edge.

“Unbelievable!” he barked, his eyes narrowing as he gestured at Donghyuck’s pile of discarded hats and Yangyang’s haphazardly folded clothes. He grabbed a crumpled sweater from the edge of your suitcase, shaking it like it offended him personally. His face twisted into a mix of frustration and disappointment as his hand flew to his hip, his stance the very picture of disapproval. Even his sigh felt heavy, weighted with the kind of authority that came naturally to him.

He didn’t need to say it, but he did anyway—his voice brimming with righteous indignation as he scolded the room like a parent catching their children misbehaving. “Just because we live on a budget,” he muttered, his tone biting as he surveyed the room with a dramatic sweep of his arm, “doesn’t mean we have to look like we’re off-brand!”

You bit back a grin as Chenle’s scolding reached its peak, his voice rising in mock outrage as he waved a shirt in Donghyuck’s direction. Donghyuck, unfazed, threw himself onto the bed with dramatic flair, claiming he was too exhausted to argue. Yangyang fiddled with the edge of his hoodie, pretending to listen while his eyes darted to you, amusement dancing in their depths. Even Mark, who rarely engaged in the theatrics, chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on the mess but betraying no intention of intervening. The chaos felt alive, wrapping itself around the room like an embrace, and you found yourself leaning into it, letting their voices and presence fill the space.

As you zipped up your suitcase, their attention shifted to you, casual but lingering, their expressions softening as the room quieted. They didn’t say anything, but their teasing, their fussing, and even their collective disarray spoke volumes. You could feel it—the way their focus settled on you like you were the thread that held the moment together. And you loved it, even if you’d never admit it outright. It was rare to feel this surrounded, this seen, even amid the chaos, and you let yourself bask in it for just a moment longer.

The early morning air felt colder than it should have, biting against your skin as you stepped onto the campus grounds. The golden light of dawn stretched long shadows across the pavement, softening the buzz of activity into something almost serene—if not for the way it all seemed so far away. You kept your distance, eyes flicking across the scene with an almost clinical precision. The basketball team was scattered across the lot, players moving in pairs or small groups, their laughter and energy bouncing off the concrete. Cheerleaders hovered nearby, bright and animated, their voices spilling over with chatter that didn’t concern you. It was all so performative, so obvious, as though everyone here knew their roles and leaned into them fully. You were only here because you had to be.

The trip wasn’t about camaraderie or excitement for you—it was about calculation. Observation. Jeno. He filled the edges of your mind, slipping into your thoughts despite how many times you tried to push him out. What would this weekend reveal? Would he try to take control, thinking he could have you the way he did before, or would he crack under the weight of knowing you wouldn’t let him? You weren’t interested in giving him anything, but the thought of watching him squirm, of seeing how far he’d go to try and get it, was enough to keep you curious, almost too curious for comfort. 

Jeno wasn’t the type to handle rejection gracefully, and the thought of watching him navigate the boundaries you’d drawn intrigued you more than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t that you wanted to challenge him—it was more personal than that. You wanted to see him, understand him, even if it meant keeping yourself at a safe distance.

The sound of Yangyang and Donghyuck’s bickering pulled you from your thoughts. They were huddled together near the coach, their voices rising over something completely inconsequential—probably the seating arrangement or who got to bring what snacks for the ride. Yangyang’s face was a picture of exaggerated indignation, waving a packet of sour gummies like it was a weapon. Donghyuck countered with an equally dramatic point, gesturing to the coach and claiming that Yangyang’s choice of snacks was “unacceptable and borderline offensive.” It was the kind of chaos only they could create, and despite yourself, you felt the corners of your lips twitch into a faint smile.

“You good?” Donghyuck’s voice cut through, catching you off guard as he slung an arm around your shoulder. His tone was playful, but his glance lingered for a second longer than usual, a flicker of something more sincere in his eyes. Yangyang, now victorious in their snack debate, nudged your arm gently, his expression light but curious. “Yeah, you’ve been kinda quiet,” he added, leaning in just enough to study your face. They didn’t press further—never did—but their presence was grounding, pulling you back into the warm chaos of the group.

The moment settled, their laughter fading into the background as your focus shifted to Areum. She moved with a quiet kind of purpose, her steps measured but lacking the assertiveness of someone used to commanding attention. It wasn’t her presence that filled the space but the way she softened it, her gaze fixed solely on Mark like he was the only one there. Her shoulders were slightly drawn in, her movements careful, almost tentative, yet there was an undeniable intention in the way she approached. She passed by your group without so much as a glance, her voice low and steady as she called his name, “Mark,” a sound meant only for him, delicate but deliberate, like an offering.

Mark didn’t notice at first, lost in the steady rhythm of his music. He leaned casually against his car, arms crossed, his headphones still on. It wasn’t until Areum tapped him lightly on the shoulder that he startled, pulling one earbud out as he turned toward her. The moment their eyes met, you felt the shift. His usual guardedness melted away, replaced by something warmer, more open. His lips curved into a soft smile that reached his eyes, the kind of look you hadn’t seen him give to anyone in a while.

Areum handed him something—a mixtape. Even from a distance, you could see the care she’d put into it. His name was written across the case in looping script, surrounded by small doodles of guitars and basketballs. It wasn’t flashy, but it was intentional. Thoughtful. Mark’s fingers brushed hers as he took it, and though the moment was fleeting, it lingered in a way that made you pause.

Yangyang raised an eyebrow beside you, breaking your focus. “What’s going on over there?” he asked, his voice low enough to stay between the three of you.

Donghyuck leaned slightly forward, his expression somewhere between curious and annoyed. “Why does it look like they’re in some kind of rom-com moment?” he muttered, clearly unimpressed but equally unable to look away.

You didn’t answer, too focused on the small details: the way Areum tilted her head, her smile radiant and genuine; the way Mark’s thumb absently traced the edge of the tape as if committing it to memory. Their connection was private, unspoken, yet glaringly obvious. You fidgeted with your phone, pretending not to notice, but the tension in the air was impossible to ignore.

When Areum finally walked away, her expression content, Mark stayed by his car for a moment longer. His gaze lingered on the tape in his hands, his thumb brushing over one of the doodles as though it was something fragile. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pushed off the car and walked toward you, slipping the tape into his bag like it wasn’t a big deal.

Yangyang wasn’t letting it go. “Okay, what was that?” he asked, his tone playful but curious.

Mark shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “Nothing,” he said simply, though his eyes flicked toward Areum for just a second too long.

Donghyuck rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sure, nothing. Because mixtapes from pretty girls are totally casual.”

Mark laughed, his reaction too light, too natural, to be convincing. He didn’t say anything more, but the way his hand brushed the bag where he’d tucked the tape told you enough. Whatever it was, he wasn’t telling—but he wasn’t exactly hiding it either.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Nahyun’s expression as she stood with Shotaro and Chenle. Her gaze lingered on Mark, her lips pressed into a thin line as though she were trying to mask something. Shotaro noticed too, his eyes flicking between Nahyun and Mark briefly before he gave her a reassuring nudge. Chenle, meanwhile, was oblivious to the tension, busy ranting about how unprepared everyone was.

The energy of the group ebbed and flowed as always, but something about the way Mark stood, his easy laughter blending with Yangyang and Donghyuck’s teasing, left you unsettled. The tape hadn’t just been a gesture; it had been a message, one you weren’t sure you were meant to decipher.

The bus ride stretched endlessly, every bump and turn reminding you of how uncomfortable it was. You sat beside Mark, your notebook open in your lap, though your notes were barely touched. Your eyes kept drifting against your will to where Jeno sprawled out across the aisle, headphones on, his posture deceptively relaxed. His long legs stretched out into the walkway, his fingers drumming lazily against his thigh. He radiated an effortless arrogance, completely at ease in the cramped space that everyone else found unbearable.

Donghyuck and Yangyang’s voices rose in bickering tones nearby, pulling you into their trivial arguments now and then—something about snacks and music choices. You responded half-heartedly, your mind unable to pull fully away from the weight of Jeno’s presence just a few rows ahead. His confidence, his complete lack of concern, was maddening.

As the bus pulled into the motel parking lot, the team and cheer squad spilled out into the cool evening air. You hauled your bag from the luggage compartment, the atmosphere already tense. The cramped quarters and thin walls of the motel offered little privacy. You could hear teammates joking too loudly, cheerleaders laughing as they dragged their gear to their rooms, the occasional bark of Coach Suh reminding everyone to settle down.

Coach Suh’s voice boomed over the chatter, cutting through the noise like a siren. “Listen up! Opposite sexes in the same room? Not happening! This isn’t spring break—this is an away game, and I’m running a respectable program!”

A ripple of groans and snickers moved through the group, but Coach Suh pressed on, holding up a clipboard like it held the Ten Commandments. “I’ve already decided the rooming arrangements. No, you don’t get a say. No, you can’t switch. And no, Yangyang, bribery will not work this time!”

Yangyang raised his hands in mock surrender, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “What? I wasn’t even gonna try this time!”

Donghyuck snorted. “Yeah, sure. And I’m the starting point guard.”

“I should be the starting point guard!” Yangyang shot back, earning a chorus of laughs as Coach Suh glared at them.

The coach’s eyes narrowed. “You think this is funny? Let me remind you what happened the last time I trusted you all to sort it out. Jay and Sunghoon trying to fit five people in one room because they wanted ‘bonding time’ with the cheer squad? Yeah. Not on my watch!”

The laughter rose again, Mark shaking his head as he muttered, “We’re in college, for crying out loud.”

You couldn’t help but agree. Adults. All of you. Technically. Coach Suh’s micromanaging felt like an overreaction, bordering on parody. Were rooming arrangements really that serious? You thought about pointing this out but wisely stayed quiet, knowing full well the coach didn’t take well to being questioned.

Mark walked alongside you, your bag slung over his shoulder despite your insistence that you could handle it. “Thanks,” you murmured as you reached your assigned room.

“No problem,” Mark replied, his tone light, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if sensing the unease you hadn’t quite managed to bury. “Catch you later.”

You nodded and stepped into the room, greeted by the soft click of the door closing behind you and Nahyun’s quiet presence already filling the space. She was perched on the edge of one of the twin beds, her bag unpacked but untouched, her expression unreadable as she stared out the window.

Her silence wasn’t unusual, but tonight it felt heavier, as though the long day and unfamiliar environment weighed on her more than she was willing to say. You set your bag down on the other bed, glancing her way briefly before pulling out your notebook and laptop. The absence of words between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly warm either—more like a truce you’d both silently agreed upon without negotiation.

“I guess we’re stuck with thin walls and Coach Suh’s rules,” you said lightly, breaking the quiet as you unpacked your things. Nahyun turned her head slightly but didn’t respond, her focus still on the view outside.

You paused for a beat, debating whether to press her or let her be. Ultimately, you let the silence settle again, returning to your own task while the low hum of voices from the hallway seeped into the room.

The room was dim, the single overhead light flickering faintly as you shifted in bed. You hadn’t slept well, not even close. The motel’s walls were criminally thin, every sound from the hallway and neighboring rooms bleeding through. Laughter echoed faintly—teammates cracking jokes, their voices muffled but clear enough to keep you awake. Somewhere down the hall, the low murmur of a TV played, punctuated by bursts of canned laughter. You turned over for the third time, staring at the peeling wallpaper and trying to will yourself into rest, but the suffocating stillness of the room kept you tense, every creak and shuffle amplifying the unease that settled under your skin. 

By the time morning came, you felt like you hadn’t slept at all. The pale light creeping through the thin curtains was an unwelcome reminder that the day had begun, and the tension of the previous night was now rolling into something new. At the gym, the energy was electric. The players moved across the court in synchronized warm-ups, their sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Their movements were sharp and rehearsed, the rhythm of the drill almost hypnotic as the coaches barked orders. On the sidelines, the cheer squad practiced their routines, their shouts echoing through the gym. You sat on the bleachers, laptop open on your knees, pretending to focus on the project. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, aimlessly tapping as your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

No matter how hard you tried, your eyes kept being drawn back to Jeno. He moved with a calculated arrogance, each motion deliberate, his body language exuding a confidence that bordered on cocky. His smirk lingered at the edges of his lips, subtle but undeniable, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on the room. It annoyed you—how effortlessly he commanded attention, how even the smallest glance in his direction seemed to draw you in. You caught him looking at you more than once. Each time, his eyes locked with yours, holding your gaze for just a beat too long before that infuriating smirk tugged at his lips. It wasn’t subtle. He wanted you to notice him, and the worst part was that you did.

“You okay?” Mark’s voice broke through your thoughts. You blinked, startled, as he dropped onto the bleacher beside you. His energy was jittery, his movements restless as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He leaned over slightly, peering at your screen. “How’s the project coming?”

You brushed him off lightly, closing the laptop with a snap. “It’s fine. Busy.” The tightness in your chest made it hard to sound convincing, and you knew he could sense it. His brows furrowed slightly, his concern palpable, but he didn’t push. Instead, he shifted back, offering a small, reassuring smile that you didn’t quite have the energy to return.

Karina stood nearby, her arms crossed as she chatted quietly with Areum. Her sharp gaze flicked between you and Jeno, narrowing slightly as if she were piecing together a puzzle you didn’t want her to solve. Her focus lingered on you, her expression thoughtful, the wheels in her head clearly turning. Areum, on the other hand, had her attention locked on Mark. Her soft, hopeful expression made something in your stomach twist uncomfortably. The contrast between her open affection and Karina’s analytical observation was jarring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you adjusted your posture, forcing your shoulders back, trying to appear calm and unbothered even as you felt Karina’s gaze prickling against your skin.

The controlled rigidity of your movements must have given you away. Karina’s eyes lingered for a moment longer, as if filing her observations away for later, before she turned back to Areum. You exhaled slowly, shifting your attention back to the court, but the unease stayed with you. The energy in the gym was alive, pulsing with tension, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were a thread being pulled tighter with every glance, every observation, every unspoken question.

The Busan Titans’ gymnasium buzzed with a restless energy, a perfect storm of anticipation and chaos. Local fans packed the bleachers, their cheers echoing off the high ceilings, mixing with the rhythmic bounce of basketballs and the sharp commands of the coaches. The Seoul Ravens, clad in their navy and gold jerseys, moved across the court in warm-ups, their intensity matching the electric tension in the air. Cheerleaders lined the sidelines, practicing routines with synchronized precision, their voices cutting through the din. The fluorescent lights overhead gleamed harshly off the polished wood floor, magnifying every squeak of sneakers and every thud of the ball hitting the rim.

Emotionally, the stakes were sky-high. The rivalry between the Seoul Ravens and the Busan Titans was infamous, a clash that always promised drama both on and off the court. For you, the stakes felt even higher. Watching Mark navigate the game with his usual precision and focus should have been your only concern. But your eyes, drawn like a magnet, kept drifting to Jeno. Every move he made exuded a deliberate attractiveness, his confidence bordering on provocation. Even in the chaos of the game, he carried himself like the gym was his stage, every dribble, pass, and smirk calculated to command attention—and maybe, specifically, yours.

“Number 23, Lee Jeno, refusing to play nice with his own teammate,” Donghyuck’s voice echoed through the gym, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. His commentary was sharp and unforgiving, gripping the microphone tightly as he assessed the game. “And oh, what’s this? Another missed opportunity because someone’s too busy showing off. Shocker.”

You tried to focus, your pen hovering over the notebook in your lap as you attempted to analyze the game’s dynamics. Control, cohesion, and intent—words you had scrawled across the top of the page as a framework for your observations. You were meant to be dissecting how the team worked as a unit, identifying the subtleties of leadership on the court, and understanding how individual players synchronized their movements to achieve a collective goal. But it was all slipping through your fingers. Every time you tried to focus on the broader picture, your gaze veered back to Jeno, who disrupted every carefully laid thought you tried to construct.

He was chaos in motion, but not in a way that could be dismissed. His presence had weight, an unavoidable pull that drew eyes to him no matter where he was on the court. Jeno moved with the precision of someone who didn’t just understand the game but who thrived on bending it to his will. His screens were deliberate, his passes selective, his plays edged with an arrogance that was almost antagonistic. You knew you should be noting how he communicated with his teammates—or failed to—but instead, your focus narrowed on the way his body moved, the sharp power in his shoulders, the way his jersey clung to the curve of his back. There was something magnetic about how he dominated the space, a kind of raw, unrelenting energy that drew you in, leaving you too aware of him in a way that made your breath hitch.

The roar of the crowd swelled as Jeno drove toward the basket, his every step purposeful, his smirk unshaken even as defenders closed in. It wasn’t just skill—it was an unrelenting confidence that seemed to ripple outward, forcing everyone, including you, to look at him. Your pen remained poised, unmoving, as if the sheer force of his presence had rendered you incapable of action.

“And he scores!” Donghyuck’s voice rang out from the announcer’s booth, his tone dripping with exaggerated awe. “Would you look at that? Lee Jeno, number 23, proving once again that teamwork is optional when you’ve got an ego bigger than this gym.”

The crowd erupted, a mix of cheers and groans, and your grip on your pen tightened as you tried to block out Jeno’s audacious smirk. He didn’t even try to hide it, his eyes flicking in your direction briefly, like he knew exactly where your attention was.

“Someone should remind Mark that he’s sharing the court with a one-man highlight reel tonight,” Donghyuck quipped, earning a few laughs from the bleachers.

Your chest tightened as you forced yourself to look away, scribbling half-formed notes that barely made sense. Control. Cohesion. Intent. You wanted to apply those words to the team, but the reality was they fit Jeno alone. His control was absolute, his cohesion with the team irrelevant, and his intent—well, that was clear in the sharpness of his plays and the occasional flicker of his gaze toward you. It was maddening, and yet you couldn’t stop tracking him, your pen faltering every time he moved.

The first half played out like a storm brewing in slow motion. Mark’s movements were sharp and purposeful, his coordination with the team seamless. He kept the ball moving, setting up plays with precision, his focus unwavering. Jeno, by contrast, was all flair and aggression. He pushed harder, played faster, and showed off with an edge that felt more personal than professional. It didn’t take long for the tension between him and Mark to seep into the game. Jeno refused to pass to Mark, setting screens that felt less like strategy and more like subtle digs, edging him out of key plays. The crowd gasped at some of the near-misses, their excitement feeding the fire on the court.

Midway through the second half, the storm broke. It happened fast—too fast for anyone to fully register. Jeno went in for the rebound, his body colliding with Mark’s as they both jumped for the ball. The shove wasn’t blatant, but it was enough to send Mark stumbling, his footing faltering as he fought to regain balance. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a wave of cheers from the home side, their energy feeding the already-tense atmosphere.

Mark froze for a split second, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. But then he turned, stepping into Jeno’s space, and shoved him back. It wasn’t calculated; it was raw, reactive, and completely out of character. Whistles pierced the air, shrill and unrelenting, as the refs rushed in to separate the players. The court erupted into a whirlwind of shouting—coaches yelling, teammates pulling them apart, fans roaring from the stands.

“Are you kidding me, Lee?” Coach Suh’s voice thundered from the sidelines, his tone cutting through the chaos. “Get your head in the game or sit your ass down!”

“Can you believe this?” Donghyuck’s voice rang out from the announcer’s box, dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “The captain of the Seoul Ravens, ladies and gentlemen. Always keeping it classy.” There was a pause, and then, in a quieter tone meant to sound like a stage whisper: “Mark’s definitely gonna feel that in the morning.”

You gripped your notebook tighter, your heart pounding in your chest. Your pen hovered over the page, forgotten, as your gaze locked onto the court. Jeno’s smirk lingered, subtle but unmistakable, though his eyes carried something sharper—something unreadable. His body language betrayed nothing as he let himself be pulled back by a teammate, brushing off the ref’s warning with a curt nod.

Mark’s shoulders heaved as his teammates guided him toward the bench, his frustration evident in every tense movement. His jaw was set, the muscles twitching as he clenched it tighter, his expression caught somewhere between anger and disbelief. You had seen him frustrated before, but this was different—it was raw, unfiltered, and far too personal.

Your gaze shifted to Jeno, your mind racing to piece together what had unfolded. He stood at his position on the court, adjusting his jersey with a calculated nonchalance that didn’t match the chaos of moments before. His face was unreadable, but when his eyes flicked toward the stands, catching yours for a split second, a jolt shot through you. There was something deliberate in that glance, a silent acknowledgment that made your chest tighten. You wanted to believe it was coincidental, but the heat rising under your skin told another story.

You started toward Mark instinctively, but the sight of Areum and Karina reaching him first halted your steps. Areum crouched beside him, her hand hesitating near his ribs as she asked if he was okay. Her voice was soft, laced with concern, and her expression was painfully earnest. Karina stood beside her, her sharp eyes assessing the situation as she passed Mark a water bottle. Their closeness—the natural ease with which they moved around him—twisted something inside you. You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to stay back as a wave of frustration and helplessness built inside you.

Jeno was gone. You scanned the gym, searching for his figure, but the bench where he had been moments ago was now empty. The final buzzer sounded, but it felt insignificant, the win overshadowed by the tension crackling through the air. Mark was surrounded by worried teammates and Areum’s quiet fussing, her presence steady and reassuring in a way that only made your irritation flare. Karina, ever observant, glanced between you and the empty bench, her expression unreadable but cutting all the same.

You turned on your heel, the weight in your chest pushing you toward the gym doors. Your strides quickened as you moved through the quiet corridors, your thoughts a mess of anger and confusion. Locker rooms, supply closets, empty hallways—you searched them all, each moment intensifying your need to find him.

The moment you caught sight of Jeno slipping into the empty classroom, everything inside you boiled over. You didn’t hesitate. The door slammed shut, the sharp sound reverberating through the room like the strike of a match, igniting the charged air. Jeno’s head lifted, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that made everything else dissolve into the background. His movements were deliberate, each shift exuding a languid control, his stillness pulling you in like a force field you couldn’t escape. He leaned back against the desk, his frame deceptively at ease yet humming with latent energy, a storm simmering just beneath the surface. His jersey clung to him in damp folds, the fabric tracing every defined line of his chest and shoulders, the sheen of sweat catching the sterile light and accentuating the heat radiating off him. His hair was disheveled, damp strands falling haphazardly across his forehead, lending him a careless, untamed allure that only heightened the pull between you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hissed, your voice trembling as fury and something deeper tangled together in your chest. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? You—” You stopped short, your breath hitching as his gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring your anger.

“Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?” he interrupted, his tone low and unhurried, every word curling around you like smoke. He tilted his head, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Guess that means I did something right.”

The audacity of it made you snap. You crossed the room in two quick strides, shoving him back against the desk with more force than you intended. His breath hitched as his hips hit the edge, his hands automatically gripping the surface for balance. The closeness sent a shockwave through you; your chest brushed his, and the heat radiating from his body only fueled your spiraling emotions.

“You don’t get to pull shit like that and then act like it’s nothing,” you seethed, your voice low and razor-sharp. “Mark—my Mark—could’ve been seriously hurt. You think this is a fucking game, don’t you?”

Jeno’s smirk wavered, but only for a moment. He leaned closer, his lips so near yours that you could feel his breath, warm and unsteady. “Maybe,” he murmured, his voice dropping, rough and charged, his breath skimming your lips. “But look at you—right here.” His hands moved with purpose, gripping your ass and pulling you flush against him, your bodies colliding like a spark meeting gasoline. “Exactly where I wanted.”

Something snapped, a tidal wave of want crashing over you, too powerful to fight. The fire surged, drowning out every rational thought, and your lips slammed into his. The kiss was feral, raw, teeth grazing as desperation spilled between you. Your hands clawed at his jersey, the damp fabric clinging to your fingers as his body responded in perfect sync. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh with a force that made you gasp against his mouth. He groaned low in his throat, the sound reverberating through you like a second heartbeat, setting your veins alight.

Your voice fell to a whisper, dangerous and commanding. “I’m doing this because I want to. Not because of you. Not because of Mark. Me. Do you understand that?”

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw breaking through before his smirk returned, softer this time, edged with a vulnerability that was almost pleading. “Then prove it,” he rasped, his voice rough and thick with need.

You didn’t hesitate. Your lips crashed into his again, your kiss a collision of frustration, anger, and unspoken hunger. His hands gripped your waist like a lifeline, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe, but you didn’t care. Your hips ground into his with a deliberate, punishing rhythm that made him groan, low and ragged, a sound that shot straight through you. Nails digging into his shoulders, you kept him exactly where you wanted him, your body moving against his like it was made for this. The room blurred around you, every sensation sharpened to the edge of unbearable as you lost yourself in him.

“You think you can fuck with me?” you snarled against his lips, your teeth catching his bottom lip in a sharp tug. “Think you can play these little games and walk away unscathed?”

His grip on your hips tightened, his breath ragged as he leaned into you, the desk biting into his thighs as your bodies pressed together. “You think I’m walking away now?” he shot back, his voice hoarse, strained. “You started this, baby.”

Your nails scraped against his chest as you shoved him back again, just enough to glare at him. “I’m not your baby,” you spat, though your voice faltered as his hands slid up the curve of your waist, deliberate and slow, like he was trying to brand the sensation into his palms.

“Then what are you?” he whispered, his voice dipping into something darker, hungrier. “Because you sure as hell don’t act like you hate me.”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Instead, your body moved instinctively, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pressed yourself closer. The heat of him against you sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as the tension between you snapped. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and you ground down onto him, the friction igniting a fire that burned through every rational thought.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his head falling back, exposing the curve of his neck, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The sound was raw, guttural, and it only spurred you on. Your hips moved with deliberate, punishing precision, grinding against him, feeling every inch of him through the thin barriers of fabric still between you. The desk creaked beneath the weight of your movements, but neither of you cared, lost in the heat that surged between you.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he pulled you closer, his breath catching as you thrust down again, rubbing yourself against him in a rhythm that left him gasping. “You’re fucking killing me,” he groaned, his voice low and strained, his fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t bear the space that still lingered between you.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The intensity in his eyes, the way his body responded to every roll of your hips, every deliberate grind—it was intoxicating. Your lips hovered near his ear, your breath hot and uneven. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you murmured, your voice dripping with challenge as you continued the relentless pace. His choked groan was all the answer you needed, and you smirked against his neck, your teeth grazing the skin there, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted.

He leaned in to kiss you, but you pulled back just enough, your breath scorching against his ear as you set the terms. “If this is going to work,” you murmured, your voice sharp and commanding, “then you’re all mine. Every inch of you. Your body, your time, your fucking focus—everything. No one else touches you, no one else gets this. Do you hear me?”

Jeno let out a choked gasp, his grip on your hips tightening as he looked up at you, his eyes blown wide with desperation. “Fuck—I hear you. I’m yours.”

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across your lips as you leaned in, your teeth grazing his bottom lip before pulling back. “Good,” you whispered, your voice dripping with dominance. “Because if you don’t keep up, I’ll find someone who can.”

His chest heaved, his gaze locked on yours like he couldn’t look away. “You won’t need to,” he growled, his voice thick with determination. “I’ll keep up. I’ll give you everything.”

Your lips brushed his again, softer this time, before pulling away just enough to murmur your final condition. “And you’re going to lay off Mark. That’s a given. If you fuck with him again, we’re done.”

Jeno nodded, his hands trembling slightly as they slid higher up your thighs. “I will,” he promised, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You have my word.”

Your hips rolled against his, each movement deliberate, teasing, as you dragged a hand through his damp hair and forced his gaze back to yours. “Good boy,” you hissed, your voice thick with command. “Because if you fuck with Mark again—if you even think about it—I’m done with you.”

“I won’t, you have my word,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his restraint shattered. His hands slid higher, tracing the curve of your body with a reverence that only made the fire burn hotter. “I’ll do whatever you want, just—fuck—don’t stop.”

“Good,” you murmured, the command slipping from your lips like molten steel, as you captured his mouth again. The kiss was devastating, like a fuse igniting the storm between you—hot, consuming, dangerous.

Breaking away just enough to catch the desperation in his gaze, you whispered against his lips, “No one else will ever feel this. Say it—say you’re mine.”

“Yours,” he groaned, the word dragged from his chest like a confession.

“No one else touches you,” you hissed, nails dragging down his back as his hands dug into your thighs, pulling you flush against him. “No one else gets to feel you. Every single time you’re hard, it’s for me. Only me.”

“Only you,” he choked out, his voice wrecked, his head falling back as you rolled your hips against him with deliberate, punishing intent.

The tension snapped like a live wire, your resolve shifting into something darker, more primal. You slid down from his hold, your palms grazing the hard muscle of his thighs as you knelt before him. Jeno’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively tightening at his sides before one shot forward, gripping your hair with a force that made your scalp sting and your pulse race.

Your eyes locked with his, a wicked glint in your gaze as you leaned in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the hard length of him through his jersey shorts. His hips jerked involuntarily, a groan ripping from his chest, low and guttural. “Mine,” you whispered, the word dripping with possession, your tongue tracing the outline of him through the fabric, leaving a damp imprint of your claim.

Jeno’s grip on your hair tightened, forcing you to stay there, his voice hoarse as he rasped, “Fuck—stay right there. Don’t move.”

You smirked, your lips brushing against him again, slow and teasing. “This is all mine. My rules. Do you understand?”

“Fuck—yours,” he rasped, his fingers tightening their hold like he needed the anchor to stay grounded.

You rose slowly from your kneeling position, the dominance in your gaze never wavering as Jeno’s hands immediately found your hips, lifting you with an ease that made your breath hitch. The desk creaked under your weight as he set you down, his body flush against yours, your legs wrapping around him like a vice. The friction was unbearable, delicious, as you rolled your hips against him, pulling another ragged groan from his lips.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear, your voice a low, possessive purr. “Every. Last. Drop,” you whispered, each word punctuated with a deliberate, punishing grind of your hips, your core dragging against the hard length of him in a way that made his knees nearly buckle.

“Your cock belongs to me, Jeno. Say it,” you demanded, your teeth grazing his jaw as you grabbed his chin, forcing his dazed eyes to meet yours.

His breath was uneven, his restraint unraveling with every roll of your body against his. “It’s yours,” he choked out, his voice raw, desperate, as his hands moved lower, pulling you impossibly closer. “Only yours.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the raw desperation in his voice igniting something deep and primal within you. His confession wasn’t just submission—it was acknowledgment, a surrender that stoked the fire coursing through your veins. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into the firm muscle as you pulled back slightly to look at him. The heat in his gaze mirrored your own, and in that moment, the air between you shifted.

There was no need for spoken words; the silent realization passed like a spark, instantaneous and irrevocable. The intensity in his eyes reflected the control and possession in yours, a mutual understanding that surged like a tidal wave, consuming and absolute. You were claiming him, and he was letting you—more than that, he wanted it.

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, challenging even in his surrender. “Oh, you wanna be exclusive, baby?” His voice was low, testing, as if daring you to hesitate.

“Yes,” you answered without a beat, your voice sharp and unwavering, the word heavy with certainty. You could feel his breath catch as your grip tightened on his shoulders, your body pressing harder against his. This was yours—he was yours. And there was no doubt in your mind, no second-guessing. Your instincts had never failed you, and they screamed that this was right, that this was yours to take.

The realization locked into place, sharp and intense. His hands, possessive and firm, slid lower, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. You both moved as if tethered to the same electric current, a rhythm of dominance and surrender perfectly in sync. This wasn’t just about desire—it was about claiming something unshakable, something undeniable.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone teasing, almost lazy, “I didn’t take you for the type to get off on claiming things, but now I can’t stop thinking about it.” He shifted his hips just enough for you to feel the full length of him pressing against you, his eyes dark and unrelenting as they locked onto yours. “You like knowing you own me? That every time I’m hard, it’s because of you?” his grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, his voice dipping to a husky whisper, “I’m starting to think you like me desperate for you.”

“Shut up,” you growled, your voice a low snarl before crashing your lips into his. The kiss was brutal, a collision of teeth and tongues that left no room for softness. It was hunger and anger rolled into one, a firestorm consuming both of you with no thought of the wreckage left behind. His hands moved down, gripping your thighs with a force that promised bruises, hoisting you up effortlessly. You felt the edge of the desk against your lower back, but it barely registered as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, locking him in place.

Clothes disappeared in a frenzy, fabric ripping and buttons scattering to the floor as neither of you cared for anything but the desperate need to feel skin against skin. Your nails raked down his back, eliciting a low growl from his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest as his cock pressed against your slick heat, thick and demanding.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head falling back as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch exquisite and overwhelming. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you up effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist. The first thrust was deliberate, a slow pull and push that had your toes curling and a moan spilling from your lips.

“Keep going,” you hissed, your voice laced with need as you began moving, fucking yourself onto him. The angle was perfect, every inch of him filling you as you rolled your hips with purpose, meeting his measured thrusts with equal desperation. His grip on your thighs tightened, his breath coming in ragged pants against your neck as he buried his face in your skin, groaning your name like a prayer.

The rhythm was maddening—deliberate, controlled, each thrust dragging against your walls in a way that made you see stars. The slick sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, each movement a testament to the tension that had been building for far too long. You clung to him, your nails biting into his shoulders as your lips found his, muffling the moans that poured from both of you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his voice rough and broken as he thrust deeper, the pace still agonizingly slow. “You’re perfect, every inch of you—fuck, I can’t get enough.”

You gasped, your nails raking down his chest as you leaned back, giving him a view of where your bodies joined. “You like that?” you taunted, your voice shaky and breathless as you ground against him. “You like watching me fuck myself on your cock?”

His response was a strangled groan, his hips snapping up instinctively as he buried himself deeper, holding you tighter as if afraid you’d slip away. His control was slipping, the deliberate rhythm giving way to something more desperate as your name spilled from his lips like a confession.

“Come on,” you urged, your voice dripping with command as you rocked harder against him, your body arching into his. “Give it to me—show me who I belong to.”

The words sent him spiraling, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with a ferocity that left you breathless. His thrusts were relentless, deep and punishing, each one hitting a spot that made your body arch against him, your nails raking down his back as you gasped out his name. The wet slap of your bodies meeting echoed in the room, your moans mixing with his deep, guttural groans, filling the air like a charged storm. You were so close, the pressure inside you winding tight, ready to snap, your whole body trembling with the need for release.

But just as you reached the precipice, he stopped. Completely. His movements slowed to a maddening grind, deliberate and unhurried, his cock dragging torturously against your slick heat without giving you what you craved. Your breath hitched, frustration crashing through you as you tried to grind against him, seeking any friction, any relief. His hands gripped your hips like iron, stilling you with infuriating ease.

“Jeno,” you hissed, your voice sharp and laced with desperation, your eyes narrowing as you stared him down.

His lips curved into that infuriating smirk, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer. “Come and meet me tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with command.

“What the hell?” you gasped, the haze of arousal battling the simmering anger that was quickly rising in you. “What are you talking about?”

“The old town center,” he said, his tone calm but charged with something darker, more deliberate. “Where the old gym and that creepy doctor’s office are.”

Your heart raced, both from the unrelenting tension in your body and the cryptic edge to his words. “Why there?” you demanded, your voice strained as you tried to move against his grip, but he held you steady, his smirk deepening.

“You’ll see,” he said, his dark eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in them enough to make your breath hitch. “Midnight.”

You glared at him, your nails biting into his shoulders as your frustration mounted. “You think I’m just going to drop everything and show up because you tell me to?”

His laughter was low, a rumble that made your body tighten further. “You will,” he said, his lips grazing your ear, his voice soft and taunting. “Because you want this just as much as I do.”

Your frustration boiled over, your body trembling from the denial and the unbearable pull of his words. “You’re not serious,” you managed, but the tension in your voice betrayed you.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his grip firm and unyielding. “Oh, I’m very serious,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “But if you want more, you’ll meet me. Midnight.”

Your breath came in uneven pants, the ache of unfulfilled desire burning through you as he held you there, his body still pressed to yours. His cock, hard and unrelenting, made it impossible to think straight, his deliberate refusal to let you finish a clear message.

Before you could argue, he shifted his hips one last time, a deliberate drag of his cock against your sensitive core that made you gasp, your breath catching in a sharp inhale. His voice was low and rough, each word grazing your skin like a touch. “Don’t make me wait too long,” he murmured, his eyes dark with purpose as they locked onto yours.

Your pulse thundered, your response sharp and immediate, cutting through the thick air between you. “Don’t make me wait too long.” The words were bold, biting, but your voice trembled with something more—a heat you couldn’t suppress, a need you couldn’t hide.

The corner of his mouth quirked, and then it came—a smile so rare, so devastatingly beautiful, it left you unsteady. It wasn’t the smirk he used to challenge you, but something softer, something dangerous in its vulnerability. His boyish grin curled into a tease, his breath warm against your lips. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it,” he said, his tone laced with promise, every word dripping with a heat that settled low in your stomach.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his hand trailing up to grip the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair, holding you firmly. His lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was heated, consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue pressed into your mouth, claiming you in a way that left you trembling. His body pressed against yours, solid and unyielding, his hand tightening in your hair to tilt your head and deepen the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, your chest heaved, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of it. His forehead rested against yours for a beat, his breath mingling with yours, hot and ragged. He pulled away slowly, his thumb brushing your jaw in a touch that felt almost tender, but the weight of his gaze was anything but soft.

And then he was gone, leaving the air heavy with his absence, your skin still burning where he’d touched you, your body thrumming with unspent tension. You were left wanting—aching—but the weight of his words, his kiss, and that damn smile lingered, igniting something inside you that refused to be extinguished.

Jeno was late.

The ache of unfulfilled desire still lingered in your veins as you stood in the abandoned town center, the cold air biting at your skin. The world around you felt eerie, as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting. You arrived before the appointed time, every step deliberate, your need for precision etched into the way you scanned the empty streets, unwilling to let even the thought of being late cross your mind. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about preparation. A part of you, restless and hungry, thrummed at the thought of seeing Jeno again. The memory of his hands pressing into your hips, the rasp of his breath against your neck, the weight of his body pinning you exactly where he wanted—every sensation still lingered in your muscles, alive beneath your skin, pulling you back to him with an ache you couldn’t ignore.

The town center stretched around you, dark and lifeless, the dim streetlights casting elongated shadows across the cracked pavement. You shifted your weight, arms folded tightly, both against the cold and the creeping frustration bubbling in your chest. You checked your phone again—still no messages. Still no sign of him.

The silence was deafening, your thoughts racing. What if he wasn’t coming? What if this was some kind of game, another way for him to hold the reins, to leave you hanging in the balance? Just as anger began to churn in your gut, a sound broke through the stillness—footsteps. Relief hit you first, sharp and immediate, only to fizzle into annoyance. But when you turned, it wasn’t Jeno.

It was Areum and Karina.

“What are you doing here?” Areum asked, her voice tinged with suspicion as her narrowed eyes searched your face.

You tried to school your expression into something calm, neutral, as if this wasn’t the most bizarre coincidence of the night. “Oh, I was just… exploring the area,” you said, forcing a casual shrug.

Areum didn’t look convinced, her gaze sharp as it flicked over you. Before you could come up with a better excuse, you found yourself sitting alone in the backseat of Areum’s car. Karina, slumped in the passenger seat, was a mess—her head lolling against the window, her lips curling into lazy smirks as she mumbled incoherently. The scent of alcohol clung to her, heavy and sweet, drifting back to where you sat, caught between irritation and a flicker of relief that her state left little room for questions.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and your heart jolted, hope flaring to life so suddenly it almost hurt. Jeno. It had to be him. You fumbled for it, already imagining his name lighting up the screen, the explanation he’d give, the way he’d make this right. But when you pulled it out, the screen was blank. No messages. The sharp sting of disappointment cut through your chest, and you shoved the phone back into your pocket, your jaw tightening.

Your gaze drifted to the window, trying to shake the restless unease pooling in your stomach. That’s when you noticed it—a faint, shuffling movement in the distance, barely visible against the darkened road. You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes, the shapes slowly coming into focus.

“Do you see that?” you murmured, your voice low but tense.

Areum, already alert, slowed the car, her brow furrowing as she leaned closer to the windshield. The headlights swept over two figures on the roadside, trudging through the darkness, their steps slow and weary. It wasn’t until the light caught them fully that recognition hit you like a punch to the gut. Jeno and Mark.

They looked rough, their clothes rumpled and dirt-streaked, their faces marked with bruises. Your heart pounded, confusion and anger mixing into a volatile storm. Areum beeped the horn, pulling the car to the side as the boys looked up, their expressions flickering with relief.

Mark climbed into the backseat first, collapsing against the far side with a groan, his exhaustion evident in the way his head fell back against the seat. “Y/N?” he muttered, his confusion clear as his gaze settled on you, surprise flickering in his tired eyes.

You didn’t respond, your body already shifting instinctively when the door on your side opened again. Jeno stood there, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure against the dim streetlights. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, and you quickly moved to the middle seat, your breath catching as he slid in beside you.

The air grew tighter, the space between the three of you suddenly feeling impossibly small. Mark leaned his head back, closing his eyes, while Jeno adjusted in his seat, his shoulder brushing yours as he settled. Jeno’s body was a furnace against yours, the heat of him sinking into your skin despite the layers of tension. He hadn’t looked at you, hadn’t said a word, but the energy radiating from him was impossible to ignore. You kept your face carefully neutral, determined not to let anything slip.

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked, his confusion evident as he glanced between you and Areum.

The flicker of confusion in his expression was fleeting, quickly masked, but you caught it anyway. And you understood why. It was unusual—you sitting here with Areum and Karina, the trio of you barely existing in the same circles. The sight of you in this context, in the backseat of Areum’s car, probably made no sense to him. But his confusion didn’t linger long. His gaze dropped to your legs brushing against his, the tension crackling like a live wire, and his breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.

Areum explained quickly, her voice brisk as she recounted how she’d found you wandering the town center. You nodded along, feigning calm even as your mind churned, desperately trying to process what was happening.

“What happened to you two?” Areum repeated, her gaze bouncing between the boys through the front mirror, sharp and insistent.

Mark sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Coach Suh threw us off the bus,” he admitted, his tone begrudging.

Jeno’s voice was low, almost clipped as he added, “Got picked up by some guys from the other team. It didn’t exactly end well.”

The story spilled out slowly—a ride gone wrong, taunts from the opposing players, and a humiliating deal that had forced Mark and Jeno to fake a fight to escape. The details were absurd, almost laughable if it weren’t for the bruises and the tension still hanging in the air.

You listened silently, two realizations sinking in like weights: Jeno hadn’t stood you up. And somehow, against all odds, he and Mark had worked together.

As the car jolted forward, Jeno finally spoke, his voice quiet but direct, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. “I don’t have my phone,” he said simply. “It’s still on the coach.”

The admission was a quiet olive branch, but it did little to soothe the storm inside you. You turned your gaze forward, forcing yourself to focus on the road ahead, even as every nerve in your body buzzed from the weight of his presence beside you.

The car ride back to the motel was suffocating, the silence heavy with things unsaid. It pressed against your chest like an invisible weight, filling the space between words and glances. Areum sat at the wheel, her focus steady, her hands gripping the leather as if she needed something solid to hold onto. Karina was beside her, illuminated by the occasional flicker of streetlights. Her phone screen cast a dim glow over her face as she scrolled aimlessly, occasionally looking up to exchange low murmurs with Jeno. Their conversation was muffled, inconsequential words about post-game plans, a party, and something about tradition.

Each syllable grated on your nerves, the casualness of it all digging under your skin like a splinter. Jeno’s voice was low, almost lazy, carrying that same maddening charm that always seemed to linger around him. He wasn’t trying, but that only made it worse.

You sat in the middle of the backseat, pinned between Mark’s exhaustion and Jeno’s restlessness. Mark leaned heavily against the window, his eyes closed, his hand rubbing absently at his temple as if warding off a headache. On the other side, Jeno sat too close, his knee brushing yours each time the car hit a bump. It wasn’t deliberate—probably—but the contact burned all the same, an unwanted distraction that you couldn’t shake. His leg bounced with barely contained energy, the motion vibrating through the seat and into your skin.

Karina twisted in her seat, her voice cutting through the quiet. “So, what’s the plan? You hitting the club tonight?”

Her words hung in the air for a beat, and then Jeno grinned. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of grin that made you tighten your jaw even as your chest constricted with something you didn’t want to name. “Of course,” he said smoothly, as if it was obvious. “It’s tradition.”

Tradition. The word made you scoff inwardly. Of course, Jeno would throw out something so shallow, so expected. You stared at the back of Areum’s head, pretending to ignore the way Karina’s laugh bubbled up in response to him. Beside you, Mark sighed, low and tired. “I need to sleep,” he muttered under his breath. But his words barely registered.

You were too focused on Jeno—on the low timbre of his voice, on the way his easy conversation with Karina seemed to underline everything he wasn’t saying to you. The jealousy simmered low in your chest, surprising and unwelcome. Why did it matter what he said or didn’t say? Why did he matter?

When the car finally pulled into the motel’s parking lot, Areum killed the engine with a click that seemed to echo louder than it should have. No one moved at first, the stillness almost heavier than the tension on the drive. Then Karina broke the silence, practically bouncing in her seat. “We should go. It’s been ages since I hit a club after a game.”

Mark groaned as he shoved his door open, stepping out into the cool night air. “You guys have fun,” he said, already halfway to the motel entrance. “I’m done.”

Areum followed, her steps measured as she rounded the car. She glanced at Jeno, raising a brow. “You sure you don’t want to come?” he asked, his tone casual, almost teasing.

Areum shook her head, exhaustion flickering in her eyes. “No, I’m tired.” She turned to you briefly, her voice softer now. “Goodnight.”

You nodded, managing a small smile as you watched her and Mark disappear into the building together. The air shifted, growing sharper somehow. The parking lot felt too open, too exposed, leaving you, Karina, and Jeno standing in a loose triangle under the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

Jeno’s focus shifted then, his dark eyes locking on yours for the first time all night. “You coming too?” he asked, the question tossed out like an afterthought.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as irritation curled hot and fast in your stomach. It wasn’t a real invitation—it couldn’t be, not when it came after Areum, not when his gaze felt so indifferent. But despite yourself, you nodded, lips pressing into a thin line.

Karina brightened, already turning toward Jeno to ask something about the club. Their words blurred together, a dull hum in the background as you stayed rooted in place, watching them. You hated the pang of jealousy that tightened your chest, hated that you cared enough to feel it.

But then Jeno moved, breaking away from Karina with a deliberate slowness that caught your attention. She kept walking ahead, distracted by her phone and mumbling something about finding Winter, clearly assuming Jeno was following. But he wasn’t. He lingered, his steps slowing until you caught up, your body humming with awareness as you closed the distance. He didn’t look at you—not once—but the tension in his posture was unmistakable, his presence pulling at you like a magnetic force.

When you were finally close enough, his head tilted slightly, his voice a low whisper that barely reached you. “Go back to my room.” The words sent a jolt through you, his tone laced with something darker, more commanding than before. His hand moved, slipping into the small of your back before his fingers brushed the waistband of your jeans. The cold metal of his room key slid into your back pocket, but his hand lingered, firm and deliberate as it shifted lower, cupping your ass.

The breath hitched in your throat, your chest tightening as his grip held you there, his fingers pressing possessively. The heat from his hand seared through the fabric, branding you in a way that made it impossible to think clearly. “Wait for me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Twenty minutes. No more.” His other hand came up, grazing the curve of your waist, and then the soft slap of his palm against your ass made your knees lock, a gasp slipping from your lips despite your best efforts to contain it.

“Go now,” he said again, his voice low and resolute, but his hands betrayed him, still gripping your hips tightly, keeping you rooted in place. The firmness of his hold wasn’t just possessive; it was deliberate, as if he needed you to feel the weight of his control before he let you go. You tutted softly, the sound barely masking your frustration, but when you tried to pull away, his fingers tightened, digging into your hips just enough to stop you entirely.

“You’re telling me to leave,” you said, voice sharp and teasing, “but you’re the one holding me here.” His eyes darkened at your challenge, his jaw tightening, and the flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips—one that sent a jolt of heat straight through you.

“You’re lucky I have something to handle first,” he murmured, his tone rough, charged, every word dragging like fire across your skin. His thumbs traced maddeningly slow circles into your hips, his grip deliberate and unrelenting. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t even make it to the room—I’d take you right here.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words igniting something feral inside you. He smirked, a flicker of triumph flashing in his dark eyes, but you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand—not ever. Without hesitation, you surged forward, crashing your lips into his with a force that left no room for doubt. 

His response was instant, raw, and hungry. His grip shifted, pulling you flush against him as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, a low, guttural groan rumbling deep in his chest. The heat between you was suffocating, his body hard and unyielding as you pressed closer, demanding more. Your irritation twisted into something electric, every nerve in your body alive and humming with the undeniable pull of him. You kissed him harder, your nails digging into his shoulders as his hands tightened on your hips, holding you there like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The twisted side of you didn’t care who saw, the thought of an audience only adding fuel to the fire burning between you. But when your gaze flicked to Jeno’s car and caught sight of Karina slumped in the passenger seat, head tilted back and completely knocked out, a rush of relief coursed through you. It left you breathless, unguarded, and you kissed him harder, your nails digging into his shoulders as his hands tightened possessively on your hips, holding you like he never intended to let go.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your lips still grazing his, you couldn’t help the plea that slipped out, soft and desperate against the heat of his breath. “Come back to the room with me.” The words trembled between you, caught in the charged air before his hands moved lower, sliding over the curve of your ass. His grip tightened, firm and possessive, pressing you flush against him like he couldn’t let you go either, like leaving you now would physically hurt him. His dark gaze flickered with something primal, but he stayed silent, his body speaking louder than words as his fingers dug into your skin, keeping you tethered to him.

He sighed, his forehead pressing briefly against yours as his fingers tightened their hold. “I have to handle Karina first,” he rasped, his voice strained. “Make sure she’s not alone and that she’s safe. Then I'll come back to you.” He paused, his tone sharpening when your skeptical glare met his. “Don’t give me that look. Can you just trust me? Just wait for me in my room. I’ll be all yours. Tonight, tomorrow—whatever you want. Just go.”

His hands didn’t move even as he spoke, and you felt the weight of every word settle over you, tangible and undeniable. You hesitated, your pride and irritation warring with the pull of his voice, the heat of his body pressed to yours.

“Then let me go,” you said, voice low and teasing, but your breath hitched when his fingers dug in further, his smirk returning.

“I will.” He countered, his tone velvet and edged, fingers digging into the curve of your ass with maddening certainty. In a deliberate move, his hand slipped to your back pocket, grazing over the key already tucked there as if to remind you it was waiting, his touch branding you in a way that made your breath falter. Slowly, his palm trailed back to your ass, squeezing firmly, the pressure sending a ripple of heat up your spine that left you unsteady.

You gasped, but before you could react, his other hand came up to tilt your chin, his breath fanning over your lips. “Go,” he said again, his voice a low growl, and this time, you obeyed, your body humming with the echo of his touch as you walked away, the sting of his hand and the weight of his words leaving a mark you’d feel long after he was gone.

You stepped into his room, the heavy door clicking shut behind you, sealing you into a silence thick with unspoken tension. The air felt stifling, the quiet hum of the motel amplifying every restless thought circling in your head. You dropped onto the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under your weight as you pulled your knees to your chest. The knot of anticipation tangled with simmering anger, tightening with every second that crawled by. Twenty minutes felt like a lifetime, the ache of being kept waiting gnawing at your composure. The sting of earlier frustrations lingered, sharpened by the flicker of jealousy you couldn’t quite suppress.

The stillness shattered when the door swung open without warning. Jeno entered, shutting it with deliberate care, the soft click reverberating through the room like a starting gun. His eyes locked on you, dark and unreadable, and within moments, he crossed the space. Before you could speak, his hands were on you, firm and unrelenting, pushing you back against the mattress. His kiss was feral, bruising, unapologetically claiming.

Your fingers found his shoulders instinctively, nails biting into the muscle as you arched up against him. His weight pressed you into the bed, his lips moving against yours with a raw hunger that stole the breath from your lungs. His hands slid beneath your shirt, rough palms grazing your heated skin, each touch igniting a spark that burned through any lingering resentment. A muffled moan escaped you, swallowed by his mouth as the frustration and anticipation melted into a single, consuming need.

His hips pressed into yours with a slow, deliberate grind, the friction sparking through you like lightning in a storm. The heat between you was unbearable, and you gasped against his lips. His response was immediate—a guttural groan that rumbled through his chest, vibrating against your own. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your sides as though anchoring himself to you, as though letting go was never an option.

He pulled back just enough for his lips to brush against yours, like he might say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. Your head tilted, and your mouth found the curve of his neck, your teeth grazing the skin before you sucked a mark into it. He cursed sharply, his hips snapping forward in response, the motion dragging a ragged gasp from you.

“Do you think I’m letting you go now?” you murmured, your voice low, raw, and possessive as your nails scraped up his back, leaving trails that would linger on his skin.

His head dipped, his lips hovering over your ear as his breath fanned hot against your skin. “Let me go?” he rasped, his tone dark and teasing. “Baby, I’m the one who’s got you pinned right where I want you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching into his as his mouth crashed back onto yours. This kiss was fiercer, every movement saturated with unspoken apologies and a desperation that mirrored your own. His hands roamed lower, gripping the curve of your waist, his fingers sinking into your flesh as his hips rolled forward, dragging you into him in slow, maddening strokes.

The kiss unraveled you, leaving no room for thought as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, refusing to give him even an inch of space. His lips left yours to blaze a path down your jaw, his mouth dragging along your throat and collarbone, each touch setting your nerves alight. Every frustration, every unresolved emotion, was drowned in the electric storm between you, the tension morphing into something dangerous, undeniable, and utterly consuming.

Jeno’s breath was warm against your skin, his voice low and ragged as he finally spoke. “I didn’t stand you up,” he murmured, his hands pressing into your hips as though trying to anchor you in place. “I swear. Coach Suh threw me and Mark off the bus, and I lost my phone… I wanted to come to you. I needed to.”

The rawness in his voice caught you off guard, each word wrapping around your chest and pulling tight. His lips hovered just above yours, his closeness both suffocating and electric. Before you could respond, his hands slid higher, his grip possessive, his desperation bleeding into every inch of space between you.

Your hands pushed against his chest, forcing some distance. “Shut up,” you muttered, sharp but not cruel, your frustration brimming over. “You talk too much.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, soft and low, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The last thing I wanted was to get thrown off that coach,” he said, his tone dropping further, each word weighted with guilt. “And the whole time, all I could think about was getting back to you.” His jaw tightened, his breath hitching. “The thought of you waiting there… not knowing where I was… fuck, I felt like shit.”

The confession landed with a weight that you felt in your chest, like a stone thrown into still water, its ripples cracking the surface tension of your carefully held anger. Jeno wasn’t supposed to be like this—his edges were meant to be sharp, his fire untamed, a force that burned but never bent. Vulnerability didn’t suit the version of him you’d come to expect, yet here it was, raw and unguarded, shining through in the tremor of his voice and the way his dark eyes searched yours, not demanding but asking—pleading—for something unspoken.

It disarmed you. That honesty, unpolished and unexpected, melted through your defenses like heat seeping into ice. Your resolve fractured, splintering under the weight of his sincerity. And before your mind could catch up to the moment, your lips met his, a fleeting touch that felt less like a kiss and more like a bridge spanning the vast, unspoken chasm between you.

The kiss wasn’t what you meant it to be—softer, more intimate than you’d allowed yourself to imagine. It carried more weight than either of you were prepared for, an unspoken truth embedded in the way his breath hitched and the way your chest tightened. Time itself seemed to hold its breath, everything outside this fragile moment suspended, irrelevant.

When you pulled back, your forehead brushing his, the air between you shifted. The tension remained, but it had transformed—no longer jagged and cutting but heavy, like the calm after a storm when the world feels thick with promise, waiting for something new to take shape.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though your voice wavered, your brow still furrowed as the question lingered. “But why act like you were so eager to party on the way back to the motel?”

The words barely left your mouth before you leaned in again, your lips capturing his with a need that felt impossible to contain. You felt his breath catch before he exhaled against you, a low, drawn-out moan spilling into your mouth. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, your own soft sigh mingling with his as the kiss deepened, tongues meeting with a hunger that was as raw as it was unrelenting.

Then he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a beat, his breath mingling with yours as if grounding himself before speaking. “It’s tradition,” he finally admitted, his voice edged with reluctance. His fingers raked through his hair, leaving it a tousled mess that only deepened the regret in his eyes. “After every away game, we all go out. If I skip, people will notice. They’ll start asking questions I can’t afford to answer.”

You swallowed, the logic stinging more than it should. “You should go then,” you murmured, kissing him softly, the bitterness of the words lingering on your tongue. Your nails curled into his shirt, betraying your own resolve even as you tried to sound firm. “If it’s tradition, you should go. I don’t want people asking questions or having suspicions.”

The moment felt foreign, like slipping into someone else’s skin. You weren’t the type to bend to how others felt, let alone offer concern for what they might endure. But something about Jeno—about the way his shoulders tensed at the weight of unspoken pressure, the way his eyes flickered with something fragile he rarely showed—made you catch yourself. It wasn’t just the situation; it was him. The thought of him dealing with whatever fallout came from skipping a tradition he had with the rest of his friends lingered in your chest like a dull ache you couldn’t ignore. You hated it, hated that you cared, but you couldn’t stop the wave of unfamiliar protectiveness from settling in your veins.

His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer. “I’d rather be with you,” he murmured, his voice quiet but resolute, his gaze locked on yours like he needed you to understand just how much he meant it. The weight of his words hung in the air, soft yet unrelenting, as if daring you to argue with him.

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, your brow furrowing as you tried to hold onto your frustration. “That’s not what I asked,” you countered, your voice sharper than you intended. “I asked if it’s okay. If people are going to start questioning where you are and putting two and two together.”

His smirk flickered—just for a second—before his hand trailed up to cradle your jaw. “I’m not stupid, you know,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Most of them will be too high or wasted to even notice I’m gone. And Karina’s with Jaemin. He’ll make sure she gets back to the motel safely, and he knows to cover for me. If anyone asks, I ‘crashed early.’” His gaze softened as he leaned in just slightly, his tone dipping lower. “I’ve got this handled.”

You narrowed your eyes, unconvinced, the analytical part of your mind still cataloging potential risks. “And if they do notice? If Jaemin slips, or Karina says something, or—?”

“Jesus,” he groaned, tipping his head back briefly before meeting your gaze again, his patience fraying at the edges. “Do you ever stop overthinking? You’re acting like I haven’t thought this through.”

“Because I know you haven’t,” you snapped back, your nails curling into his shirt again, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re impulsive. Reckless. You don’t think about the consequences until they’re staring you in the face.”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you hard against him, the heat of his body searing through the minimal space left between you. His lips grazed your ear, his breath hot and deliberate as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with amusement. “Reckless? Baby, the only thing I’m reckless about is how badly I want you. Every second I’m here, every risk I take, it’s all because I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

His words sent a pulse of heat straight through you, undeniable and maddening. He shifted, pressing against you in a way that made your breath hitch, his smirk curling against your skin as he felt the reaction he pulled from you. “You think I care about their suspicions?” he continued, his tone dark and teasing, his hands sliding lower, thumbs stroking circles into your hips. “The only thing I care about is making sure you remember that you’re mine.” 

A broken moan escaped you before you could stop it. “And you’re mine,” you murmured back, your voice trembling but laced with its own edge.

The words flipped something in you, a sudden need for control igniting as you pushed against him with just enough force to turn him onto his back. His breath hitched, his dark eyes narrowing in surprise and something deeper—arousal. The way his jaw clenched, his hands gripping your thighs to steady you as you straddled him, only fueled the fire building inside you.

You ground down onto him, your movements deliberate, your body working against his in a rhythm that was as maddening as it was desperate. His cock, hard and insistent even through the barrier of clothes, pressed perfectly into you, and the friction made your head spin. You could feel how turned on he was—how every shift, every bounce of your hips pulled a groan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice low and strained, his eyes locked on you with a mix of disbelief and raw hunger. His hands tightened their grip on your hips as though trying to steady both you and himself, the tension in his body palpable. He didn’t look away, his gaze drinking in every frantic roll of your hips, every desperate attempt to chase the friction that had you trembling against him. 

There was a flicker of something deeper in his expression—shock, admiration, a realization that he’d never seen anyone unravel the way you did. The way you gave yourself over to the moment, unabashed and wild, was unlike anything he’d experienced. It caught him off guard, made his chest tighten and his jaw clench as though he couldn’t handle how much you consumed him. And yet, beneath the haze of lust, there was a quiet reverence in the way his hands guided your movements, as if claiming you with every breath, every touch, while silently marveling at the way you tore his control apart so effortlessly.

The heat in his voice made your movements falter for just a second, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world, sent a surge of power through you. But then his hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still, his strength unrelenting. You groaned in frustration, hissing as you pushed against his grip.

“Jeno,” you warned, your voice sharp as your teeth clenched in irritation.

He didn’t release you. Instead, he leaned up slightly, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a fleeting tease. “The reason I wanted to meet you earlier wasn’t just to fuck,” he said, his voice still thick with arousal but laced with something more deliberate. “I brought two tickets to something I think you’ll enjoy.”

Your movements stilled entirely, your annoyance melting into curiosity. “To what?” you asked, your brow furrowing. “Isn’t it too late for anything right now? It’s past midnight Jen.”

“Luckily,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk, “it’s a 24-hour exhibition.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth parting slightly in disbelief. “Exhibition?” The word was barely out before realization struck. You gasped, your hands flying to his chest, pressing against him as your body lit up with excitement. “No,” you breathed, almost squealing in disbelief, your emotions spilling over. “You didn’t? You got us tickets to the Neo Culture Archive?”

You weren’t the type to celebrate like this. Joy, for you, was a quiet, internal thing—measured, controlled, tucked away where no one could see. But this moment defied all of that. It poured out of you, raw and unrestrained, bubbling to the surface like an unstoppable tide. Before you could think, your arms were wrapped around his neck, and your lips found his in a breathless kiss that spoke of more than just happiness—it was gratitude, excitement, and something far more intimate. It was uncharacteristic, almost disorienting to feel so open, so vulnerable, but with him, it didn’t feel wrong. Against all odds, it felt inevitable, like he was the only person who could draw this side of you out and make it feel like it had always been there, waiting for him.

Jeno’s eyes traced over you, slow and deliberate, his smirk fading into something that held more weight, something far more intimate. His gaze drank you in, soaking up every flicker of excitement that radiated from you like sunlight breaking through a storm. The shift in his expression was subtle yet undeniable, the sharp edge of his usual cockiness softening into something rawer, something that made your stomach twist with heat.

“Smart girl,” he murmured, his voice low and honeyed, each word sinking into your skin and pooling somewhere deep. His praise wasn’t casual—it lingered, deliberate, like he wanted you to feel every ounce of it. The corner of his lip tugged upward as his eyes glinted with satisfaction, a spark of amusement flickering there. “How’d you figure it out so fast?” His tone dipped lower, teasing, as he leaned back against the headboard, his body relaxing into the space like he owned it. His teeth grazed his bottom lip, and the slow drag of it sent a shiver through you.

Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile as you leaned in slightly, your thighs tightening around his lap, the friction deliberate and maddening. “It wasn’t hard,” you murmured, your voice smooth, carrying just the right amount of tease to match his. Your hands skimmed up his chest, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his shirt as you traced lazy circles with your fingertips.

“The only reason I was excited to come to this city was the one-in-a-million chance I’d be able to visit it,” you continued, your voice dropping lower, softer, like you were sharing a secret meant only for him. “You couldn’t have picked a better surprise if you tried.”

He calls out your name, it spills from his lips in a way that sounded almost reverent, yet thick with something darker, heavier. His voice had dipped, huskier now, his breath catching as he spoke. “You’re turning me on.”

His hands slid over your thighs, palms warm and deliberate, the press of his fingers light enough to tease yet firm enough to leave a mark on your senses. You were straddling his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, your body so close to his that the tension in the air was palpable. His gaze wandered over you, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your neck, like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

The way his hands moved was almost mesmerizing, stroking up and down the length of your thighs, his thumbs pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver. He leaned back slightly against the headboard, his body a perfect contrast of tension and ease, his dark eyes glinting as they held yours. The restraint in his movements only amplified the electricity crackling between you, and the way his lips curved—just enough to show the faintest hint of teeth—set a fire low in your stomach.

The air between you felt heavier now, like the moment before a thunderstorm, and every small shift of your body against his sent heat spiraling through you. You could see the way his pupils darkened as he took in your reaction, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, a subtle but devastating blow to your composure.

“Isn’t it so hard to get tickets to this?” you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity.

He nodded, a flicker of pride flashing in his eyes. “Especially last minute.”

His words opened the floodgate of explanation, and he leaned closer, his voice low but steady. He described how stressful and spontaneous the plan had been, how it had consumed him. The Neo Culture Archive wasn’t something that could be bought with just money or dropped names—it was notoriously exclusive, especially for late-night entries. He told you about pacing his motel room for hours, the phone pressed to his ear, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion. “I know my family connections always help,” he admitted, his tone tinged with something uncharacteristically self-aware, “but that only got me so far.”

He painted a picture of determination: scouring his network for a lead, calling in favors with old friends who could pull strings, and enduring the frantic back-and-forth that followed. Was your name officially on the registry? Had the staff signed off on after-hours access? Every time his phone buzzed, his chest tightened, bracing for rejection. By the time he finally secured the reservation, he hadn’t slept a wink—but the thought of surprising you made it worth every second.

Your breath caught, his confession hitting you harder than you expected, leaving a warmth in your chest that threatened to overflow. “You didn’t have to,” you murmured, your voice trembling with something between awe and desire, “but fuck—it’s so hot that you did.”

Without a second thought, you leaned down, your lips crashing into his with a hunger that bordered on desperation. His breath mingled with yours, sharp and intoxicating, as if the air between you had turned electric. The taste of him—somehow both sharp and sweet—was maddening, pulling you deeper into the storm building between you.

Your hands tangled in his hair as his palms slid up your back, pressing you closer, his grip possessive. The way he kissed you, like he’d been starving for this moment, made your chest tighten and your body burn. Every deliberate touch, every lingering caress, screamed one undeniable truth—he wanted you. Only you. And the thought made your head spin.

He’d done this, planned this for you, and the realization hit harder than it should have. It wasn’t just the way his hands roamed your body or how his kiss made you tremble—it was the thought behind it, the care he’d taken. It made your pulse race and your body melt into him, unable to resist the overwhelming need to feel closer, to take more.

The Neo Culture Archive radiated an understated elegance, nestled into the heart of a well established district. Its glass facade shimmered under the soft glow of outdoor lighting, the sleek marble pillars giving it the appearance of a sanctuary for both history and innovation. Even at this late hour, the energy around the building was alive—visitors quietly flowing in and out, the low hum of conversations blending into the sound of faint traffic in the distance. The scene felt like it belonged to another world, far removed from the chaos of the day.

You walked beside Jeno, the cool night air brushing against your skin, grounding you in the moment. He moved with his usual effortless confidence, his hand brushing yours occasionally as he grabbed the passes from his pocket. “Ready?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a small thrill through you.

Instead of answering, you glanced at him, a teasing grin tugging at your lips. “Hold on,” you said, taking his pass and looping it around his neck, the lanyard resting against his chest. You reached up, your fingers grazing his cheek as he leaned into your touch, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting but tender kiss.

He straightened, reaching for your hand to lead you toward the entrance, but you tugged him back, shaking your head playfully. “Wait,” you said, lacing your fingers through his. “I need you right here for a second.”

Jeno quirked an eyebrow, letting out a soft chuckle as you pulled him into position. “What now?” he asked, though the faint curl of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Just stand there,” you instructed, raising your phone to capture the glowing facade of the building, with him in the foreground. You snapped a few shots, grinning as you angled the camera just right, while he stood there pretending to hate every second of it. But the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the slight shake of his head gave him away—he was enjoying this more than he’d ever admit.

“Happy now?” he teased, leaning closer as you put your phone away.

“For now,” you replied, slipping your hand back into his as he led you to the entrance. The security guard glanced at the passes Jeno handed over, nodding once before waving you both inside. The quiet relief in Jeno’s eyes didn’t escape you, though he covered it quickly with a soft smirk.

The moment you stepped inside, the grandeur of the archive stole your breath. The ceilings soared high above, crisscrossed with sleek beams that added a modern touch to the classical architecture. Polished floors gleamed under the warm, ambient lighting, reflecting the golden hues of the display cases scattered throughout the space. The atrium stretched before you like an intricate maze, with a sweeping staircase at its center leading to wings dedicated to various cultural influences. Everywhere you looked, there were glittering artifacts: Olympic medals, cultural texts bound in leather, interactive screens showcasing the evolution of sports.

“Wow,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you raised your phone again, snapping photos of the atrium and the glittering displays. You turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in, while Jeno hung back, watching you with an expression that was impossible to read.

When you finally glanced at him, his lips quirked into a soft smile. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and cupped your face, pressing a light kiss to your lips. “You like it?” he murmured, his words brushing against your mouth.

You nodded, your eyes wide as you looked around again. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” you admitted, your voice tinged with awe. “You didn’t tell me it’d look like this.”

Jeno’s smile widened, his teeth catching the soft glow of the lights. “Thought I’d let you have the fun of discovering it yourself,” he said, his tone conspiratorial.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face as you reached for his hand again, tugging him toward the staircase. “Come on, I need to see everything,” you said, your excitement bubbling over, and for a moment, the tension of the day melted away, replaced by the quiet thrill of exploring this world together.

Jeno laughed softly, letting you pull him along but slowing your pace as you reached a nearby interactive screen glowing softly in the atrium. “Hold on,” he murmured, tapping the screen to bring up the floor map. “You don’t even know where we’re going yet.”

You paused reluctantly, watching as his finger traced over the different wings of the exhibition. The Neo Culture Archive wasn’t solely dedicated to sports. There were entire sections for music, architecture, food, and global culture that would take separate visits to explore fully. But tonight, you were in the sports section, a deliberate choice he’d made, knowing it tied into your project.

“I knew this would be helpful,” Jeno said after a moment, glancing at you with a soft smile. “Sports history, player strategies, and the cultural impact of it all. I knew it would make you happy.” 

Your heart stuttered at his words, though you masked it quickly, leaning over the screen as if to check his selection. But the proximity did nothing to help, when you glanced at him, your eyes caught on the way his black hoodie stretched across his shoulders, the tousled state of his hair that made him look effortlessly hot. His casual confidence felt like a slow burn, a magnetism that was impossible to ignore. Your teeth grazed your bottom lip before you could stop yourself.

If he caught you staring, he didn’t let on—truthfully because he was checking you out just as much. His gaze flickered down, tracing the curve of your sweater that hugged you in just the right way before dipping lower to where your jeans sat snug on your hips. You were dressed for comfort, the soft knit fabric of your top slipping slightly off one shoulder and exposing just enough skin to keep his thoughts wandering. The low light caught on the faint gloss of your lips and the way the strap of your bag crossed your body, highlighting the subtle shape of you. You carried your iPad and phone, occasionally snapping photos or jotting notes for your project, the professional focus in your expression clashing deliciously with the casual ease of your outfit.

His eyebrows arched, a flicker of amusement dancing across his face as you took his hand and led him toward the chess wing. The quiet stillness of the museum made every footstep resonate softly, the faint echo weaving through the expansive halls like a whispered secret. The emptiness wrapped around you both, amplifying the intimacy of the moment, the secluded atmosphere making it feel as though this vast, glowing archive existed solely for the two of you.

Halfway through the wing, a display caught your eye: an antique chessboard from the 15th century, complete with a description detailing its historical significance. Your eyes practically lit up, and before Jeno could say a word, you launched into an enthusiastic explanation.

“This board,” you began, gesturing animatedly, “was used during some of the earliest recorded matches. Back then, the rules were so different—bishops could only move two squares at a time, and pawns couldn’t advance two squares on their first move. It completely changed the pace of the game.”

Jeno’s brows furrowed slightly, curious, as you continued. “In the 1800s, there was this famous match—Anderssen versus Kieseritzky—that’s still studied today for its strategy. It’s insane how much of modern chess theory comes from games like that.”

You barely paused for breath, delving into anecdotes about players adapting to rule changes, referencing a dusty old almanac you’d read cover to cover years ago. When you finally glanced up, your cheeks warmed. Jeno was staring, his mouth slightly open, a slow grin tugging at his lips.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Did I lose you somewhere?”

Jeno coughed, masking the grin that threatened to spill. “It’s nothing, I’m just wondering how you manage to make chess sound so serious.” 

You stopped, turning fully to face him, your eyes narrowing in disbelief. “It is serious. It’s a life-or-death situation, Jen. Do you even know the history of grandmaster matches in the ‘70s? Cold War politics, rivalries that lasted decades, careers ruined over a single move—”

“—You’re actually serious right now,” he interrupted, his smirk spreading into a full grin.

“I am,” you insisted, your tone firm, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a faint twitch of a smile. “Careers ended over a single wrong move, reputations destroyed forever. It’s the closest thing to battle without actual bloodshed.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer, eyes flicking over your face. “So, should I be worried you’re plotting my downfall next?”

You rolled your eyes, spinning back toward the exhibits. “You’re not even worth the effort,” you muttered, though the warmth creeping up your neck said otherwise.

“Good to know,” he teased, his voice low as he fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing yours just enough to send a flicker of heat through your chest.

As the conversation ebbed, your steps naturally carried you toward the basketball wing, it glowed under soft spotlights that illuminated rows of vintage jerseys suspended in sleek glass cases. Overhead, projectors looped footage of classic buzzer-beaters, the sound faint yet electrifying as familiar highlights filled the space. You and Jeno exchanged excited glances each time a play you recognized flashed on screen, the shared energy sparking like a live wire between you.

Jeno’s steps quickened as his gaze locked onto a rare pair of signed sneakers in one of the displays. His eyes gleamed with boyish excitement, and his voice dropped, rich with familiarity, as he leaned closer. “These are Russell’s,” he murmured, pointing to the signature etched into the sole. “He wore these during the ‘93 playoffs—broke three records that year. And he wasn’t even supposed to play after that ankle injury. It was unreal.”

You didn’t even glance at the plaque beneath the case—his words held more weight, more intimacy than any printed description could. He wasn’t reciting facts; he was reliving them. The way his voice softened when he spoke of the player, the sheer admiration woven through his tone, made something in you tighten, warmth spreading through your chest.

You moved toward another exhibit, snapping a quick photo of a commemorative jersey before turning to your notes app. You jotted down a few thoughts about the cultural evolution of basketball, your fingers hesitating as a subtle realization hit you. Here, amidst the artifacts of the game’s history, Jeno felt different. Calmer, less performative. Like the version of him you saw now—the one who talked about players like they were old friends, his passion raw and unfiltered—was closer to the truth than the smirking bravado he so often leaned on. Your gut told you this was him, behind the armor, and you found yourself scribbling a fragmented thought before pausing, stuck on how to finish it.

“Hey,” Jeno’s voice cut through your thoughts, soft yet curious as he joined you near the interactive screen. He tilted his head, glancing at the incomplete note glowing on your phone. “Can I write something?”

You glanced up, mid-thought, your brows furrowing slightly as you handed him your phone. “Yeah, sure. I can’t seem to finish this.” You gestured to the half-written line. “I’m trying to figure out how rivalries shape the game. You know, the way they add drama, raise stakes—how they’re a story in themselves.”

Jeno nodded, his eyes flicking between your words and the screen in front of him. His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he began typing, the faint sound of clicks filling the quiet space. You watched his expression shift—focused, thoughtful—as he added to your note.

“Rivalries are the heart of basketball culture. They aren’t just about the players—they’re about the fans, the cities, the history. Each matchup tells a story of loyalty, ambition, and redemption. They turn ordinary games into moments that feel bigger than life, where every second on the clock becomes a testament to passion and perseverance.”

When he handed the phone back, you scanned the words, your chest tightening. He hadn’t just finished your thought—he’d elevated it, put into words the exact feeling you’d been struggling to articulate. You swallowed, the intimacy of the moment hitting harder than expected.

When he handed the phone back, your eyes skimmed over the words, the weight of them sinking in with every passing second. It was as though he’d reached into your mind and pulled out the exact meaning you’d been grasping for, threading it together with a clarity you hadn’t been able to find on your own. The way the sentences flowed felt seamless, natural, like they’d been waiting to be written all along.

Your throat tightened, and you pressed your lips together, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. You shifted on your feet, gripping the phone a little tighter, trying to process the quiet impact of it. There was a gravity in how perfectly he’d completed your thoughts, an unspoken connection that left the air between you charged and fragile, like glass teetering on the edge of shattering.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your lips curving into a soft smile. He shrugged, leaning slightly closer, his presence steadying, magnetic.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice lower now, threaded with something that made your breath catch.

The two of you drifted further into the wing, the exhibits becoming sparser as the corridors stretched into quieter, dimly lit corners. Near a row of championship trophies, the museum seemed to exhale, its hum of distant voices and footsteps fading into an intimate hush. A digital highlight reel looped nearby, its golden light spilling over Jeno’s face, sharpening the angles of his jaw and casting his dark eyes in a warm, flickering glow.

Without a word, his arm slipped around your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your hip—subtle but unmissable, like a whisper that demanded to be heard. You felt the faint press of his lips against your temple, soft and fleeting. Without thinking, you turned into him, your arms looping around his neck as your lips found his. The kiss was soft at first, a whisper of affection, but it deepened quickly, the late-night solitude making every movement feel bolder.

The two of you stayed hidden in the corner, your lips meeting in shorter, softer kisses that only seemed to pull you closer. His fingers tangled in your hair as you kissed him over and over, a quiet laugh escaping your lips between breaths. You barely noticed the sound of soft footsteps until Jeno’s gaze shifted, his eyes darting to something behind you.

You froze, turning slowly to find an elderly woman standing a few feet away, a warm smile lighting her face.

“Oh, don’t mind me, sweethearts,” the older woman said, her voice soft and laced with a teasing warmth that made it impossible to ignore her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing how the two of you can’t seem to keep your hands—or eyes—off each other.”

Your stomach tightened at her words, awkwardness prickling at the edges of your composure. You stepped back instinctively, almost shrinking under the weight of her observation, but Jeno’s hand stayed firm on your waist, grounding you. You glanced at him, half expecting him to share in your discomfort, but instead, he looked completely at ease—almost like he belonged in this moment.

The woman’s chuckle was indulgent, her eyes twinkling. “You’re far too adorable to pass up. Please, let me take a photo of you. You’re such a beautiful couple.”

Your heart lurched at the word couple, your mind scrambling for a polite way to decline. But before you could say anything, Jeno’s calm, steady voice cut in. “That’s so kind of you,” he said smoothly, his charm effortless as he glanced at you. His thumb brushed over your hip, a subtle reassurance you didn’t realize you needed.

Caught off guard, you nodded, forcing a small smile as you tried to bury the awkwardness simmering inside you. Jeno’s ease with the interaction only heightened your surprise—he had this quiet knack for making moments like this seem completely natural, like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The first photo was simple—both of you stood side by side, smiling politely for the camera as the woman fussed over how “perfect” you looked. For the second, she instructed you to look at each other, and despite the flutter of self-consciousness, you turned to meet Jeno’s gaze. The sight of him smiling at you, his features softened in the warm light, made something twist in your chest.

Then came the third photo. “Lean in a little, dear,” the woman encouraged, her tone coaxing. Jeno didn’t hesitate, dipping his head toward you and pressing a kiss to your lips. His lips lingered longer than necessary, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, and the closeness sent your heart stuttering.

You blinked, caught in the heady mix of intimacy and the woman’s amused laughter. “Ah, treasure these moments, won’t you?” she said, handing the phone back to Jeno. Her gaze lingered for a moment, kind but knowing, before she shuffled off with a small wave.

Jeno’s smirk reappeared as he looked down at the photos. “Not bad,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to yours. “Think she caught my good side?”

You rolled your eyes, your lips curving in a slow, teasing smile. “You look the same from all sides.”

The grin that spread across his face wasn’t sly anymore—it was dangerous, a dare. He tilted his head, eyes dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch. “Yeah? I guess I should show you all my angles then,” he murmured, stepping closer, his breath warm against your cheek. You leaned in before you could stop yourself, stealing a kiss that was supposed to be quick.

It wasn’t.

The moment your lips met his, you didn’t let him take the lead. Your fingers curled around his jaw, pulling him closer as your mouth moved against his with deliberate, teasing intent. Jeno responded instantly, his hands gripping your waist as if to steady himself, but you didn’t give him the chance to dictate the pace. You kissed him harder, more insistent, and when he tried to press closer, you pulled back just slightly, leaving him chasing you.

His groan was low and frustrated, his lips parting against yours as if to protest. His fingers flexed against your waist, the grip possessive, grounding. But even as he leaned into you, letting himself get lost in the heat of it, you kept control, your kisses commanding, pulling him apart piece by piece.

When you finally pulled back, your chest heaving, his lips chased yours for a moment, like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill. His hands stayed firm on your waist, keeping you tethered to him. He looked at you, jaw tight, eyes burning with something possessive. “If you keep kissing me like that I’m not gonna let you walk away.”

His words lingered, low and warning, but you straightened your cardigan with trembling fingers, ignoring the way his gaze seared into you. When you stepped out of the hidden corner, you created distance, pulling your hand away the moment his fingers brushed yours. His hand caught air, and he let out a quiet, frustrated exhale, trailing behind you as you stopped to examine a nearby display.

Jeno didn’t say anything at first, but his narrowed eyes followed every flicker of hesitation in your movements. His jaw ticked when you avoided meeting his gaze, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. His frustration simmered, evident in the way he crossed his arms and watched you with something between amusement and disbelief. Then, deliberately, he closed the space between you, his chest brushing your shoulder as he leaned down, his lips close to your ear.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Jeno murmured, his voice cutting through the charged silence. It was low, rough, the kind of tone that slithered down your spine and coiled tight in your stomach. His breath was warm against your ear, close enough to make you tilt your head away instinctively, but he didn’t move back. Instead, his hand skimmed your arm, the light touch a deliberate tease, stopping just short of your wrist before retreating like a threat unfulfilled.

“You don’t want me to hold your hand because she saw us, right?” His lips curved into a smirk, humorless and sharp, his words heavy with unspoken challenge. He didn’t wait for you to confirm what he already knew, letting the pause stretch long enough for the tension to dig in deep, the weight of his presence pressing against you like a brand. “You think you’re being careful,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, more intimate, “but you’re killing me, baby.”

Your chest tightened at the sound of it, the raw frustration laced with something darker—something needy. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You stepped forward, ignoring the magnetic pull of his fingers hovering too close to yours, and led the way into another section of the cultural archive.

The arcade-style room greeted you with a burst of neon brilliance, the colors refracting off sleek walls in dizzying patterns. Digital displays blinked and hummed in rhythmic syncopation, filling the space with an electric undercurrent that felt alive. The energy here was different—lighthearted, playful—making it easier to let the tight coil of tension in your chest loosen, if only slightly. You let your gaze wander, tracing the vibrant edges of the room, careful to keep your focus on the displays and not the figure trailing close behind you.

Jeno’s presence wasn’t overwhelming anymore—not because you had withdrawn, but because you’d chosen to compartmentalize it, pressing his proximity into a corner of your mind where it could sit without suffocating you. He wasn’t the gravitational force here. Not now. You moved through the space deliberately, your pace steady, your hands brushing along smooth surfaces as you paused at a glowing screen, drinking in the details with detached curiosity. He lingered behind, his silence palpable, like he was waiting for you to crack under the weight of his attention.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you guided the moment as if it were yours to control. Turning briefly, you gestured for him to join you at one of the displays. The light from the screen caught on his face, softening the sharpness of his features and muting the intensity of his gaze. His eyes flickered between you and the display, but you didn’t let the moment linger. With a fleeting, purposeful touch—your hand ghosting over his arm—you adjusted his position for the photo you intended to take. The gesture wasn’t careless; it was precise, a reminder that you dictated the boundaries right now.

Jeno’s lips quirked, faintly amused, but he didn’t say anything. The lights framed him perfectly, and for a moment, you studied the image of him through the lens rather than the man himself. The soft lines of his smirk, the way the colors danced over his skin—it all made your stomach twist, but you buried the feeling beneath the pretense of casual interest.

The photo was for your collection, but the smile it drew from you wasn’t for the camera—it was for him.

“Hey, wanna play?” His voice broke through the moment, drawing your attention to a miniature basketball hoop game in the corner. “Think you’ve got what it takes?”

You narrowed your eyes, the teasing note in his tone lighting a competitive spark. “What, to beat you? Obviously.”

Jeno’s laugh was deep and mocking, the sound rolling through you like thunder. “Awfully confident for someone who’s never even picked up a ball.”

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin. “I’ve watched Mark play enough to know it’s not that hard.”

That earned you a sharp bite of his lip, the sight making heat bloom low in your stomach. He stepped back, his hands raised in mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes was anything but yielding. “Alright, then. Show me what you’ve got. First to eight wins.”

“Fine,” you said sharply, stepping up to the arcade hoop with a confidence that bordered on defiance. The machine was neatly nestled into the corner, its polished metallic frame gleaming under the assault of flashing neon lights. The digital scoreboard hummed to life, its blank display almost mocking in its emptiness, daring you to leave it untouched.

You inhaled, steadying yourself as you squared your shoulders. Your hands flexed around the small, rubber ball, the texture oddly foreign against your palms. You narrowed your eyes at the hoop, focusing on the target as if sheer determination alone could will the ball in. But your stance betrayed you—too stiff, too controlled. You hesitated for half a second before releasing the ball, and it hit the rim with a loud, hollow clang that echoed louder in your head than in the room itself.

Jeno leaned lazily against the side of the machine, his arms crossed and his grin cutting like a blade. The tilt of his head, the glint in his eyes—they all screamed amusement, and not the kind that was kind. “Tough start,” he drawled, his voice infuriatingly casual, the mock sympathy dripping from his words like honey laced with poison.

Your jaw tightened as his tone grated against your resolve. Without sparing him another glance, you snatched another ball, adjusting your grip and stance. This time, you softened your movements, loosening your shoulders, but the result was no better. The ball ricocheted off the rim with a defiant bounce, rolling away as your frustration clawed its way to the surface.

You turned toward Jeno sharply, your glare sharp enough to cut through the pulsing neon light that surrounded you. His expression hadn’t changed; if anything, his grin deepened, that infuriating mix of smugness and amusement making your fingers itch to throw something far less playful than a basketball.

He met your eyes, his expression hovering between smug satisfaction and quiet amusement, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something deliberate. Then he stepped closer, his frame cutting into your space, the faint hum of the arcade around you suddenly a distant murmur. The playful glint in his gaze sharpened, the warmth in his smirk dipping into something darker, something that made the air between you thrum with tension. “First to eight gets to dom tonight,” he murmured, his voice dropping low, the octave rich and heavy like a whispered confession meant only for you. “Loser has to buy lunch for the rest of the week.”

The words curled through you, molten and wicked, igniting something primal and consuming in their wake. But it wasn’t his promise that sent heat racing through your veins—it was the idea of reversing it. Of having him at your mercy. Your breath hitched, sharp and telling, as images flooded your mind unbidden—his body tense but yielding under your touch, his lips parting to plead for more even as you dictated the pace. The fantasy gripped you with the kind of visceral pull that left your resolve sharpening, your focus zeroing in on him with renewed intent. You nodded once, the movement sharp and deliberate, already imagining the way his name would sound falling from your lips—not in surrender, but in command.

But when you took your next shot, the ball betrayed you again, rolling off the rim and bouncing to the side with a cruel, mocking defiance. Your jaw clenched, the sting of failure biting harder now with the weight of his challenge hanging over you. Every missed shot felt like it was peeling away at the edges of your control, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of showing it.

From the corner of your eye, you could feel Jeno watching, his presence heavy and unrelenting, but you didn’t dare meet his gaze—not yet. The room felt tighter, warmer, the neon lights now blurring into a backdrop for the tension settling thick in the air between you. You reset your stance, but the echo of his words stayed with you, that dark promise replaying itself in your mind like a dare you couldn’t back down from.

Before the frustration could fully settle in your chest, you felt him step closer, his warmth at your back before his arms came around you. His hands found yours, his grip firm but deliberate as he guided your movements, his chest pressed flush against you. The solid weight of him was grounding, but the proximity sent a charge skittering across your skin, your pulse quickening in response.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and impossibly smooth, the kind of tone that seemed to slip beneath your defenses without effort. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, light and fleeting, but the touch left a trail of heat in its wake. You froze for a moment, not expecting the gentleness in his tone, the quiet reassurance layered beneath the teasing edge. “You’re too tense,” he said, his hands shifting yours into position with a measured patience that felt at odds with the intensity of his presence. “Shoulders down. Legs apart. Loosen up.”

His breath was steady, an anchor against the rising heat coursing through your body. His hands slid along yours, careful yet insistent, guiding you like you were something fragile but worth steadying. His chest was firm, his movements purposeful, and despite yourself, you followed his lead, letting the tension bleed out of your shoulders as his fingers adjusted your grip.

“Bend your knees a little,” he whispered, his voice softer now, dipping into something dangerously intimate. It wasn’t just instruction; it was layered with something more, a quiet pull meant just for you. “Let your body move with it. Stop trying so hard to control it.”

His lips grazed your cheek, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. The gentleness of the gesture caught you off guard, the contrast against his usual sharpness making it land deeper. You didn’t know why, but you hadn’t expected this side of him—the way he seemed to savor the process of steadying you, of teaching you with a patience that felt far more intimate than teasing.

“If you make this one,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, his breath brushing against your skin like a quiet promise, “I’ll reward you later.” The words were a slow burn, seeping into your chest and igniting something molten and unsteady at your core.

You exhaled, the tension in your body softening as you released the ball. It sailed cleanly through the hoop, and the sound of it swishing sent a surge of triumph rushing through you. You turned to him, your grin breaking through the heat still lingering in your chest, and without hesitation, you cupped his jaw, pulling him into a kiss that was hard, unapologetic, and filled with all the energy you’d been holding back.

He laughed against your lips, a rich, low sound that vibrated through you as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. His response was instant, matching your fervor with his own, the kiss deepening into something that teetered on the edge of control. You broke away first, your breathing unsteady, but he didn’t let go, his fingers pressing into your hips like he wasn’t ready to relinquish the moment.

But when it was his turn, the shift was immediate. He stepped to the hoop, his confidence practically radiating off him, and he didn’t miss—not once. Each shot was accompanied by a cocky comment, his voice dripping with mockery as the scoreboard climbed higher in his favor. You could do nothing but glare, your earlier triumph dissolving under the weight of his growing smirk.

When the final ball sailed through the hoop, Jeno turned to you, his movements unhurried, his victory dripping from every line of his body. His smirk was slow, deliberate, and sinful, his eyes meeting yours with a heat that made the air between you feel heavier. He stepped closer, the proximity making it impossible to ignore the tension crackling between you.

His lips hovered just above yours, the heat of his breath brushing against your skin, each exhale deliberate, teasing, maddening. His gaze held yours, dark and unwavering, and the smirk that curled at the edges of his mouth was nothing short of predatory. “I’m gonna have fun tonight, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with triumph, but the glint in his eyes promised more than victory—it promised chaos. He let the moment hang, his head tilting slightly, his lips brushing yours so lightly it wasn’t even a kiss.

His fingers stayed at your chin, tilting your face just enough to keep you in his line of fire, his smirk deepening when he saw the challenge flicker behind your stare. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction he expected, not now, not later—not on his terms. He might have claimed the game, but the space between you was still up for grabs, and you had no intention of letting him think he’d won everything.

The sharpness in your gaze softened, just barely, as you reached for his hand. Your fingers slid against his deliberately, wrapping around his palm, guiding him through the crowd and away from the arcade’s glowing chaos. Jeno let you take the lead without a word, though you felt the quiet tension in the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he was testing the limits of your touch.

The hallway outside the exhibit felt quieter, the hum of neon giving way to a more subdued rhythm, though the energy between you remained just as charged. You could feel his presence close behind you, the occasional brush of his shoulder against yours a silent reminder of the space you weren’t allowing him to close.

The idea of heading back to the motel crept into your mind, an unwelcome thought that made your steps falter for just a moment. You didn’t want the night to end—not yet. Everything about it had been perfect, from the playful banter to the electric pull that lingered between you both. It was the kind of night that felt rare, like holding onto a thread of magic that could slip away at any second. You weren’t ready to let it dissolve into something as ordinary as rest and silence.

That was when you noticed the sign. 24-Hour Gift Shop. The bold lettering stood out in the dim lighting, and before you could react, Jeno’s expression lit up, a flicker of boyish excitement breaking through his usual composed demeanor. “We’re going in,” he said simply, his voice resolute as he steered you toward the entrance.

The gift shop was a curated mess of basketball-themed treasures, gaudy trinkets, and charming absurdities. Shelves overflowed with novelty keychains, trading cards, and oversized bobbleheads that teetered on their bases. You found yourself laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all—a foam finger shaped like a basketball hoop, mugs emblazoned with cheesy slogans, and a glitter-covered snow globe with a miniature player frozen mid-dunk.

You caught Jeno watching you as you picked up a particularly hideous bobblehead, your laughter spilling out in soft waves. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, the kind of smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t help himself. It lingered, warm and unguarded, and you felt it settle low in your chest, right alongside the bittersweet ache of knowing the night was slipping away too quickly.

Eventually, the two of you began to wander back toward the exit. Your phone buzzed in your hand, the battery icon flashing a warning, and you realized just how much you’d captured—the notes, the photos, the videos. The weight of the night lingered in every detail saved to your phone, but the memories etched themselves even deeper, impossible to forget.

As you passed the gift shop one last time, Jeno paused, his gaze flicking toward the entrance. “Hold on,” he said, already heading back inside. “I forgot something.”

You waited outside, arms crossed, your curiosity simmering as the seconds stretched into minutes. You glanced at the clock on your phone, then back toward the shop, the glass doors giving you only the faintest glimpse of his movements inside.

When he reemerged, his steps were purposeful but casual, a faint smirk playing on his lips. You didn’t press him, though the spark of suspicion in your gaze was impossible to hide. “Ready to go?” he asked, his tone light, but there was something else beneath it, a quiet undercurrent that made you tilt your head, studying him.

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you walked toward the parking lot. The air was cooler now, brushing against your skin like a reminder that the night was winding down. But just before you reached the car, Jeno stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“Here,” he said, his voice quieter now, his hand slipping into his pocket.

When he handed you the small box, you hesitated, your brow furrowing as you turned it over in your hands. It was unassuming, light, and you glanced up at him, confused.

“Open it,” he murmured, his eyes steady on yours.

The lid lifted with a soft creak, and the sight inside stole the breath from your lungs. Nestled against the fabric was a tiny basketball charm, delicate and carefully crafted, its polished surface catching the faint light like a spark.

“For your bracelet,” he said, his voice softer still, the weight of the moment pressing into the quiet space between you.

Your gaze lifted to his, startled and unsteady, the weight of the moment pressing against you in ways you couldn’t quite name. The bracelet had been nothing more than a fixture, its emptiness a quiet, unnoticed echo of things you’d grown used to—spaces unfilled, gaps you stopped questioning. But here he was, standing in front of you, holding a piece so small yet so deliberate, it felt like he’d reached into the silence you carried and tried to give it shape. Something tightened in your chest, sharp and unfamiliar, as if his gesture had revealed just how long you’d been wearing something incomplete, and how you might never have realized it on your own.

“Jeno…” you started, your voice unsteady, but he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

“It’s okay,” he said simply, his fingers brushing yours as he reached for the bracelet. “I wanted to. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how empty it looked. I knew what I had to do.”

He worked in silence, the soft clink of the charm against the bracelet barely audible over the quiet rhythm of your breaths. His fingers moved with a careful precision that felt almost reverent, as though this small act demanded every ounce of his focus. His brow furrowed, his lips pressed in a subtle line of concentration, and you couldn’t look away. There was something unguarded about the way he approached this—so deliberate, so painstakingly unhurried—that it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t prepared for. It wasn’t just the act itself, but what it meant, what it revealed.

When he finished, he didn’t say anything at first. His hand lingered at your wrist, his thumb brushing over the newly attached charm, and then his eyes met yours. The sincerity in his gaze hit you like a blow, unraveling something carefully stitched together inside you. It wasn’t just a charm, wasn’t just a thoughtful gift—it was him, offering you a piece of himself, quiet and unspoken, but there. It was the way he saw you, not as you pretended to be, but as you truly were. The realization both warmed and unsettled you, leaving you feeling laid bare in the softest, most excruciating way.

You reached for him before you could think better of it, your hand cupping his jaw, your thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone. He stilled, his breath catching, but he didn’t pull away. When you kissed him, it wasn’t hurried or eager. It was soft, lingering, a kind of communion that words couldn’t reach. Beneath it was a current of gratitude, quiet and raw, and the unshakable knowledge that this moment was more than a gesture. It was a shift—subtle, seismic, and irreversible.

His hands found your waist, his touch steady and grounding, as though he needed to anchor himself to you in the same way you found yourself clinging to him. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs tracing over the fabric of your shirt like he was memorizing the feel of you. The space between you ceased to exist, and yet, the weight of what had just passed between you seemed to fill every corner.

The bracelet rested against your wrist, no longer just a hollow adornment. It felt heavier now, but not with emptiness—it carried meaning. A weight you hadn’t realized you’d been missing, one you hadn’t asked for but found yourself reluctant to let go of. It didn’t just fill the space; it transformed it, leaving something behind that you knew would linger long after this moment ended.

The second you shoved him onto the motel bed, Jeno knew he was done for. Not just because you had the upper hand, but because of the look in your eyes—wild, unyielding, and utterly determined. His cocky grin faltered for a split second, his usual confidence wavering as you towered over him. His back hit the mattress with a dull thud, and his lips parted, ready to retake control, to say something. But you didn’t give him the chance. The moment you climbed onto him, your movements calculated and deliberate, he realized he was no longer in charge.

It wasn’t just the weight of you pinning him down—it was the absurdity of the situation. You’d lost the bet. By all rights, this was supposed to be his moment of victory, his chance to bend you to his will. He should have been the one in control, making you squirm beneath him. Instead, you were on top, commanding every inch of him like you’d won, like it had been his loss, not yours. The irony of it hit him hard, but the thought dissolved into nothingness the second your hands moved to his waistband.

You stripped him of his pants and boxers in one smooth motion, and his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, standing stiff against his stomach. The sight of it, heavy and desperate, should’ve made you pause—but you didn’t. You wrapped your hand around him, gave him one hard, teasing stroke that left him gasping, and then lined yourself up and sank down without ceremony.

The stretch was overwhelming, your walls clenching around him with a tightness that ripped a groan from both of you. His hands flew to your hips instinctively, but you smacked them away, your nails dragging down his chest as you pressed him back against the mattress. “Stay,” you demanded, your voice sharp and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

He stared up at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted in disbelief. He wanted to say something, maybe even fight back, to remind you of the terms of the bet—but when your hips started to move, slow and deliberate, every thought in his head vanished. Every roll of your body was purposeful, your thighs flexing as you lifted yourself off him only to slam back down, the force of it sending his head tipping back against the pillows.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white as he tried to keep himself in check. The sight of you above him, taking what you wanted with a confidence he hadn’t expected, had his mind spinning. “You don’t—fuck—you don’t fight fair.”

A wicked grin spread across your lips, your hands braced against his chest as you leaned forward, letting your nails leave faint trails in his skin. “I never said I would,” you shot back, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction. The angle shifted slightly, driving him deeper, and the sharp intake of his breath only spurred you on.

He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was here, pinned to the bed, completely at your mercy. He’d gone into this thinking he’d be the one in charge, the one to call the shots—but from the second you’d shoved him onto the bed, he’d known. He’d lost all control over you, and it wasn’t just the way your body moved against his, the way you commanded him. It was the confidence in your eyes, the way you held him down like he belonged to you.

His groan was guttural, his hands twitching at his sides, his entire body screaming for him to grab you, flip you over, and fuck you into the mattress. But he didn’t. He stayed exactly where you told him, his restraint hanging by a thread as you worked him over with precision.

The feral rhythm of your hips slamming down onto his cock was unrelenting, a raw, primal display of desire that left no space for control or reason. Each bounce sent a lewd, wet slap echoing through the room, the obscene sound underscoring the way your body moved with unrestrained abandon. You were riding him like you owned him, chasing your own pleasure with every brutal drop of your hips, and the way his cock twitched and pulsed inside you only pushed you further into the madness of it all.

Your ass was relentless, the soft curve of it clapping against his thighs with every downward thrust. His gaze was glued to the way it moved, hypnotized by the ripple of your flesh and the raw power in your movements. Each bounce made his thighs tighten beneath you, a reaction that drove a smug smirk to your lips even as your own breath caught. The force of your descent made the head of his cock hit that devastating spot inside you over and over again, leaving you gasping, moaning, completely undone. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers twitching like he was barely holding himself back from grabbing your ass and forcing you to move even harder.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice cracking as his hips jerked involuntarily, desperate to meet your movements. “Look at you. You don’t even need me to move. You’re—” His words died on his tongue, swallowed by a guttural moan as you sank onto him harder, faster, riding him with a wildness that left no room for anything else.

Your breasts moved with the same intensity as your hips, bouncing wildly with every thrust, catching his attention like a predator locked onto prey. He couldn’t stop staring, his mouth falling open as he groaned low in his chest. When his hands finally shot up, cupping them roughly, his fingers molded to your curves, squeezing hard enough to draw a gasp from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice wrecked as his thumbs dragged across your nipples, rolling the stiff peaks under his fingers. The roughness of his touch made your back arch, your lips parting as a choked moan spilled out. He stared up at you, his dark eyes wild with want, before his lips parted again, his tone more desperate now. “Let me taste them.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His hands gripped your waist, dragging your chest down to meet his mouth. His tongue flicked against your nipple with an intensity that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, your walls clamping tighter around his cock as you cried out. The wet pull of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the way his tongue circled and lapped at your sensitive skin—it was maddening.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growled against your skin, his teeth grazing the hardened bud before he sucked it deeper into his mouth. “Can’t stop making those pretty sounds when I do this.” He switched to the other breast, his tongue lashing against the peak as his hands held your hips in place, forcing you to keep moving, to keep riding him.

Your moans grew louder, more broken, as his mouth worked in perfect rhythm with your hips. The wet slide of his cock dragging against your walls combined with the heat of his tongue and the sting of his teeth sent you spiraling. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping hard, pulling him closer as you gasped out, “More. Fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His lips latched onto your nipple with more force, his tongue flicking faster, his teeth scraping just enough to make your thighs tremble. The way he worshiped your breasts—hungry, unrelenting, like he couldn’t get enough—left you wrecked. Your control faltered, your rhythm becoming erratic as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation of his mouth and the thick length of him stretching you open.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” you panted, your voice trembling as your body arched into his touch. “Shit, Jeno, you feel so—” Your words dissolved into a desperate moan as his teeth caught your nipple, the sting sharp and electrifying before it melted into heat.

He pulled back for a moment, his lips shiny, his chest heaving as he stared up at you like he’d never seen anything so devastating. His hands slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided you back down onto him, the force of his thrust meeting your descent. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned, his voice low and ragged, his grip tightening as he buried himself deeper.

The rhythm picked up again, rougher, harder, the sound of your ass clapping against his thighs filling the room. His lips returned to your chest, his mouth devouring you with renewed hunger, leaving marks that would linger on your skin like a brand. His tongue flicked and swirled, his teeth scraping just enough to leave you trembling, and the low, filthy sounds he made against your skin only pushed you closer to the edge.

“You’re mine tonight,” you gasped, your voice raw as you clutched his shoulders, your nails dragging down his chest. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” he rasped, his head tipping back as his body tightened beneath you. “Fuck, I’m all yours.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails dragging down his chest hard enough to leave faint red lines. The sight of him beneath you, flushed and wrecked, his lips parted as he panted for air, made your stomach tighten with satisfaction. Jeno had always been the one in control, the one who dictated the pace, but tonight, you’d stripped him of every ounce of dominance, leaving him at your mercy.

He didn’t try to wrestle control back, didn’t even fight it; instead, he let you guide him, his eyes glazed over with lust as you worked him over with brutal precision. The slick slide of him inside you made your head spin, every thrust driving deeper, hitting spots that made your entire body tremble. His hands gripped your ass firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, helping you keep your rhythm steady despite the way your thighs burned with exertion.

“Look at you,” you whispered, your voice a mix of awe and mockery as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. “So fucking pretty like this—completely under me.”

Jeno let out a choked groan, his hips bucking up into you, but you pushed him back down with a firm hand against his chest. His eyes widened slightly when your other hand slid up to his throat, your fingers wrapping around the column of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking to yours, dark and wanting, but also laced with surprise. You squeezed gently, testing, and the low, guttural sound he made sent a shiver down your spine.

“Like that, huh?” you murmured, tightening your grip just enough to make his breath hitch. “I knew you’d let me do anything to you.”

He didn’t respond, couldn’t, the pressure of your hand cutting off his words and leaving him gasping. His lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, and the sight of him like this—submissive, needy, utterly at your mercy—made you clench around him, drawing a strangled curse from his lips.

You leaned down, your mouth hovering just above his, and spit, slow and deliberate, watching as it dripped past his parted lips and onto his tongue. He groaned loudly, his eyes fluttering shut as he swallowed without hesitation, the act sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

“Good boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”

“Fuck, yes,” he rasped, his voice raw as he strained against your hand on his throat, his hips jerking up desperately. “Anything. I’ll take it—please.”

His plea made your head spin, your control wavering for a moment as you slammed your hips down harder, faster. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with the broken moans spilling from both of you. His cock throbbed inside you, the stretch overwhelming, and the way he looked up at you—wide-eyed, desperate—left you teetering on the edge.

Your hand left his throat, sliding down his chest, and you dug your nails into his skin, making him hiss through his teeth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers bruising as he pulled you down onto him with every thrust, matching your rhythm with a force that had you gasping.

“You’re gonna come for me,” you demanded, your voice shaking as you ground your hips against him, your walls tightening around his cock. “You don’t come until I say.”

“I—fuck—I’m so close,” he choked out, his head tipping back, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to hold himself together. “Please—let me—”

“Not yet,” you cut him off, leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip, your teeth dragging against the soft skin before you kissed him deeply. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth, your control slipping as his hands moved to your ass, pulling you down harder, deeper, until you couldn’t think straight.

His lips left yours, trailing down your neck to your chest, and he latched onto your nipple again, his tongue flicking and swirling with a desperation that made your thighs tremble. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, the sting sending shocks of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

“Fuck, Jeno,” you gasped, your head falling back as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation. “You’re gonna make me—oh, shit—”

“Do it,” he groaned against your skin, his voice low and wrecked. “Come on me. I want to feel it—want to feel you lose it on my cock.”

His words pushed you over the edge, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your walls clamping down around him tightly. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode out your orgasm, your movements erratic and frantic.

Jeno wasn’t far behind, his hands gripping your hips almost painfully as he thrust up into you one last time, his body trembling as he spilled inside you. His groan was deep, guttural, his head tipping back against the pillows as he let himself go completely.

You collapsed onto his chest, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as you both lay there, utterly spent. His hands moved up your back, his touch surprisingly gentle as he traced lazy circles against your skin.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Jeno moved, flipping you onto your back with a strength that stole whatever control you had left. The room spun, your legs tangled with his as he pressed you into the mattress, his body hovering over yours, heat radiating from every inch of him. His hand slid beneath your thigh, gripping it firmly and hooking your leg around his waist, his eyes burning as they locked onto yours.

“You really think you can wear me out?” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips. Before you could answer, his hips rolled forward, the thick length of him sliding back into you in one unrelenting thrust.

Your gasp caught in your throat, your fingers scrambling for purchase against his damp skin as he set a rhythm that was slower now but no less consuming. His gaze never left yours, the intensity in his eyes pinning you in place as his body moved against yours, deliberate and devastating.

The weight of him, the heat of his body pressed so tightly to yours, made it impossible to think, impossible to do anything but feel. His hand found your wrist, pinning it above your head, his fingers lacing with yours as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.

“You think you’re in charge,” he breathed, his voice rough and teasing, his hips snapping harder, pulling a broken moan from your lips. “But look at you now. Look at how I have you.”

The words sent a shiver racing through you, your back arching as his free hand traveled down your body, his touch rough and possessive. His fingers dug into your hip, holding you in place as he drove deeper, his pace unwavering, his movements so precise it left you trembling beneath him.

“You’re not getting away from me tonight,” he continued, his tone shifting, darker now, filled with a raw, undeniable need. “You’re staying right here, under me, on me, wrapped around me, all night.”

The promise hung heavy in the air, wrapping around you as his lips crashed against yours, the kiss all-consuming, a clash of teeth and tongue and desperation. He kissed like he fucked—intense, unrelenting, like he wanted to take every last piece of you and leave nothing behind.

He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin as he shifted, grabbing your other leg and pushing your knees higher, opening you up further. The new angle sent a shockwave through your body, your nails biting into his forearm as your head tipped back, your lips parting on a gasp.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice tight as he moved with slow, grinding precision, the drag of him inside you overwhelming. His eyes drank in the sight of you—your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your body moved beneath him like it was made for this, for him. “You have no idea how fucking good you look right now.”

Your hands slid to his shoulders, clutching him tightly as you pulled him closer, your lips grazing his jaw. “Jeno…” His name was a breathless plea, your voice trembling as he thrust harder, sharper, the intensity of it leaving you shaking.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he murmured, “I hope you know I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve had you in every way I want. Every way I can.”

Your body arched beneath him, the heat between you building again, the tension coiling tight in your stomach as he fucked you with a pace that was both punishing and purposeful. His mouth was everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your lips—leaving a trail of heat that only added to the heady, dizzying haze you were drowning in.

Time blurred, your senses overtaken by him: the strength of his hands on your body, the weight of him pressing you into the bed, the sound of his ragged breaths mixing with your moans. The room was heavy with heat and desperation, and you knew, without him saying a word, that he meant every promise he’d made.

There would be no rest, no reprieve. You weren’t getting out of that bed, not when he had you like this, not when he looked at you like he could devour you whole. And as his hand slipped behind your knee, hitching your leg higher, his pace relentless and unyielding, you surrendered completely.

This wasn’t a single moment; it was the entire night, a relentless give-and-take where neither of you held back. It wasn’t just him breaking you apart and piecing you back together—it was you doing the same to him, both of you locked in a desperate, all-consuming rhythm that blurred the lines between control and surrender. His thrusts were brutal, his grip unyielding, but the way your nails raked down his back, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, left him just as wrecked.

Every time he pushed you closer to the edge, you dragged him down with you, your bodies moving in perfect sync as though you were made to unravel each other. The air between you was heavy with heat and need, the sounds of your shared moans and gasps filling the room as the motel bed creaked beneath you. You arched beneath him, your body meeting his with equal force, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull his lips back to yours. The kiss was messy, open-mouthed and desperate, your teeth clashing as you devoured each other, tasting sweat and sin.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment as you clenched around him, your walls gripping him so tightly it stole the breath from his lungs. “You’re ruining me.”

“Good,” you panted, your voice trembling but firm as you ground your hips against his, dragging him deeper, harder. “Because you’re ruining me too.”

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and uneven as he stared into your eyes, his expression caught between awe and disbelief. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked, his hands roaming your body like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to convince himself you were real.

You didn’t let him hold onto the moment for long. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, harder, forcing a broken curse from his lips. Then you flipped him, using his own momentum to pin him beneath you. His eyes widened briefly, but the grin that spread across his face was pure, dark delight as he watched you take control again, your nails dragging down his chest.

“You think I’m perfect?” you teased, rolling your hips as his hands flew to your thighs, squeezing tightly. “Prove it. Show me.”

And he did. Even from below, he took every opening to push you further, his fingers digging into your hips to guide your movements, his cock driving into you at a devastating angle that left you gasping. The two of you were locked in a battle for dominance, each of you giving as good as you got, neither willing to let up.

By the time you both collapsed back onto the bed, bodies trembling and slick with sweat, it wasn’t over—it couldn’t be. He pulled you back against him, his lips trailing down your spine as he pushed back inside you, a low groan rumbling in his chest. You twisted to face him, your fingers threading into his hair as you tugged him into another kiss, your bodies already moving together again, unstoppable.

This wasn’t about control. It was about destruction—mutual, beautiful destruction. You weren’t just losing yourself to him; you were taking him with you, pulling him into the same chaos that consumed you. Every moan, every gasp, every desperate touch left its mark, the line between where you ended and he began disappearing entirely.

And as the hours passed, as the night stretched on, there was no thought of rest, no thought of stopping. It was you and him, burning each other to the ground, only to rise again in the next moment, ruined and whole all at once.

It had been a few days since you returned from the motel, but the haze of that weekend hadn’t lifted. Campus life had swallowed you whole again—assignments piled on top of deadlines, projects competing for your attention, tutoring sessions eating into your free time. Even the collaborative project with Jeno, which you were determined to excel in, loomed over you like a silent predator. You thrived on being busy, juggling your responsibilities with practiced ease. But Lee Jeno, as he had proven time and time again, was amazing at derailing every plan you meticulously crafted. 

He had spent every night at your apartment since you got back, always finding a way to pull you away from your work, from your thoughts, from everything but him. He spent more time inside you than anywhere else. The boundaries you had drawn between you had long since dissolved, leaving only raw want and insatiable need in their place. Case in point: his head buried between your thighs as you gasped and writhed against the pillows.

This morning, like every other, he’d woken you up before your alarm—not with a whisper, not with a soft touch, but with the shocking heat of his mouth between your thighs. You jolted awake at the first swipe of his tongue, a soft gasp escaping your lips as the sensation flooded your half-asleep mind. The duvet was heavy over your body, cocooning you in warmth, and you hadn’t even realized where he was until you felt his hands gripping your hips, pulling you further down the mattress to meet his mouth.

“Jeno,” you whispered, your voice still thick with sleep, but he didn’t answer. His grip tightened, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your hips as his tongue moved with maddening precision, flicking and circling in a rhythm that left your thighs trembling. The muffled hums he made against you sent shivers through your body, each one a reminder that he wasn’t stopping until you were fully awake—and thoroughly ruined.

You couldn’t see him beneath the covers, but you didn’t need to. You could feel the heat of his mouth, the deliberate way his tongue dragged against you, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing the sting with gentle, wet kisses. Your hands clutched at the sheets, twisting them as the pleasure built steadily, your body arching despite your best efforts to stay still.

“Good morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice muffled and teasing as he paused just long enough to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. The sound of his voice, low and gravelly with sleep, made your chest tighten, and before you could respond, he was back at it, his tongue dipping into you with a groan that vibrated through your core.

“Jeno,” you gasped again, your head falling back against the pillow as the sensations overwhelmed you. “You’re—God, you keep on distracting me.”

He chuckled softly against you, his lips curling into a smirk you could feel. “You don’t seem to mind.”

And he was right. You didn’t mind—not one bit. The way his mouth worked against you, the way his hands gripped your thighs to keep you exactly where he wanted you, the way he seemed to know exactly how to undo you with nothing but his tongue—it was impossible to resist.

You were reaching for him, fingers itching to dive into the messy strands of his hair and tug him up, desperate to kiss away the smug grin that had been teasing you all morning. But the sharp knock at your door stopped you cold. The sound sliced through the hazy warmth of the moment, replacing it with a jolt of panic that spread through your chest like ice.

“Yo! Y/N! Open up. Are you decent?”

The knock was sharp, cutting through the charged air like a blade, and the voice that followed was unmistakable. Mark. Of course it was him. Hearing his name didn’t surprise you—Mark’s presence in your life was as constant as it was chaotic. What did surprise you, though, was when he chose to appear. He didn’t live here, but the spare key you’d given him months ago—a decision you regretted more often than not—meant he strolled into your apartment with the ease of someone who did. Mark was so comfortable in your space that he acted like it was his own, and right now, that particular habit made your stomach drop.

“Oh, my God,” you hissed, your voice low and panicked, your mind already racing.

Your heart dropped as you watched the door knob begin to turn in agonizing slow motion. Every nerve in your body fired off at once as you realized Jeno was still sprawled on top of you, his broad shoulders, tousled hair, and completely bare torso making it painfully obvious what had just been happening.

You didn’t have time to think, let alone properly hide him. Panic fueled your movements as you grabbed Jeno’s shoulders, shoving him down under the massive duvet with all the force you could muster. His muffled laugh against your skin made you glare, but he complied, slipping beneath the covers just as the door cracked open.

Your wide eyes met his under the thick, plush fabric, and you shot him a silent look—sharp, warning, do not fuck this up. He raised a brow in return, his lips curling into a faint smirk, but thankfully, he stayed still.

You glanced down at the bed. Thanks to your oversized duvet, the scene didn’t look suspicious. The blankets were big, fluffy, and completely swallowed Jeno’s frame beneath their layers. As long as he stayed quiet—didn’t shift, didn’t make a sound—Mark wouldn’t know a thing. All you had to do was keep him unsuspecting. You exhaled quietly, bracing yourself as the door opened wider.

You inhaled deeply, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen. If you didn’t play this right, everything would unravel in seconds. Jeno was still beneath the duvet, his mouth working relentlessly against you, his hands gripping your thighs with quiet insistence. You knew Mark didn’t suspect anything—how could he?—but the thought of even the slightest misstep made you clench with unease.

“Mark!” you called, pitching your voice higher, layering it with just enough grogginess to sound convincing. “What time is it? I’m still in bed. What do you want?”

You were banking on the early hour to sell your act, and from his exasperated sigh, it seemed to work. “You’ve been super weird and distant since the motel, and I’ve been really meaning to tell you something,” Mark replied, his voice insistent. “This can’t wait.”

Your fingers gripped the edge of the duvet, tugging it tighter over Jeno as your mind raced. You knew exactly what he was going to say, every word of it. That he’d hooked up with Areum at the motel. That it just happened. That he couldn’t stop thinking about it. You knew it all because you were his best friend and you knew everything about him even when he didn’t outwardly tell you. 

But he couldn’t say it now. Not with Jeno right here, between your legs, his tongue dragging slow, devastating circles against your clit like he had all the time in the world. If Mark said it—if those words left his mouth—you were sure Jeno would lose it. He’d push himself out from under the duvet, his anger sharp and immediate, the tension snapping like a live wire. Jeno wouldn’t think rationally. And then Mark would see him. See you. Together. 

It wasn’t just about Jeno’s reaction. It was about what would happen next. Mark knowing about you and Jeno would be a disaster, not just for you but for everything you’d carefully managed to keep in balance. The dynamic would shift; questions would spill out faster than you could answer them. Why Jeno? How long had this been going on? What did it mean? You hated the thought of losing control, of letting things spiral beyond your grasp. This wasn’t about jealousy, about Mark and Areum. It was about you—about maintaining the delicate, perfect equilibrium you’d worked so hard to build. 

“Mark, seriously, can’t this wait?” you said, your voice tight but still playing at sleepy. “I really don’t have time right now.”

Mark groaned, clearly annoyed. “Y/N, come on. This is important. You won’t believe what happened—”

“I already know!” you blurted, desperate to cut him off before the words could leave his mouth. “You fought Jeno back at the motel, didn’t you? He totally deserved it—ow!”

The sharp sting of Jeno’s teeth on your folds sent a jolt through your entire body, making you yelp involuntarily. His bite wasn’t harsh, but it was pointed, deliberate, a silent reprimand for dragging him into your lie. Your thighs clenched around his head instinctively, but he didn’t stop, his tongue following immediately to soothe the bite, the sensation sending a wave of heat coursing through you.

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice sharpened with concern. “Are you okay? What’s happening in there?”

You swallowed hard, biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as Jeno’s mouth moved with maddening precision. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking with a force that made your hips jerk against him, your fingers twisting the blanket in a desperate attempt to maintain composure.

“Nothing!” you squeaked, the strain in your voice obvious. “I—I just stubbed my toe or something. Seriously, Mark, this can wait.”

Jeno’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading you wider beneath the duvet as he buried himself deeper, his groan vibrating against you. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the dual sensations of pleasure and panic tangling in your chest as you tried to think straight.

“Y/N, you’re acting so weird,” Mark pressed, clearly unconvinced. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” you snapped, your frustration spilling over as you glared down at the lump under the covers. Jeno, the absolute menace, didn’t pause for a second, his tongue swirling and flicking in ways that made your breath hitch. “Just—just give me five minutes, okay? Wait downstairs. I’ll make us breakfast, and we’ll talk then. Just not now.”

There was a long, excruciating pause, the kind that made your heart hammer in your chest as you braced for Mark to say something else, to push further, to step inside despite your protests. You could feel the weight of his hesitation through the door, the way he lingered just long enough to let his suspicion settle into the room like a thick fog. Mark wasn’t stupid—he could sense something was off. Your clipped tone, the way your voice wavered, your refusal to let him in—it wasn’t like you, and you knew he’d noticed.

But Mark was your best friend, and that counted for something. Despite his doubts, despite the fact that he had every reason to question you, he didn’t. That unspoken trust, that bond forged over years of shared secrets and unwavering loyalty, held him back. He gave you the benefit of the doubt because that’s what you did for each other. It was the silent agreement between you: when one of you acted weird, the other let it slide, knowing there was always a reason, even if it wasn’t immediately clear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him sigh, the sound heavy with irritation and resignation. “Fine. But don’t keep me waiting, Y/N. I’m serious.”

You stayed frozen, every muscle in your body taut as his footsteps retreated down the hall. The sound of the front door closing echoed through the apartment, and you exhaled sharply, the tension draining from your shoulders all at once. Relief washed over you like a wave, the morning’s chaos finally giving way to a fleeting moment of calm.

Your head fell back against the pillow, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing. But Jeno didn’t stop. He doubled down, his tongue dragging slow, deliberate strokes against you, his hands holding you in place as he worked with a single-minded focus that left you trembling.

“Jeno,” you hissed, his name spilling from your lips like a warning. You lift the blanket to glare down at him. He looked up, his lips glistening, his expression infuriatingly smug.

“What?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “You’re the one who shoved me down here.”

“You were supposed to behave,” you shot back, but your voice lacked bite, your body still humming with the lingering pleasure of his relentless attention.

“And yet,” he said, dragging his tongue slowly over you one last time, his grin widening as he felt you shudder, “you’re not complaining.”

You groaned, letting the blanket fall back over his head, resigned to the chaos of your life—and the man underneath it.

That moment of relief didn’t last long. You shoved the duvet back, grabbing Jeno by the arm and dragging him up with a mix of urgency and frustration. “You need to go,” you whispered harshly, glancing toward the closed door as if Mark might come back any second. Jeno didn’t argue, though the glint of amusement in his eyes made your blood boil. He moved slowly, deliberately, grabbing his clothes from the floor and pulling them on with maddening ease. When you motioned toward the window, he chuckled under his breath, leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, and slipped out quietly.

By the time you made it downstairs, Mark was already there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and his jaw tight. His posture screamed impatience, the subtle tap of his fingers against his arm only adding to the tension in the air. But when he saw you, the irritation melted away, replaced by something softer, almost nervous. You caught the shift immediately—it wasn’t like Mark to hesitate. He opened his mouth, the words spilling out before you even had a chance to settle into the kitchen.

“You won’t believe what happened at the motel,” he said finally, his voice tinged with both hesitation and a flicker of excitement—the kind that always preceded one of his big revelations. His eyes darted to yours briefly, gauging your reaction, before they flickered away again, the nervous energy rolling off him in waves.

“I mean… it’s kind of insane when I think about it,” he added, letting out a soft, uneasy laugh as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. That familiar habit, the one he always fell back on when he was working up to something big, told you this wasn’t just casual news—it was something significant, something he’d been holding onto for days, waiting for the right moment to spill. You could see it in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his excitement barely contained beneath his lingering nerves. 

“I’m seeing Areum,” he said, his voice quick, almost rushed, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “We fucked for the first time at the motel.”

You turned to the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them as you forced a smile. “Wait—what?” you said, playing your part perfectly. “Areum? Seriously?” You made a show of being surprised, glancing over your shoulder at him with wide eyes as you heated the pan, adding a knob of butter that sizzled immediately. “You and Areum? I mean, wow, I didn’t see that coming.”

Mark laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned against the counter, clearly relieved by your reaction. “Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It just… happened. At the motel. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

You poured the eggs into the pan, watching them bubble as you stirred slowly, letting him take the lead. “You don’t have to explain,” you said gently, your tone warm and supportive. “If it makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.” And he was happy—so happy. It was written all over his face, in the way he couldn’t stop smiling, the way his voice picked up when he talked about her. You listened intently, asking questions at the right moments, your kindness and enthusiasm carefully measured.

“She’s just… different, you know?” he said, his voice softer now as he opened up. “I mean, Areum’s always been kind of quiet, you know? But spending time with her at the motel… she’s so shy, but it’s this cute kind of shy that makes you want to keep talking just to see her smile. She’s got this way about her—she’s so sweet, so caring. Like, she notices everything. She’ll remember the smallest things I’ve said, even when I forgot I mentioned them. And her heart…” He paused, his lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s so big. She’s one of those people who makes you feel like you’re the only one that matters when she’s looking at you.”

You smiled softly as you slid the plate toward him, the eggs perfectly scrambled and creamy, the toast golden with slices of sautéed mushrooms glistening on top. Mark reached out to take it, his fingers brushing yours for a moment in a gesture so familiar, it was second nature. You settled into the chair across from him, resting your elbows lightly on the table, your hands loosely clasped together as you tilted your head, studying him. “It sounds like you really like her,” you said, your voice warm, unhurried, like you were coaxing him to open up without him realizing it.

He looked down at the plate for a moment, almost like he needed the pause to collect himself. When he glanced back up, there was a faint flush climbing his neck, just enough to make you smile wider. “I do,” he admitted, his tone quieter, more reflective than you’d expected. His fork hovered over the food, but he didn’t eat yet, his focus fully on you. “I really, really do. But promise me you won’t say anything to anyone else. Areum doesn’t want people knowing yet.”

You leaned forward slightly, the sincerity in your voice unshakable. “Of course I won’t. You know I’d never do that.”

The relief that washed over his face was palpable, softening his features in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish. He let out a breath he must not have realized he was holding, and his smile widened as he relaxed into his chair. “Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours in that quiet, grateful way that reminded you exactly why he was your best friend. “I couldn’t not tell you, though. I just… I had to. She’d probably kill me if she knew I was telling you, but…” He trailed off, shrugging with a quiet laugh that made you laugh, too, the sound filling the room in a way that felt like sunlight on an otherwise ordinary morning.

Mark started eating as he spoke, and you watched as he eased into the moment, the way his words came more freely now, like a floodgate had opened. He described her in pieces, in tiny details that painted a picture only someone who truly cared would notice. He talked about the way her voice softened when she spoke to him, the way her shyness made her stumble over her words sometimes, only to immediately apologize in that sweet, almost flustered way she had. He told you about how she touched his arm when she laughed, her fingers light, tentative, as though she wasn’t sure she could take up that space.

“She’s got this way of looking at me,” he said, his voice softening further as he spoke, almost like he was confessing a secret he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet. “Like… like I’m someone worth noticing, you know? Like she sees me—really sees me.” His fork clinked against the edge of his plate as he set it down, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar, nervous habit of his. “I don’t know how to explain it. She’s just… she’s so kind. So thoughtful. Like, she’s always paying attention, even to the smallest things. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like her before.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way his voice softened as he spoke, the way his words carried this quiet wonder, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. But beneath that smile, a pang of guilt twisted in your chest, sharp and heavy. He trusted you completely, enough to bare this part of himself without hesitation, and you were lying to him.

As he fell quiet for a moment, he leaned back in his chair, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you with a faint frown. “What about you?” he asked suddenly, his tone casual but his eyes sharper than you’d expected. “Is there anything going on with you that you want to tell me about?”

Your heart jumped in your chest, and for a split second, you froze. The thought flashed through your mind, quick and insistent—what if you told him? What if you told him about Jeno? About the nights you’d spent together, about the deal you’d made, the exclusivity, the date. What if you told him about the way Jeno made you laugh, made you feel light in a way you hadn’t expected? About how, against all odds, he made you happy.

But just as quickly, the thought vanished, and you shoved it down with practiced ease. No. You couldn’t tell him. Mark would never be able to forget something like that. He wouldn’t look at you—or Jeno—the same way again, and it would change everything. It wasn’t worth the risk. You recomposed yourself quickly, forcing a small, easy smile onto your face. “Nothing exciting,” you said lightly, waving a hand. “Just the usual.”

Mark studied you for a beat, and for a moment, you thought he might press further. But then he nodded, his frown easing into something softer. “Okay,” he said after a moment, his tone gentle. “But if there is something, you know you can tell me, right?”

“Of course,” you replied, the words coming out steady, even though the weight in your chest grew heavier with every syllable.

He smiled, that familiar, warm smile that had always been so easy for him. “Everything feels like it’s falling into place,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Areum… basketball… even Jeno. I never expected him to start being nice to me, but he has. He’s starting to feel more like my brother. He’s actually been… decent. Maybe even more than decent.”

Your smile wavered for just a moment, but you caught it, nodding as you clasped your hands tighter in your lap. “I’m happy for you, Mark,” you said softly. You really were—but you also knew he’d never realize how much of this was because of you. Jeno’s promise to treat him better, to keep the peace—it all came back to you and the invisible strings you’d been pulling behind the scenes.

Mark leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he spoke, but you barely heard him. The guilt weighed heavier now, pressing against your chest, curling around your ribs. Lying to him felt like trying to hold sand in your hands, the truth slipping through the cracks no matter how tightly you tried to grasp it.

As Mark kept talking, his voice filled with hope and excitement, you couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at your chest. You were lying to him. Every word you didn’t say was another thread unraveling between you, pulling the balance tighter and tighter. It was like building a house of cards, delicate and precarious, where even the softest breath could bring it all crashing down. But instead of stopping, instead of stepping back, you kept stacking higher, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t collapse under the weight of everything you were hiding.

taglist — @clblnz @flaminghotyourmom @haesluvr @revlada @kukkurookkoo @euphormiia @cookydream @hyuckshinee @alltimernctzen @hyuckieismine @fancypeacepersona @minkyuncutie @kiwiiess @outoforbit @lovetaroandtaemin @ungodlyjnz @remgeolli @sof1asdream7 @xuyiyang @tunafishyfishylike @lavnderluv @cheot-salang @second-floors @hyuckkklee @rbf-aceu @pradajaehyun

authors note — hi loves! if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! it truly means the world to me. i poured so much effort into this, so if you could take just a moment to send an ask or leave a message sharing your thoughts, it would mean everything. your interactions—whether it’s sending an ask, your feedback, a comment, or just saying hi—give me so much motivation to keep writing. i’m always so happy to respond to messages, asks and comments so don’t be shy! thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3