#subtle dom/sub vibes

[pickel182]

Aftermath of Goblin camp tag: Tav vs Astarion

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By Pickel182

18+ Oral sex/fellatio, light dom/sub vibes, bodily fluids

Summary: Astarion and Tav played a game of tag in the temple at the goblin camp. Can you guess the winner’s prize?

She found a heavy-looking door at the bottom of a staircase in front of her, and since the hall seemed to be empty, she sprinted down and peeked inside, seeing nothing but an empty room littered with wine bottles, a candelabra on the far wall, and a massive stone bench sitting diagonally across the room. If she had been quick enough, maybe he’d lose her scent and give her time to gain more ground. She smiled to herself as she turned and barred the door.

She gasped as she was suddenly pinned against it, Astarion’s body pressed against her from knee to shoulder, arms on either side of her. An unmistakably hard bulge strained against her backside as he pressed open mouthed kisses and soft bites on the crook of her neck. She pressed back against his hardness, hoping that he would take her against the door then and there. He rutted against her briefly before releasing her so suddenly she almost fell backward.

By the time she had righted herself and turned, he already sat facing her as he straddled the oversized bench. His eyes were lidded with lust as he leaned forward with one forearm resting across his knee. He beckoned to her with two fingers on the other hand, gesturing to the spot in front of him on the floor. “On your knees, darling.”

She approached as instructed, her heart wildly thumping in her chest, and knelt before him, letting her hands fall into her lap as she watched him remove his gloves and place them beside him.

“Following you around this blasted place has been more entertaining than I anticipated, but keeping my eye on the prize has left me wanting.” He leaned forward to run his knuckles along her jaw, and brushed his thumb over her lower lip as he continued. “I’ll be in quite a spot of mortal peril if you let me keep distracting myself dreaming instead of doing. We can’t have that, can we? It would be very… dangerous,” he said as he pressed his thumb into her mouth gently.

She swirled her tongue over the pad of his thumb and he moaned softly despite himself. He could smell her arousal so much more potently in this small space, and it was making him lose focus. He swallowed thickly before speaking again. “You’re so very good at helping. And since this state I’m in might threaten our mission…” Astarion trailed off as he took her hand slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull back as he guided it to rest on his twitching erection. “….you’ll help me, won’t you?”

She replied by removing her gloves and immediately starting the work of unlacing his trousers, and between the two of them, his cock sprung free moments later. She licked her lips at the sight of his thick porcelain length, blue veined, flushed at the tip and throbbing beneath her gaze. He lifted the hem of the mail portion of his armor to hold it out of her way. Admiring the musculature there along with his erection made her squeeze her thighs together to relieve her own sudden need for friction. But she didn’t want to wait any longer to taste him. As aroused as she was- knowing it was her that made him this way- made Tav feel powerful in a way she hadn’t experienced before.

Astarion gripped the chainmail in his hand, making a valiant effort to breathe evenly as she leaned forward to swirl her tongue over his tip. The heat against his cool skin stole his breath, and her dark eyes, so shameless and full of lust, had him twitching against her lips.

She gripped his thigh with one hand as the other gently stroked from the base of his length to where she worked downward with her lips, spreading her slick, warm salvia as he rolled his hips into her touch. The flat side of her tongue slid over him as she bobbed forward to take more of him into her mouth, and he fell backwards onto his elbows as the wet sounds of her sucking and stroking him filled the room.

He groaned as she used both hands to stroke him while she twirled her tongue around the sensitive head of his cock. His head fell back as she slid more of him into her mouth suddenly, the one hand still at work becoming less and less necessary. He cursed as the other hand cupped his balls so gently, rolling and massaging them as she fucked him with her mouth.

He looked down to see her eyes watering as she took him into the back of her throat, and his head snapped back again as she began to swallow against his length, still sucking him for all he was worth. He writhed on his back as he twisted the chain mall in one hand and cradled the back of her head with the other, desperately seeking something to ground him as his vision blurred around the edges in pleasure. She returned to working him over with one hand while suction and the work of her tongue assaulted the rest of his length, and his thighs convulsed involuntarily as he felt the pressure of release building.

“Gods yes, yes,” he moaned as his cock slammed against the back of her throat. “Tav I’m going to come if you don’t stop,” he moaned as he rolled his hips into her mouth, seeking her eyes to make sure she had heard. She looked up and continued bobbing up and down over him, sucking and licking with even more fervor. He couldn’t hold it off any longer, and groaned as his cock pumped his seed into her throat, panting and moaning as his orgasm blinded him and washed over his body in waves. He lifted his head weakly to watch her gently lick him clean, after groaning again as she made eye contact while she very deliberately swallowed.

His limbs felt heavy and sluggish as he tucked his cock back into his trousers. She took notice at how out of sorts he was, and helped him lace things back up and smoothed his armor back into place. He sat up and pulled her by the collar of her leathers into a kiss, warm, slow, and lingering, before she broke away, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

Tav had noticed the ruined part of the wall across from them where he must have snuck in, and a devious thought took hold.

Her smile was infectious, and his post orgasmic haze had him fighting not to grin back at her like an idiot. “What?!” He asked, as she was clearly pleased with herself about something.

She pointed to the crack in the wall revealing the outer rooms, and when he followed her gaze, she stole a quick kiss on his cheek before whispering, “you’re it,” and disappearing in front of him only to reappear outside in the blue light of a misty step.

“Fuck.” Astarion announced to the empty room as he ran a hand through his hair. He fell back onto the bench as her laughter echoed off the stone, knowing his attempt at a power play had just spectacularly backfired.

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AHHHH thank you for reading! This is a snippet from my fic This is a Gift, You Know on AO3!

[sonarspace]

❝ TOUCH ME, TAKE ME, KISS ME ❞

ft. gojo, geto & shoko. (4some)

꒰ synopsis. where celebrating new year’s with your best friends turns into something much more intimate—one kiss at midnight isn’t nearly enough.

warnings. MDNI. college au. fem! reader, fōursome, mutual pining, unprotected p in v, orāl (f! and m! receiving), fingerıng (f! and m! receiving), clıt stimulation, overstimulation, dirty talk, shared partner dynamics, voyeurism, slight dom/sub vibes, hair pulling, teasing, praise kink, body worship, light biting/marking, cųm play, & multiple orgasmś.

the cabin was exactly what you’d expect from satoru gojo – unnecessarily luxurious, tucked away on the outskirts of a snowy mountain town, and equipped with every amenity that screamed rich kid with too much money to burn.

“seriously, satoru, who the hell needs a jacuzzi in their living room?” shoko teased, setting her duffel down by the entryway. the bubbling water glowed from the built-in lights, steam curling lazily into the warm space.

gojo smirked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. “it’s about the vibes, shoko. the experience. and, i dunno, maybe i just like having options.”

geto, sitting cross-legged on the couch, glanced up from his phone. “yeah? and when’s the last time you used it?”

“hey, i brought you guys here, didn’t i? sounds like ungrateful energy to me,” gojo shot back, though his grin didn’t waver.

you chuckled softly, toeing off your boots near the fireplace, letting the heat seep through your socks. the large windows stretched across the far wall, showcasing the snow falling steadily outside, blanketing the trees under the silver moonlight.

“he’s right, though,” you chimed in, peeling off your jacket. “we could’ve rung in the new year at some regular house party. but instead, we’re here. cozy, secluded... not the worst way to spend our last new year as college students.”

“see? someone gets it,” gojo said, flashing you that familiar, lopsided grin.

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you didn’t mind. the four of you had been close since your freshman year, and as the years piled up, so did the late-night study sessions, spontaneous road trips, and drunken confessions after long nights out. this felt like a full-circle moment. one final hurrah before graduation came sweeping in to change everything.

shoko tossed herself onto the couch beside geto, tugging off her beanie and shaking out her hair. “so, what’s the plan? drinking games until midnight, or are we just free-styling it?”

“why not both?” suguru said, stretching an arm behind her, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder where you leaned against the armrest. the contact was subtle, but you felt it linger.

gojo raised a brow, tilting his head dramatically. “i was thinking strip poker.”

shoko snorted, flicking his forehead. “sure. you’d be naked in five minutes.”

“is that supposed to be a problem?”

your eyes flickered to suguru, catching the small smirk pulling at his lips. his gaze met yours for half a second, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, before dropping back to his phone.

this wasn’t the first time you’d caught the lingering tension between everyone – the casual touches, the way shoko’s gaze would sometimes linger on you a little too long, or the moments gojo’s hands would rest on your lower back at parties, guiding you through crowds when he didn’t really need to.

you weren’t oblivious. but none of you had ever crossed that line.

yet.

“alright, let’s start with drinks,” you suggested, pushing yourself to your feet. “anyone want to help me?”

“i got it,” geto said, standing with an easy grace. “come on.”

as the two of you headed into the kitchen, shoko and gojo’s quiet laughter echoed softly from the living room, the crackling fire filling the otherwise silent cabin.

suguru leaned against the counter, watching as you rummaged through the cabinets.

“so,” he started, his voice low and smooth, “how are you feeling about tonight?”

you glanced over your shoulder. “in general? or is this a ‘we’re about to graduate, what are you doing with your life?’ kind of question?”

his lips quirked. “both, maybe.”

you sighed, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. “i’m trying not to think about it too hard. tonight’s about celebrating, not panicking about the future.”

he nodded thoughtfully, but his eyes lingered.

“you know,” he mused, stepping closer, “satoru’s not wrong. it is kind of a waste to let this cabin go to waste.”

“what are you suggesting?” you teased, pouring the whiskey into a glass.

suguru’s gaze dipped, trailing over you slowly before flicking back to your eyes. “just saying… midnight’s a good time for new experiences.”

heat prickled your skin under his stare, but before you could respond, gojo’s voice rang out from the other room.

“hey, you two! quit flirting and bring the damn drinks!”

you laughed, but suguru didn’t move right away. instead, his fingers brushed lightly against your wrist as he grabbed the bottle from the counter, his touch lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

yeah. tonight was going to be interesting.

the drinks flowed easily, laughter spilling into the warm cabin air as the four of you huddled near the fireplace, sprawled across the plush rugs and oversized pillows. suguru sat beside you, his knee brushing yours with every shift, while gojo leaned against the couch, one long arm lazily slung around shoko’s shoulders.

“alright,” gojo drawled, tipping back his glass. his eyes glittered behind those obnoxious shades he insisted on wearing inside. “time for a game.”

“drinking game?” shoko asked, already halfway through her second glass of whiskey.

“nope.” gojo’s smirk curled wickedly. “truth or dare.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “what are we? sixteen?”

“don’t knock it,” suguru said smoothly, his eyes half-lidded as he sipped his drink. “it could be fun. besides, satoru’s incapable of suggesting anything mature.”

gojo shot him a look. “this coming from the guy who suggested skinny dipping in the hot tub an hour ago.”

“that was different. it was an intellectual suggestion.”

“sure it was.”

shoko waved a hand dismissively. “fine. truth or dare it is. but no stupid shit like licking the floor or whatever. we’re not in a frat house.”

gojo grinned, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “who’s starting?”

your hand shot up, aiming for the path of least resistance. “truth.”

“boring,” gojo muttered, but there was mischief behind the slight pout. “alright, fine. if you had to kiss one of us at midnight, who would it be?”

the room fell quiet for a beat too long. you felt three sets of eyes zero in on you, the weight of their attention thick enough to taste.

“uh—” you faltered, heat crawling up your neck.

“careful,” suguru murmured beside you, voice low and teasing. “we’ll know if you’re lying.”

your gaze flicked to his, catching the flicker of something darker in his expression. your heart thudded a little harder.

“i dunno,” you hedged, taking a slow sip of your drink. “depends on the mood, i guess.”

gojo leaned closer, grinning like he’d already won. “that’s not an answer.”

“then take it as my answer.”

shoko laughed, leaning back against the couch cushions. “she’s playing it safe. smart girl.”

but the tension lingered, subtle but persistent, weaving through the air like smoke.

“my turn,” suguru cut in smoothly, tilting his head toward gojo. “truth or dare?”

“dare, obviously.”

“kiss shoko.”

“easy.”

without hesitation, gojo leaned down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to shoko’s lips. she didn’t pull away – if anything, her hand slid lazily up his arm, nails grazing lightly against his skin before they parted.

“you guys have done that before,” you pointed out, trying to ignore the heat twisting low in your stomach.

“multiple times,” shoko replied, smirking. “you’re late to the party.”

gojo winked. “jealous?”

“not particularly.”

but the idea lodged itself somewhere deep. maybe it was the alcohol warming your veins, or the way suguru’s hand rested against the small of your back, light but possessive, but the thought lingered.

midnight wasn’t that far off.

the countdown started around 11:50. the drinks were mostly forgotten by then, the four of you curled closer near the fire, the alcohol buzzing quietly in your heads.

“five minutes,” gojo announced, his voice dropping to something smoother, almost suggestive. “better start thinking about that kiss.”

shoko stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “maybe we should just kiss each other. take the guesswork out of it.”

your stomach flipped at her casual tone, but when you glanced at suguru, his gaze was already fixed on you.

“not opposed,” he said softly.

gojo made a low hum of approval, sitting up straighter. “why not?”

“you’re all serious about this?” you asked, voice tipping toward incredulous, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering against your ribs.

“you’re curious,” suguru countered, brushing his knuckles against your thigh.

and you were. the tension had been building for years – subtle glances, fleeting touches, unspoken things hanging just out of reach.

“alright,” you relented, the words tasting like adrenaline on your tongue. “fine.”

the countdown echoed on the tv screen, bright against the dim cabin.

ten.

nine.

suguru shifted closer, his thigh pressed against yours.

eight.

seven.

gojo’s gaze dropped to your lips, his grin softer, teasing.

six.

shoko leaned into your side, her arm brushing yours.

five.

four.

your breath hitched as suguru’s hand curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his.

three.

two.

one.

their lips met yours at the same time – suguru’s mouth warm and steady, while shoko’s was softer, tasting faintly of whiskey.

you lost yourself in it, your hand fisting in suguru’s shirt as gojo’s hand brushed against your lower back, slipping lower, pulling you closer.

and just like that, the line dissolved completely.

the kiss started playful—soft touches, slow exploration—but the heat behind it caught quickly, sparking into something heavier. suguru’s fingers brushed your jaw, coaxing your lips open as his tongue slid against yours, slow and possessive. shoko’s mouth trailed along your neck, leaving wet kisses against your pulse, while gojo’s hand slipped under the hem of your sweater, his palm warm as it splayed across your waist.

you broke the kiss with suguru only to meet shoko’s lips, her tongue teasing against yours as she pressed closer, her hands slipping down to rest on your thighs. the space between the four of you seemed to vanish, replaced by the weight of wandering hands and shared breaths.

gojo groaned softly, nipping at suguru’s bottom lip before tugging him back by the collar, stealing a kiss that left no room for subtlety. suguru didn’t resist, his hand tangling in gojo’s hair, tilting his head to deepen it. the sight had your breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach.

“god, you two,” shoko muttered, smirking against your lips. “it’s like watching a porno.”

“jealous?” gojo quipped, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes glittering with amusement.

“maybe.”

“you get her,” suguru said smoothly, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “we’ll be back.”

before you could question it, gojo grabbed suguru’s wrist and led him out of the living room, disappearing into the hall with low, breathy laughter echoing behind them.

the absence of their presence left you and shoko tangled together on the rug by the fire, the crackling flames casting soft shadows across her face.

“guess it’s just us,” she murmured, her fingers tracing light patterns over your thighs.

“seems like it,” you whispered, barely able to focus with the heat of her body pressed so close.

shoko didn’t waste time once the boys left the room. her lips crashed into yours, all tongue and teeth, as if she’d been holding back for too long. you could feel the heat radiating off her as her hands roamed your body, tugging at the edges of your sweater until it slipped over your head.

her palms were warm against your bare skin, fingertips skimming the soft curve of your breasts, and you gasped into her mouth, arching into her touch.

“fuck,” she whispered, eyes trailing down your body, drinking you in like she couldn’t get enough. “been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

you let her take control, her nails scraping lightly down your back as she kissed a path to your collarbone, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin.

your sweater, jeans, and everything else ended up in a pile near the fireplace, leaving you bare and vulnerable in the soft flicker of firelight. shoko settled between your legs, her hands pressing your thighs apart with a confidence that had you squirming beneath her.

“you’re so wet already,” she murmured, dragging a single finger through your folds. “you like this, huh?”

you could barely nod, the sensation making you dizzy.

her mouth followed, soft lips trailing over the inside of your thighs, her tongue flicking out to catch the slick gathering at your core.

“fuck, shoko,” you gasped, hips bucking when she sucked your clit between her lips, the warmth of her tongue making you shudder.

her grip on your thighs tightened, nails digging into the soft flesh as she kept you pinned, her mouth relentless.

“stay still,” she mumbled, voice muffled against you.

it was impossible. you tugged lightly at her hair, desperate for something to hold onto as she worked you closer to the edge, her tongue curling just right.

you didn’t even notice the sound of footsteps until shoko pulled back slightly, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.

“oh,” she hummed, licking her lips. “you two back already?”

your gaze snapped to the doorway.

gojo and geto stood there, completely bare, their cocks hard and already dripping.

“we were enjoying the view,” gojo said, his voice deeper, laced with something dark as his gaze fixed on you.

geto stepped forward first, his eyes hooded as he stroked himself lazily, clearly not in any rush. “didn’t know you’d start without us.”

“you two looked busy,” shoko teased, swiping her thumb across her bottom lip, catching the glisten of your arousal.

“don’t stop on our account,” gojo added, stepping closer, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock as he knelt beside you.

shoko chuckled, glancing down at you with amusement in her eyes. “what do you think?”

you didn’t know how to answer, too overwhelmed by the weight of their attention—the way geto’s dark gaze lingered on your mouth, the curve of gojo’s smirk as he ran his fingers along your inner thigh.

“she can take it,” geto murmured, brushing his lips along the curve of your jaw. “she’s been good so far.”

shoko shifted lower, her breath hot against your core, but this time, geto was beside her, his lips pressing soft kisses to your clit before shoko’s tongue joined him.

“fuck—” your breath hitched, your back arching off the floor as their mouths worked in tandem, the slick warmth of their tongues too much.

gojo, not wanting to be left out, moved behind you, his lips ghosting along your neck as his fingers slid into your pussy, curling to meet the rhythm of their mouths.

“so fucking pretty,” he whispered into your ear, biting lightly at the lobe. “you like being the center of attention, don’t you?”

you couldn’t answer, too caught up in the overwhelming sensation, your body trembling as the knot in your stomach tightened.

“c’mon,” shoko coaxed, her tongue circling your clit faster. “let go for us.”

you did, a sharp cry leaving your lips as your orgasm tore through you, your hips jerking uncontrollably as shoko and geto didn’t stop, their mouths and fingers milking every last drop of pleasure.

when you finally opened your eyes, dazed and breathless, geto was already shifting, settling between your legs as gojo moved to take his place beside shoko.

“don’t be greedy, shoko,” gojo teased, his lips brushing yours as geto lined himself up with your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing inside.

shoko’s hand slipped beneath your jaw, guiding you to look at her as geto thrust into you, stretching you wide.

“you can give us one more,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to yours as her lips hovered inches from your mouth. “be a good girl for me, yeah?”

geto’s cock stretched you to the hilt, the fullness making you shudder as he bottomed out, his forehead pressed against yours. shoko’s hand traced slow circles along your cheek, grounding you with soft touches even as her other hand slipped lower, two fingers pressing against your clit, slick from how drenched you were.

“you’re taking him so well,” she whispered, her thumb brushing your bottom lip. “but you can take more, can’t you?”

you nodded weakly, body already trembling, but the praise made your stomach flutter.

gojo shifted, moving behind you, his lips trailing lazy kisses along the curve of your shoulder. “gonna open you up even more,” he murmured, his fingers dragging down the length of your stomach, teasing along the edge of your folds where geto’s cock stretched you.

you felt his middle finger slip inside, pressing against the soft spot geto wasn’t reaching. the sensation was dizzying.

“so fucking tight,” gojo hissed, sliding another finger in beside the first, stretching you further. “can feel how deep suguru is inside you.”

shoko’s breath tickled your lips as her fingers drifted lower, joining gojo’s as he stretched you open, the combination of their touches leaving you gasping.

“so sensitive,” shoko cooed, pressing soft kisses along your jawline, her fingers brushing light circles around your clit.

gojo’s third finger slipped inside, the stretch nearly overwhelming, and your nails dug into the rug beneath you as your back arched, your body tightening around them both.

“fuck,” geto grunted, his cock twitching inside you. “she’s squeezing me like crazy.”

“feels good, doesn’t it?” gojo teased, his smirk audible even if you couldn’t see him. “she’s so warm… bet you won’t last long.”

geto’s grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts slowing, each drag of his cock purposeful as he pushed deep, grinding against the spot that made you tremble.

you whimpered, barely able to take it all in, your body stretched beyond its limits but craving more. shoko kissed the corner of your mouth, her lips lingering just long enough to make you chase after her, your tongue brushing against hers in a soft, needy motion.

“i can feel how close you are,” she whispered, her fingers pinching your clit just enough to make you jolt. “you’re trembling.”

gojo’s fingers pressed deeper, curling in a way that sent sparks shooting through you, and you nearly sobbed from the intensity.

“you’re holding back,” gojo whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “let go, sweetheart. we’re not stopping till you’re a mess beneath us.”

geto groaned, his pace faltering, hips snapping faster as he chased his own pleasure, his grip bruising in the best way.

shoko dipped her head lower, trailing soft kisses down your neck, her hand leaving your jaw to tug gently at one of your nipples, rolling it between her fingers as her other hand continued its teasing strokes over your swollen clit.

“give it to us,” she coaxed, her voice laced with a softness that made your chest ache. “you can take it, pretty girl. just one more, i know you can.”

your breath hitched, the knot in your stomach tightening as the pressure mounted.

“fuck—shoko, i’m gonna—”

“i know,” she whispered, her lips pressing to yours in a soft, breathless kiss.

the wave hit you hard, your walls fluttering around geto’s cock as your orgasm crashed over you, your hips jerking up to meet his thrusts as gojo’s fingers kept curling inside, stretching you open further.

“that’s it,” gojo growled, pulling his fingers out just as geto’s pace grew erratic.

“fuck, i’m close,” geto grunted, thrusting hard one last time before he groaned low in his throat, spilling into you with a slow roll of his hips.

shoko kissed you through it, swallowing your soft cries as geto leaned forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder, chest heaving.

but they didn’t stop.

geto groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he gave one last deep thrust, burying himself fully inside you as he spilled, warmth flooding your core.

your body trembled, the overstimulation leaving you breathless, forehead pressed against shoko’s shoulder as she ran soft fingers through your hair, grounding you.

“fuck,” geto whispered, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he pulled out slowly, his cum slipping down your thighs, sticky and warm against your skin.

but even as geto leaned back, his hands still lingering on your hips, gojo wasn’t done.

his cock throbbed against your thigh, heavy and slick with precum, the tip flushed and desperate for attention.

you felt his gaze on you, his hand sliding over your jaw to tilt your face toward him.

“think you can help me out, pretty girl?” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a teasing kiss, but his hips were already shifting closer, his cock pressing insistently against your palm.

you nodded, the quiet desperation in his voice making you throb, still sensitive from geto’s lingering touch. your fingers curled around him, warm and slick as you stroked slowly, feeling the weight of him in your hand.

“fuck, just like that,” he groaned, tipping his head back slightly as his hand covered yours, guiding your pace.

meanwhile, shoko shifted in front of you, her bare thighs brushing against your waist as she straddled you, her hands resting on your shoulders for balance.

“don’t forget about me,” she teased, voice low, but there was heat in her eyes as she grabbed your wrist, guiding your fingers between her legs.

her slick heat coated your fingers immediately as they slipped inside, making her moan softly against your ear, hips rolling to meet your touch.

“you feel that?” she whispered, her forehead pressed to yours, panting softly. “been wanting you to touch me like this all night.”

your palm pressed deeper, thumb brushing over her swollen clit, and she gasped, biting down gently on your bottom lip as her hips bucked forward.

but shoko wasn’t one to let you do all the work.

her other hand drifted between your legs, her fingers brushing over your overstimulated core, dragging through the mess geto left behind.

“so messy,” she murmured, her tone soft and teasing, but there was nothing gentle about the way she slipped two fingers inside you, pressing into the heat that still fluttered around nothing.

you whimpered, arching into her hand as your own pace on gojo faltered, your grip tightening around his cock.

“shit—” gojo hissed, his breath stuttering as your fist squeezed him just right, his hips jerking up into your touch.

“i’ve got her,” shoko murmured to gojo, her lips grazing your ear as she thrust her fingers deeper, her pace slow but deliberate. “she’s so tight, aren’t you, baby?”

you couldn’t form words, only broken moans slipping past your parted lips, drool glistening as it trailed down your chin, your jaw slack beneath the intensity of it all. shoko’s fingers curled deep inside you, pressing against that spot that made your thighs tremble violently, your entire body arching into her touch.

her thumb circled your clit in slow, deliberate motions—not too much, but just enough to have you writhing beneath her, the friction driving you higher with every slow roll of her hips against yours.

“look at you,” geto murmured, dark eyes fixed on the way you twisted between them, shoko’s hand buried up to her knuckles inside you.

without a word, he leaned in, catching the trail of drool with his lips, kissing gently along your jaw before letting his tongue brush over the corner of your mouth, warm and unhurried.

“you’re taking her so well,” he said softly, his breath fanning over your lips before pressing a kiss to the hinge of your jaw, his palm cupping your cheek tenderly.

shoko’s teeth scraped over your neck, biting gently before soothing the mark with her tongue, her fingers never faltering.

“i know you can give me one more,” she coaxed, her voice soft but firm, curling her fingers until you nearly sobbed into her shoulder. “come on, baby, let me feel you.”

your hips rocked into her hand on instinct, chasing the pressure as pleasure coiled tighter inside you, her fingers coaxing you toward the edge.

“she’s close,” gojo groaned, his cock twitching in your palm as his eyes dragged over your body, flushed and trembling beneath shoko’s touch.

his hand slid over yours, guiding your strokes as his breath stuttered, his hips jerking forward to chase your fist.

“let go for us,” shoko whispered, her tongue tracing the curve of your ear, and with one last slow curl of her fingers, the tension inside you snapped.

your body trembled violently, thighs clenching around her hand as your orgasm surged through you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

shoko kept going, fucking you through the aftershocks, her fingers stroking deeper to draw out every last shiver until you were limp against her chest.

“fuck,” gojo hissed through gritted teeth, his grip on your hand tightening as he spilled hot and thick against your fingers, painting your skin with a satisfied groan.

for a moment, the room was quiet, the only sounds the soft crackling of the fire and the heavy weight of your breathing.

you lay there, muscles lax and trembling, shoko’s fingers still lazily circling your clit as she pressed soft kisses against your shoulder, grounding you in the afterglow.

“you were perfect,” she murmured against your lips, smiling softly as she finally slipped her fingers free, slick and glistening with your release.

geto brushed his thumb along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as he kissed you, slow and deliberate, his touch warm and steady.

“happy new year,” shoko whispered, her forehead resting gently against yours, and you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out between heavy breaths.

“happy new year,” you echoed softly, sinking further into the warmth of their bodies against yours.

an. HAPPY NEW YEAR BELOVEDS 😼😽😸! what are some new years goals y’all have? one of mine is to grow my tumblr following n get better at posting more 🤞🏽

[misc-obeyme]

Demon Brothers as Doms Headcanons

Here it is, as requested by anon! I don't know if these are better or worse than the demon bros as subs version... I honestly can't tell lol. But hopefully you guys enjoy them. I will be doing the side characters, too, so stay tuned for that.

GN!MC x the demon brothers

Side Characters as Doms Bros as Subs

NSFW MDNI

Note: We got another paragraph of warnings. Some of them are a little more detailed, but most of them are just mentioned.

Warnings: Sub!MC, bondage, blindfolds, gags, multiple orgasms, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, manhandling, begging, praise, degradation, dirty talk, spanking, collars, dacryphilia, tailfucking (and related tail stuff), drooling, jealousy, cockwarming, mirror sex, exhibitionism, toys, aphrodisiacs, magic stuff, blood kink, biting, size kink, food play, somnophilia, wet dreams, semi-public sex, after care, cuddling, and kissing. HOO BOY. I hope that's all of it, if not lemme know and I'll add stuff.

Lucifer

He has intense dom vibes and he knows it. He will be strict and harsh with you if that’s what you want, but if left to his own choices, Lucifer becomes a pleasure dom. All he really wants is to make you come over and over and over again. He doesn’t care what it takes, he’ll use his cock, his fingers, his tongue, anything and everything as long as it makes you cry out his name in ecstasy. He likes the way it makes his pride swell.

He’s a strong and powerful demon. If he wants you in a certain position, he will put you there himself. He has no problem manhandling you a little, but he’ll be careful about it. He very much enjoys tying you up and he’s a master at shibari. His other favorite thing is blindfolding you. He likes when you aren’t aware of when he’s going to touch you.

Lucifer is absolutely the type of demon that will do subtle things outside of the bedroom to make you crazy. A hand on the back of your neck, a brief squeezing of your arm, a whispered “behave” or even just a look that says everything. They’re all warnings - be careful, MC, or he’ll be dealing with you later in private.

He likes to be called sir, but he’s willing to discuss other options. He’s very bossy, though, and will give you orders constantly. If you’re good and compliant, he’ll reward you to the point where you’ll probably forget your own name. But if you’re a brat, he won’t hesitate to punish you. He likes to make you wait, so he might tie you up in his office and then not touch you while he works on his stacks of paperwork. He wants to see how long it takes you to start begging.

And begging does him in every time. Because the minute you break down and beg for him, his pride takes over. He’ll smirk and likely tease you and say something about how he’s not surprised that it didn’t take long.

But in the end, Lucifer likes to make you moan and cry and come, which means he’ll do whatever it takes to get you to do that. Do you have a praise kink? He will shower you with it while he’s deep inside you. Do you have a degradation kink? He will make a point of finding the words that make you clench around him in pleasure.

Mammon

Surprisingly good at being a dom, but far less restrained than Lucifer is. He’s going to do all kinds of things to get a reaction out of you, but the second you moan his name, he’s moaning right along with you. But not before he takes the time to get your full consent and makes sure you know all your safe words. He wants to go all out, but he wants you to feel safe with him.

Mammon is a bit too impatient to do things like tying you up intricately. He’s going to go for things like handcuffs or gags. He finds he likes the way you moan low in your throat when your mouth is otherwise occupied. Similarly, he loves when you suck on his fingers. He’ll remove them sooner than he expected, though, because he wants to listen to you beg.

He’s cautious at first, giving you easy orders to test the waters. If you’re generally obedient, he’ll push a little harder, go a little further, see just how much you can take. He will absolutely become a brat tamer, though, so if you’re more inclined to mouth off, you can expect swift punishment. He can’t take too much disobedience and he’ll get impatient with you quickly. Punishments can range from spankings to orgasm denial depending on how irritated he is. But they don’t last long because he just really wants to fuck you silly.

He’s constantly buying you things to wear. He obviously has a preference for gold, but whatever he just likes to see you on display in something nice. If you’ll wear a collar, he will absolutely be thrilled to buy you the nicest one he can find. It makes him a little crazy any time he catches a glimpse of it outside the bedroom.

The King of After Care. When things are calm again, he gets very clingy. He’s going to want to cuddle you all night, whispering in your ear about how good you were for him, asking you if you’re doing all right. If you endured punishment or any kind of pain, he’ll make sure you’re recovering from it. He just loves you so much, MC.

Leviathan

Surprises both you and himself by being a really good dom. It’s like he flips a switch and suddenly he’s all confidence, but it’s only possible with you. However, it can also get really intense really fast and he might not realize how far he’s going. Communication is key with Levi. You need it to even get him to start being more dominant to begin with, but then you also need it when he’s a little lost in the sauce.

Because he finds that dominating you makes him lose his whole mind. When you’re whimpering or begging, he just wants more and more. He loves to hear you whine his name. He likes it when you cry, so he will try to make it happen. He’ll use pain or insults or anything else he can find that will work. But if it does happen, he’ll get soft when he sees the tears on your cheeks. Then he’ll start praising you and telling you how perfect you are and how much he loves you.

He likes to use his tail for all kinds of things. He’ll wrap it around your body, pinning your arms to your sides, and put the tip of it in your mouth until you’re drooling around it. He’ll use it to spank you if he thinks you’re in need of punishment. But his favorite thing is just to fuck you with it.

To nobody’s surprise at all, Levi is a jealous dom. If you so much as look at someone else, he will notice and make you pay for it later. His favorite punishment method is orgasm denial. He’s trying to make you forget about anyone but him and he’ll ask you while he’s edging you who you’re thinking of. He wants to hear you cry and tell him that he’s the only one you ever think about.

Levi will definitely start out with degradation and some dirty talk - he’s likely going to tell you how much of a whore you are for him - but by the end of things, he’ll switch to praise. He starts to come out of dom mode and then he actually feels bad. Depending on how you react, he will likely apologize before pampering you to make up for all the nasty things he said. If you laugh at him about it, he’ll just blush. He gets embarrassed about how much he can lose himself. Don’t hold it against him, MC! He’s just obsessed with you.

Satan

By far the most balanced dom of all the brothers. He’s always so careful about keeping his wrath under control, the very last thing he would ever want to do is give in to it during a scene with you. It’s a tricky balance, but he manages to find a good middle ground. He focuses on you the most, but don’t think that means he’ll be lenient with you.

Satan is really good at interpreting how you’re feeling in the moment based on how you react to him. He’s able to tell when he should get more intense and when he should back off. As for himself, he prefers to control you with words. He’ll tie you up if you want him to, but he’s more interested in simply telling you what to do. And he’s clear about what will happen if you disobey.

Although he’s careful about keeping himself level headed when he’s punishing you, just know that he won’t hold back. There really isn’t any kind of punishment he isn’t willing to employ and he’ll find the one that has the most impact on you while still getting his message across.

Definitely prefers praise over degradation. He will be rambling the whole time he’s doing anything with you and it’s all romantic poetry. It starts out really flowery, but eventually kind of devolves into how perfect you are, how good you feel, etc. This is the guy who will spank you and recite sonnets to you at the same time, probably timing his swats with the iambic pentameter.

Satan also really enjoys cockwarming. He’ll have you sit in his lap while he reads, just to see how much you can take. Scolds you gently any time you move too much. Be good and hold still for him, MC. In the end, he’s the one who can’t take it, but he frames it as taking pity on you. You’re both probably aware of the truth, but neither of you will say anything. And anyway, you’re content to let him bend you over and pound into you if it means finally feeling that sweet relief.

Asmodeus

The most versatile of doms, he can be anything you want. You want him strict? Done. You prefer a soft dom? Easy. You just want him to make you come as many times as possible? It would be his pleasure.

If you’re too shy to tell him what you want, that’s okay, too. He’s able to feel out what will make you react the most. And that’s what he goes for. He just wants to experience you losing your mind over him.

He really can do it all, but he’s also going to bring his own flare to the situation. You have sooo much mirror sex. If you’re willing to try exhibitionism, he will really push the limits of that, too.

Asmo will also have a lot of toys, accessories, and clothing items. He’s always suggesting something new and interesting. You just won't believe what he found, MC! He likes to explore with you, to see what you’ll tolerate. This also includes things like aphrodisiacs or magic related things. He’ll always take care of you after you use something like that, but he’s often finding new things to try.

If you don’t really give him any guidelines and let him run the show entirely, he will step up to the challenge. It turns out he really enjoys making you submit to him. He finds he has a fascination with your blood. He loves the way it looks against your skin. He also loves to see it on his own lips, so you can be sure he’ll be drawing it by biting you.

Asmo really loves to tie you up and have his way with you. He enjoys sensory deprivation - blindfold, gag, etc. - he likes to keep you guessing. He wants you to react to his touch the most, loves the way you shiver in anticipation of what he’ll do next.

Mixes pleasure and pain so effectively, you almost can’t tell which one you’re experiencing. He’ll be using his fingers masterfully on your sensitive spots at the same time that he’ll be digging his nails into your back.

This is his area of expertise, so there’s no way he’s going to let you go with only one orgasm. He’s going to make sure you have multiple before he's done with you. He loves overstimulation. If you start crying, he’ll coo at you and wipe your tears, but he won’t stop.

Always doms in demon form. He can’t help it, he’s fully embodying his sin. No matter what he’s doing with you, he wants you to remember that you’re being dominated by the Avatar of Lust.

Beelzebub

The softest of soft doms. He’s not really into degradation, so he’s going to shower you with praise instead. He’s just going to mumble into your skin about how amazing you are and how lucky he is and so on and so forth. But don’t think that makes him a pushover.

Beel is a big strong demon and he will manhandle you. Probably his favorite thing is to just sit you in his lap and move you himself. You’re riding him, but he’s doing all the work.

He’ll tie you up if you want him to, but he’s more likely to use things like blindfolds or gags. Only one at a time, he doesn’t want you completely helpless. He secretly likes it when you struggle against him, so he likes to keep your hands free.

Beel has a bit of a size kink where he likes his partners smaller than him, which works out because he’s just generally much larger than most people. Even if you’re larger for a human, that’s still just a lil cutie to him. This kinda ties into the manhandling thing - he likes to pick you up and move you around himself. And he can do it, too, because of his size and strength. You might as well get used to it at this point.

He doesn't really enjoy inflicting pain. He's far more likely to use positive reinforcement than punishments. But if he has to get serious with you, it's going to be stuff like edging, orgasm denial, or overstimulation. If you're crying it's because of how he's making you feel, not because he's hurting you or insulting you. He finds it's just as effective, too.

If you ask, Beel will do pretty much anything you want. He'll work through the discomfort of hurting you if you enjoy it.

As always, Beel loves food. He'll involve any kind of food play he possibly can because he really can't help himself. It's like the ultimate expression of his sin - to involve food in these intimate moments with you.

Another one who will be incredibly attentive during after care. He wants to make sure you're okay. He will stay beside you as long as you need him. Probably brings you drinks and snacks, too. He's already been praising you all night, but prepare yourself for even more. You are everything to him, MC.

Belphegor

Kinda lazy for a dom, to nobody’s great surprise. He enjoys being one, but he tires out quickly. If he can make you do all the work, he will. Expect him to give you a lot of orders.

He really loves when you beg. He wants to see you on your knees and if you beg enough, he’ll fill your mouth with his cock. You look so good, MC.

He’ll leave you tied up and unattended, too. He’ll just sit there and watch you, see how much you can handle before he does anything.

Belphie is, of course, into somnophilia. If you give him the go ahead, it’s going to be any time he wakes up with you in his arms. If you’re still sleeping soundly, he wants you to stay asleep, he’ll just take care of things himself. But if you do wake up, he'll probably whisper quietly in your ear about how he's just making all your wet dreams come true. In fact, we also know Belphie can go into dreams, so… you can expect your normal dreams to become wet dreams if he shows up.

He likes exhibitionism and semi-public sex. He likes fucking you in places where you’re right next to other people, but you’re still trying to stay hidden. So he’ll use his hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle your noises. But it’s only because he likes the way it feels to gag you that way. He doesn’t actually mind if you’re discovered.

He likes dirty talk and degradation. He will absolutely call you all kinds of filthy names. It’s not all like that, though, he’ll also throw in some praise. Especially when you’re whimpering beneath him and he's losing control because he feels so good. That's when he starts telling you how good you are.

Belphie is kind of an after care guy by default. After he's had his way with you, even if he was really rough (which he probably was), he just wants to snuggle and cuddle and sleep. He'll also kiss you slowly and softly and lazily because he likes the way your lips feel.

side characters as doms | bros as subs | side characters as subs masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[remiratboi]

Filled

Masterlist

Arranged Marriage Trope ~ 2.8K Words

Wolf-Hybrid!HusbandXHuman!GNFatReader

CW: Arranged marriage, distant relationship, mild bdsm, mild dom/sub vibes, dominant personality more than anything else, masturbation, knotting, size kink, breeding. Honestly it’s pretty tame compared to a lot of my stuff.

It was an arranged marriage. Two powerful families, a long time feud, and a wedding to forge the peace. It wasn’t unique, but it was uniquely awful for you.

Your new husband was a large, stoic wolf hybrid. He was gorgeous, you couldn’t deny that. He was well over 6 feet, and his tight black dress shirts did little to hide the muscles he touted. His fur was dark grey, like a misty mountain range. Sometimes you imagined touching it.

You felt dwarfed, which wasn’t something your chubby ass had experienced much. So that was nice.

But that’s where the positives ended. Yes, you looked great on his arm, a slinky black gown to match his silky black slacks and shirt, but you had no connection.

He seemed uninterested or unwilling to get to know you. You figured, if you were going to have to spend your lives together, you could at least develop a friendship. It wasn’t the love filled marriage you’d dreamed of, but it could still be a partnership, nonetheless.

You tried everything you could think of to seduce the absolute brick of a man. You flirted with him during every interaction you could. You brought him little treats you had baked while he worked. You rubbed his shoulders after a long day. Nothing seemed to make him warm to you.

He seemed comfortable having you around, but also seemed to have no interest in interacting with you, unless you initiated it. It was starting to drive you mad.

You’d noticed little things about him that were more subtle. Things you didn’t realize he’d do. He always protected you when he was around. You were… clumsy to say the least, and the amount of times he’d caught your dumb ass as you were about to fall was kind of comical. It got to the point he always had a hand hovering around you. At your lower back, your hip, your thigh. It was almost like he gravitated around you.

Then there was his eyes. He didn’t express much on his face, in his dangerous line of work, he couldn’t. But that didn’t stop his eyes. You’d learned to read him from watching his eyes. You’d be in meetings together, and without fail you could guess his response. The subtle ways his brows furrowed when he was interested, and listening intently. Or the fire that flashed when he got annoyed.

You noticed his eyes when he looked at you as well. You couldn’t tell what it was, but there was a distinct, unique look in his eyes when he looked at you. And a faint blush to his cheeks when you caught him staring.

You’d started thinking maybe something would come of you two after all, but despite your ever boldening efforts, nothing happened.

Finally, after nearly a year of this new life, you were pent up, and frustrated. You shared a bed, which made any sort of self pleasure extremely difficult. Normally you could time things for when he was busy, or showering. But one night, much later than you would have liked to be asleep, your cunt throbbed.

You squirmed lightly in the large king size bed. He lay mere inches from you, soft snores rising from his chest. His face was serene, calm. You didn’t get to see him at peace very often. You’d begun to cherish seeing him like this.

You couldn’t focus long enough to go to sleep. Your thighs were sticky with your arousal. You wanted to be fucked. It had been so long. Prior to the wedding, you’d been told he’d expect you to fulfil certain… duties. But he’d never touched you in that way aside from a chaste kiss at your wedding.

You’d spent years of your life before meeting him, fearing the tyrant man you’d likely marry, and sometimes, dreaming about the handsome man you’d marry. But you were met with him, something you’d never expected or imagined. Uninterested.

You whined softly to yourself. You were desperate. He was asleep… right? You listened to his breathing. It sounded even. His soft snores solidified your decision.

You turned to lay on your back, a hand snaked down to gently rub your aching clit. You almost moaned out loud, your other hand whipping to your mouth to cover it. He was so close. He was so beautiful. You wanted him. It surprised you how confident you were in that asseratation. You spun your fingers in circles on your small bud while gazing at his face.

You imagined his hands on your body. Those huge, strong hands. What things had he done with those hands? The idea of such violence colliding with your soft, pliable body, had you stifling another moan.

You dipped lower and sunk two fingers into your cunt. You couldn’t help a whimper slipping through. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You wanted him to fill you, you wanted him to take you. Why couldn’t he just want you back?!

You groaned in frustration, your fingers desperately pushing in and out of you. You were starting to think you wouldn’t be able to cum while staring at his face, wanting him so badly.

“Please…” you moaned his name before you could stop yourself.

His eyes snapped open. You yelped and scrambled to pull your fingers out of your body, your positioning clear.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” He demanded, his voice dark, an edge you couldn’t place to it. He turned to look at you, his eyes raking down the thin sheet that covered you. Your pj shorts were pulled to your knees, your tank pulled up and over your chest. All that stopped him from seeing you on full display was that barely there sheet. You felt your nipples harden and his eyes flashed down from yours to stare.

“Answer.” He gave no room for argument. His eyes didn’t leave your chest.

“I, uh, I must have been having a bad dream. Sorry I wo-” he didn’t let you finish. He ripped the sheet off of your body and before you could even react, he climbed on top of you, pinning you down underneath him. He held your hands above your head in one thick fist, his knees in between your legs, holding them open. His other hand lightly caressed your round, soft tummy.

“Do not lie to me.” He whispered into your ear, leaning down so his face was next to yours. “You have one more chance to explain why you are almost naked, moaning out my name like a slut.”

Your cheeks burned. You turned your head and squeezed your eyes hoping maybe that would make it all go away.

His warm breath on your face told you it wouldn’t.

“I… I… I was just…” you didn’t know what to say. I was just fingering myself while desperately thinking about you fucking me?! Yeah… no.

He stared at your face. You peeked up at him, surprised by the slight smirk you could see playing in his lips. You had thought he was furious? But maybe…

“I was touching myself.” You spoke softly. Embarrassed still. Even with your soaking cunt spread open for him.

“What were you imagining?” He replied, not missing a beat.

“You.” You practically whispered. He groaned above you.

“Show me what you were doing.” He leaned back and let go of your wrists. He sat back on his calves, kneeled in between your thighs still. You looked up at him, eyes wide with uncertainty. He nodded curtly towards your exposed pussy. He brought his hands up to massage idly at your thick thighs. His thumbs ran along stretch marks and dimples near your hips.

You squirmed, hesitant to perform such a vulnerable action in front of another person. He turned his face from the flesh of your thighs he was handling, up to yours and caught your gaze. “This is your final warning. Do not push me, love.” His tone, deadly. You found your cheeks burning even hotter at the casual term of affection he’d used.

You couldn’t pull your eyes from his, but slowly lowered your hand down to your clit. You rubbed yourself unenthusiastically.

Your husband who had never seemed as wolf-like as he did now, tsked at you. “I don’t think pathetic movements like those were what made you moan my name.” He reminded you again of your embarrassment.

You whimpered and a shudder ran through him. You reached your fingers further, and pressed two shallowly into your cunt. You were surprised by how much more wet you had become. The fear, the uncertainty of his next move, had you on edge like never before.

“Now, tell me, no don’t stop moving.” He interrupted himself when you paused. “That’s right, now tell me, why were you imagining me while fingering yourself? Why were you staring at my face while trying to make yourself cum?” You thought your cheeks couldn’t have gotten more red and hot until he had said that.

“I, please, just let this go, and we can pretend nothing happened.” You begged him, pleading eyes gazing up at his unimpressed ones. “I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” His tone was threatening. He flipped you over in the blink of an eye, and pressed your soft, round body into the bed. You felt his rock hard cock press into your ass from behind through his pyjamas. Your eyes flew open at the realisation of how turned on he was.

“Does that make you less self conscious, love?” He asked, patronisingly, grinding his hips against you. “You might even get a reward if you’re a good slut for me.” You felt yourself get even wetter, if that was possible.

“I was thinking about you fucking me, because I think I might be in love with you, and you never even give me the time of day, and we are just laying in this bed every night, so close and yet so far and I hate it and I don’t know what to do!” You shouted in a chaotic, blubbering stream. You gasped a breath after the words had finished tumbling from your mouth. You hadn’t really meant to say quite that many words…

For a long moment, your wolf hybrid husband was motionless above you. Your face was pressed into the mattress. Tears began to prick the edges of your eyes with each second that dragged on.

“But… I’m a monster?” He asked quietly. “I thought maybe you were just horny and wanted a quick fuck with a warm body.” He flipped you around, your face inches from his. He stared at you with large, round eyes. The stern, controlling man who held you seconds ago was gone, replaced by a shy puppy. “You love me?” He asked. You could see uncertainty flash through his eyes.

“You’re my husband.” You replied, the doubt clear even as you said the words.

The handsome man looking down at you scoffed. “That doesn’t mean anything. You didn’t choose me. You didn’t get to have a say. I didn’t want to take advantage of our situation. I know…” he trailed off. “I know there are unfair expectations for physical relations in arranged marriages, but I swore I’d never be that kind of man, I’d never push you to do anything. I promised myself I’d never let you know how desperately I wanted you.” His eyes widened as he seemed to realise what he said as he said it.

“You’re my mate, I think.” You spoke softly, uncertain of yourself as well. You reached up and pressed your hand against his face. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back into your touch.

When he opened his eyes again, they were solid black. “Those are dangerous words, love.” He smelled your arousal on the hand that cupped his face. You hadn’t registered it was the hand previously fingering your cunt.

“I like danger.” You said despite its cheesiness. It worked. Your mate chuckled.

“You like monsters too?” He asked again. A smirk had replaced his wide eyed surprise. His hard cock pressing against your soft tummy reminded him of your current predicament. You nodded enthusiastically at his question.

“Who would have thought, my precious, little human mate would be a desperate slut for wolves.” You dipped your head at his words but he pulled your chin back up, dragging your eyes to meet his.

“I love you too, I have for a very long time.” He kissed you, long and hard. The first real kiss you’d ever shared. You felt yourself gripping him everywhere, both of your hands touching the others bodies. He squeezed your hips, fingers and claws digging into your flesh.

He nipped down your neck, not breaking the skin, but enough to leave a trail of marks. You felt his hand go to his waistband, and he groaned as he released his cock. You had known it would be big, but big didn’t even begin to describe the behemoth in front of you. You felt your face pale.

The wolf above you licked his lips. “I know you can take it. One of the reasons I like my partners to be a bit thicker, better to manhandle, eh?” He teased you.

You looked between his face and cock, and his apparent disregard of your concern just made you wetter.

“I can smell you, slut.” He looked down at you with smug eyes. “Yeah, you’ll take me alright. Even if it have to make you.” A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes, and you felt the head of his dick at your entrance.

You second guessed yourself. You started trying to protest, but he covered your mouth with one large hand. “Now now, none of that. As you said, you’re my mate. You’ll love it.”

He slowly worked his head into you, and it was already breathtaking. You felt fuller than you’d ever felt, but anxiety at his size rose even further. Before you had a chance to protest, he started pushing deeper.

He wasn’t rough, but he definitely wasn’t gentle. He fucked into you with shallow thrusts, each pushing deeper than the last, until you could feel his knot battering at your entrance. The stretch was overwhelming, but you could feel the shadow of pleasure behind it.

Once he was at his full length, minus the knot, he started fucking you in earnest. He bent your legs up and over his shoulders, and practically folded you in half. It felt amazing to be so easily manoeuvred. Any stress you’d carried about being too big for him, melted away with each desperate caress he gave you. It was like he couldn’t touch enough of you at once.

The pain from his size kept fading, but the pleasure only built. Soon you were loudly crying out with each thrust. He grunted above you. He spoke of filling you with his seed, breeding you.

You could feel your orgasm growing as his thrusts got rougher. His hand snaked up to your neck, and you watched a wicked smile cross his face. He pressed into your neck, squeezing your throat. Your hands raised to his arm, trying to pull him away. It was almost comical, your tiny fingers prying at his thick muscular arm.

You started seeing spots and panic filled you. Your husband stared directly into your eyes as you struggled beneath him.

“Good pet, you can do it, don’t worry.” His comforting words sounded like they were too far away. You felt his knot pushing against your cunt. You tried to scream, but no sound could move past his fist on your neck.

Everything collided at once. Your vision was fading and your orgasm rising in front of you when he slammed his knot deep into your pussy. You screamed, even though no sounds came out. You both came, hard. He released your throat, and peppered you with kisses while you rode out to spasms.

Hot cum poured into your battered cunt as his thrusts turned erratic and staggered. He couldn’t move much due to his knot, but he did what he could. You felt the huge pressure drag up and down the entrance of your pussy. He came for so long, longer than your entire orgasm. You were coming down while he was still filling you up. You gripped each other's bodies, sweat and saliva mixing.

He collapsed to the side, pulling you up and on top of him, his cock still wedged deep inside you. You moaned involuntarily at the movement.

“Hmmm, I hope that was better than your fingers.” He hummed, amused. You grinned down at him.

“Marginally.” You teased. He looked up at you with offence and you winked, leaning down to kiss him again. You didn’t think the excitement of that was going to wear off any time soon.

[jungkoode]

Strings Attached (to my heart) #2

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: February 13th, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 3: 1500 notes on part 2.

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish),, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, sexual content, explicit content, breast play, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting, oral sex, oral receiving, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, face sitting, sexually inexperienced jungkook, post-coital confession, afterglow, blowjobs, swallowing, sexual education, jungkook has supportive friends, explicit sexual content, friends giving sex advice, being walked through sex, spidey stamina, tender sex, first time giving oral, first time receiving oral, learning sex, being taught sex, breast worship, nipple play, handjobs, naked cuddling, confessions, jungkook is a shy baby, soft smut, explicit nsfw, comfort and reassurance during sex, superhero secret identity reveal, bathing/washing, caretaking.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 13.5k

→ A/N: Welcome back to part 2 of our Spidey!JK saga, where things get even steamier and somehow even more emotional?? 😭 Y'all's response to part 1 absolutely blew me away, so I had to deliver on that promise of exploring certain... scenarios... with those spider powers 👀 This part really dives into the tender dynamic between our confident noona and her adorably earnest hoobae as they navigate his first time(s) together. Fair warning: this is probably the softest explicit content I've ever written?? Like, I didn't mean to make it this emotional but here we are, sobbing over Jungkook being the most precious baby while getting railed walked through his first experiences. Special shoutout to Jimin and Taehyung for being the real MVPs with their mortifying but ultimately helpful "sex ed lesson" 😭 . Also can we talk about how Spiderkook thought he was being subtle this whole time?? Sir, you're about as subtle as a brick through a window, but it's okay because you're cute. As always, enormous thanks to my cat who encouraged me to finish this through my 7th cup of cofffee of day 6. Your enabling is appreciated 🫶 Hope you enjoy part 2 of this wholesome filth! 🕸️

→ PREVIOUS

He's trailing behind you again.

You don't even have to turn around to know it's him—his footsteps are too eager, too bouncy, like a puppy who hasn't quite figured out how to walk without tripping over its own paws. Something in your chest tightens at the familiar sound, a mix of fondness and guilt that you try to squash down.

"Noona!"

You sigh, but it's the kind of sigh that's more amused than annoyed, even if you'd never admit it. You should shut this down. You really should. After what happened in the library closet, you shouldn't be encouraging whatever this is.

"Jungkook," you say without looking back, your voice flat. "We've talked about this."

"About what?" he asks, his tone all wide-eyed innocence, like he doesn't already know.

Like he hasn't been following you around campus with those doe eyes and nervous energy ever since that day.

"About you following me around like a lost duckling," you reply dryly, finally glancing over your shoulder.

The moment you do, you regret it.

Because there he is: Jeon Jungkook, Yonsei University's most persistent freshman, clutching yet another plastic convenience store bag like it's a peace offering. His hair is a mess—floppy and windswept from the autumn breeze—and his big doe eyes are practically sparkling with excitement. He looks so young, so earnest, that it makes your stomach twist with guilt.

You're his sunbae. You should be setting boundaries, not letting yourself get caught up in the way he looks at you like you hung the moon.

"I'm not following you!" he protests immediately, though the way he trips over his own feet as he rushes to catch up kind of undermines his argument. "I just… happened to be walking this way! Totally normal! Not weird at all!"

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Right. And the snacks?"

"Oh! These?" He holds up the bag like it's Exhibit A in a court case. "They're for you!"

"Jungkook," you groan, stopping in your tracks so you can turn to face him fully. "You keep giving me snacks, and I'm gonna get fat."

The gasp he lets out is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. This is the problem—he's too endearing for his own good, making it impossible to maintain the professional distance you should.

"Noona!" he exclaims, looking genuinely horrified by the very idea. "Your weight is literally perfect! And even if you gained weight—which you're not just because I bring you snacks sometimes—"

"Every day," you interject pointedly, trying to ignore how your heart flutters at his earnest defense.

You shouldn't find it charming. You're supposed to be the mature one here.

"—you'd still be beautiful and—uh—you—it'd be okay!" he stammers, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to reassure you. His cheeks are already turning pink, and it only gets worse when he realizes what he just said out loud. "I mean—you're already—uh—"

You should stop this. Should remind him that you're his sunbae, that this kind of attention isn't appropriate.

Instead, something reckless and wanting unfurls in your chest as you watch him flounder.

"Well," you interrupt with a smirk, deciding to mess with him despite the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, "if I gain weight, maybe my boobs will grow."

The way his eyes widen is almost comical.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he struggles to find something—anything—to say that won't make this worse for him. You know you shouldn't enjoy his flustered state this much, shouldn't feel this rush of power at how easily you can reduce him to a stammering mess, but...

"Your boobs are already per—uh—ah—" He cuts himself off with a strangled noise, his face going beet red as he realizes what almost slipped out. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to—I mean—"

The library closet flashes through your mind—his desperate sounds, the way he trembled against you, how beautifully he fell apart. You should feel worse about that than you do. Should regret taking advantage of his obvious crush.

Instead, you find yourself saying: "Jungkook."

"Yep?" His voice cracks on the word, and his big doe eyes dart between yours like he's waiting for some kind of divine punishment to rain down on him. He looks ridiculous—and ridiculously cute—and it takes everything in you not to let your fondness show too much.

You roll your eyes and snort softly, warring with yourself. The responsible thing would be to send him away, to maintain appropriate boundaries.

Instead, you hear yourself saying: "Come by my apartment tonight."

His eyes somehow get even wider. "Your… apartment?" he echoes weakly, like he can't quite believe what he just heard.

The pure shock in his expression should be a wake-up call—a reminder that you're his sunbae, that you shouldn't be inviting him into your personal space like this.

"At eight," you add anyway, watching as his brain visibly short-circuits trying to process this information. "Yeah?"

"Y-y-y-yeah," he stammers, choking on his own spit in the process because of course he does. "Your apartment? At night?"

You nod slowly, biting back a smile as his face flushes an even deeper shade of red.

There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is dangerous territory—that after the library incident, you should be putting distance between you, not drawing him closer.

"Okay," he says quickly, nodding along with you like some kind of bobblehead doll. "Yeah! Okay! I can—I can do that." He swallows hard, his voice strangled as he adds, "Eight o'clock. Your apartment."

He looks so flustered—so completely overwhelmed by the mere idea of being invited into your personal space—that something mischievous sparks in your chest, drowning out the guilt.

You shouldn't tease him any more than you already have today—you really shouldn't—but the way he looks at you, all eager desperation and nervous energy, makes you want to see just how far you can push him.

"Bring condoms," you say offhandedly as you turn back around and start walking again, even as your conscience screams at you that this is crossing a line.

The sound Jungkook makes is somewhere between a gasp and a choke—a strangled little noise that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing outright.

You don't have to look back to know exactly what expression he's wearing: wide-eyed panic mixed with sheer disbelief and just a hint of something else... something darker that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet.

You should feel worse about this. Should feel guilty for teasing your hoobae like this, for playing with his obvious feelings. Instead, you find yourself turning back, unable to resist watching him fall apart.

"I—I—what?!" His voice cracks so hard on the word that it echoes slightly down the street.

He's standing there frozen in place, clutching the snack bag like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

His mouth opens and closes uselessly for several seconds before he finally manages to croak out: "Condoms?"

"You don't want to?" You tilt your head innocently, watching as his entire body stiffens at the question.

There's a twisted satisfaction in seeing how easily you can affect him, even as a small voice in your head reminds you that you're supposed to be the responsible one here.

"I want to!"

The words burst out of him so fast they practically trip over each other on their way out of his mouth—and then his eyes widen in horror as he realizes how eager that sounded.

“I mean—I—uh—yeah? Yes? I really—I really want to." He bites his lip nervously before adding in a much quieter voice: "...Please."

The way he looks at you then—like some kind of kicked puppy who just admitted all its secrets—makes heat pool in your stomach. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake, barely out of his military service and looking at you like you're everything he's ever wanted.

But instead of letting him off the hook (because where's the fun in that?), you raise an eyebrow and say simply: "Good."

He nods frantically at that—as if agreeing with you might somehow save him from further embarrassment—but then hesitates when something seems to occur to him.

The guilt starts creeping back in as you watch him fidget, so obviously inexperienced and eager to please.

"Noona?" His voice is soft now—almost shy—as if whatever he's about to ask might actually kill him.

"Yes?" You stop walking again and turn fully toward him, trying to ignore how your heart clenches at his nervous expression.

"Where... where can I... uh..." He trails off awkwardly before finally blurting out: "...Buy them?"

This time, you choke on your spit.

Because fuck—the reminder of just how unversed he is hits you like a punch to the gut.

You're terrible for this, for teasing him when he's so clearly out of his depth. For wanting to see him fall apart again, even knowing you should be protecting him instead of corrupting him.

"Jungkook," you say after a long moment of stunned silence, your voice softer than intended.

"Yes?" He looks at you hopefully, and god, you're going straight to hell for the things you want to do to him when he looks at you like that.

"I was joking."

The look on his face when those words sink in is priceless—a mix of disappointment and relief so intense it almost makes you feel bad for teasing him this much.

Almost.

Because underneath that relief, you can see it—the way his eyes darken slightly, the subtle shift in his posture that tells you he wanted it to be real.

"...Oh," he says softly after another long pause, and something in his tone makes your chest flutter.

"But not about coming over tonight!" You call back as you start walking again, before you can do something stupid like take it back. Before you can give in to the urge to tell him you weren't entirely joking after all. "Bring me jajjangmyeon!"

Behind you comes another strangled noise—and then hurried footsteps as Jungkook scrambles after you once again.

"Noona!"

You keep walking, trying to ignore the way your heart races.

Jungkook bangs his head against the wall of Taehyung's apartment, each thud punctuating his words: "I. Hate. My. Self."

"Why?" Taehyung doesn't even look up from his game controller, thumbs moving rapidly as he dodges an attack on screen. "You're gonna get laid."

"Finally," Jimin adds helpfully from his spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch as he mashes buttons. "About time someone popped that cherry—"

"It's NOT like that!" Jungkook's voice cracks embarrassingly, and he seriously considers webbing both their mouths shut. Why does he have friends? Who allowed this? "She just wants to hang out!"

"At night?" Taehyung snorts, still focused on the game. "In her apartment?"

"Alone?" Jimin adds, grinning as his character lands a critical hit. "Just the two of you?"

"She literally said she was joking!" Jungkook protests, sliding down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest like some kind of oversized puppy. "About the... you know."

"The condoms?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"Shut up!"

"Maybe," Jimin says thoughtfully, pausing the game to turn and look at Jungkook properly, "she was joking about joking."

Jungkook freezes. "No way."

"Yes way."

"...You think so?" And god, he hates how hopeful his voice sounds. How pathetically eager.

"Bro," Taehyung says, finally setting down his controller to fix Jungkook with a look. "You already nutted in your pants grinding against her in a library closet."

"DIE." Jungkook buries his face in his hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I hate you. I hate both of you. So much."

"I mean," Jimin continues, completely unbothered by Jungkook's death threats, "she obviously knows you want her. Like, it's not exactly a secret."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers, suspicious.

"Dude." Taehyung gives him a flat look. "You follow her around like a lost puppy."

"I do not—"

"You bring her snacks every day—"

"That's just being nice!"

"You literally stalk her as Spider-Man—"

"I'm PROTECTING her!"

"From what?" Jimin snorts. "Paper cuts? Bad coffee? The dangers of journalism?"

Jungkook makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "I hate this conversation. Can we go back to you two failing at Mario Kart?"

"Nope," Taehyung says cheerfully, turning to face him fully now. "This is way more entertaining. So, what are you gonna wear?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks. "What do you mean, what am I gonna wear? Clothes?"

Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look that makes Jungkook's stomach drop.

"Oh no," Jimin says slowly. "No, no, no. You are not showing up to your potential deflowering wearing your usual disaster outfit."

"My WHAT—"

"The oversized hoodie and ripped jeans combo," Taehyung clarifies. "It's cute for class, but for this? Absolutely not."

"I'm not getting deflowered!" Jungkook protests, his voice reaching a pitch that probably only dogs can hear. "She just wants jajjangmyeon!"

"Right," Jimin drawls. "Because girls always invite guys over at night for noodles."

"Some do!"

"Name one time—"

"I don't have to name anything! This isn't—she's not—we're not—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "She probably just wants to talk about Spider-Man again."

Another loaded look passes between his friends.

"What?" Jungkook asks suspiciously.

"Nothing," they say in unison, which is never a good sign.

"What?!"

"It's just..." Taehyung starts carefully. "Maybe she wants to... confirm her suspicions?"

Jungkook's blood runs cold. "What suspicions?"

"You know..." Jimin waves his hand vaguely. "About your... nighttime activities?"

"My what—OH." Jungkook's eyes widen in horror. "Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh god. You think she's gonna—"

"Interrogate you?" Taehyung supplies helpfully. "Probably."

"While you're vulnerable?" Jimin adds with a grin. "Most likely."

"Post-orgasm?" Taehyung continues. "When your guard is down?"

"I'm going to throw up," Jungkook announces, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "I'm actually going to be sick."

"Relax," Jimin says, reaching over to pat his knee sympathetically. "Maybe she just wants to fuck you."

"That's not relaxing!" Jungkook squeaks. "That's the opposite of relaxing! That's—that's—"

"Hot?" Taehyung suggests.

"Exciting?" Jimin adds.

"Terrifying," Jungkook corrects weakly. "What if I... what if I'm bad at it?"

Another loaded silence fills the room.

"Well," Taehyung says slowly, "you've already set the bar pretty low with the closet incident—"

"I'm leaving." Jungkook starts to stand up, but Jimin grabs his arm and yanks him back down.

"No, you're not," Jimin says firmly. "You're going to sit here and let us help you not completely fuck this up."

"I don't need help!"

"You came in your pants from some light grinding."

"That was—it wasn't—she said it was cute!"

"And that's great," Taehyung says patiently. "But maybe this time we aim for something a little more... impressive?"

Jungkook groans, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud. "I hate this. I hate all of this. Why couldn't I just be normal?"

"Normal is overrated," Jimin says sagely. "Now, about those clothes..."

"We're not having this conversation."

"We absolutely are," Taehyung declares, standing up. "Come on, let's raid my closet. You're not showing up looking like a freshman who just rolled out of bed."

"But I am a freshman who just rolled out of bed!"

"Not tonight, you're not," Jimin says, grabbing Jungkook's other arm to haul him up. "Tonight, you're going to look like someone who might actually know what to do with a woman."

"But I don't know what to do with a woman!"

"That's what we're here for," Taehyung says cheerfully, already heading toward his bedroom. "Sex Ed with Taehyung and Jimin, now in session!"

"Kill me," Jungkook mutters, but he lets himself be dragged along anyway. "Just... someone please kill me."

"After you get laid," Jimin promises. "Now, let's talk about foreplay..."

The noise Jungkook makes is probably audible from space.

But then he’s sitting cross-legged on Taehyung's bed, face buried in his hands as his friends settle on either side of him.

The game controllers lie abandoned on the floor, forgotten in favor of what Taehyung has dubbed "Operation: Don't Let Jungkook Embarrass Himself (Again)."

"Okay," Jimin says, his tone shifting from teasing to something more serious. "First rule: stop overthinking."

"I'm not—"

"You are," Taehyung cuts in gently. "We can literally see you spiraling. Your whole face does this thing when you're in your head too much."

"What thing?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers suspiciously.

"Like you're trying to solve quantum physics while having an existential crisis," Jimin explains. "It's not cute."

Jungkook groans. "How am I supposed to not overthink? She's—she's her, and I'm just—"

"A superhero?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"That's different! That's not—I mean—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise. "Spider-Man is cool. I'm not cool. I'm just... me."

"And she likes you," Jimin says firmly. "Not Spider-Man. Well, maybe Spider-Man too, but she doesn't know that yet. She likes awkward, rambling, snack-bringing you."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Taehyung says patiently, "girls don't usually let guys they're not into grind against them in library closets."

"Can we please stop bringing that up?"

"No, because it's important," Jimin insists. "She initiated that. She guided your hands. She told you it was okay. That means she's attracted to you."

Jungkook swallows hard, his face heating up at the memory. "But what if... what if she expects me to know what I'm doing now?"

"Then be honest," Taehyung says simply. "Tell her you're nervous. Tell her you want her to show you what she likes."

"Girls love that shit," Jimin adds. "Being all vulnerable and asking for guidance? That's hot."

"Really?" Jungkook looks between them skeptically.

"Really," they say in unison.

"Plus," Taehyung continues, "she already knows you're inexperienced. And she still wants you there. That means something."

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip nervously. "Okay, but... what if... what if I..." He trails off, face burning.

"What if you what?"

"What if I... finish too fast again?" The last words come out as barely a whisper.

"Then you use your mouth," Jimin says matter-of-factly.

Jungkook chokes on air. "My what?"

"Your mouth," Taehyung repeats calmly. "Seriously, learn to eat pussy. It's like, the number one life skill."

"Oh my god." Jungkook falls backward onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Better us than you figuring it out on your own," Jimin points out. "Now sit up. This is important."

"I don't want to."

"Jungkook."

"No."

"Fine," Taehyung sighs. "Then we'll just let you go in blind and probably accidentally bite her cl—"

"OKAY!" Jungkook bolts upright. "Okay, I'm listening. Just... please be less graphic."

"No can do," Jimin says cheerfully. "This is detailed instruction time. Now, the most important thing to remember is—"

What follows is possibly the most mortifying yet educational thirty minutes of Jungkook's life. His friends, for all their teasing, are actually... helpful. They explain things clearly, answer his (extremely embarrassing) questions without judgment, and even draw diagrams that make him want to die but also kind of make sense.

"And remember," Taehyung says finally, "it's okay to laugh if something awkward happens. Sex isn't like porn. It's messy and weird sometimes."

"And communication is key," Jimin adds. "If you're not sure about something, ask. If something feels good, say so. If something doesn't, speak up."

Jungkook nods slowly, processing everything. "Okay. Yeah. I can... I can do that."

"And for fuck's sake," Taehyung says, "breathe. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I might," Jungkook admits weakly. "This is... a lot."

"It is," Jimin agrees, patting his knee. "But you've got this. And hey, maybe nothing will happen tonight. Maybe she really does just want to eat jajjangmyeon and talk."

"Right," Jungkook says, though his voice wavers slightly. "Just... normal hanging out."

"But if something does happen," Taehyung adds with a grin, "at least now you know where the clit is."

"I hate you both so much."

"You love us," Jimin corrects. "Now, about those clothes..."

Jungkook flops back onto the bed with another groan, but this time, it's less panicked and more resigned. Because yeah, okay, maybe his friends are right. Maybe this won't be a complete disaster.

Maybe.

Probably.

Oh god, he's going to throw up.

"Stop spiraling," Taehyung says immediately. "I can see you doing it."

"I'm not spiraling!" Jungkook protests. "I'm just... mentally preparing."

"For what? The worst possible scenario?"

"Yes!"

"Which is?" Jimin prompts.

"I don't know! Everything? What if I trip and break her lamp? What if I say something stupid? What if I accidentally web her ceiling fan? What if—"

"Okay, new rule," Taehyung interrupts. "No spider powers in the bedroom unless explicitly discussed beforehand."

"Oh my god."

"He's right though," Jimin says thoughtfully. "Save the web-shooting for later. That's like, advanced kink territory."

"I'm leaving," Jungkook announces for the hundredth time. "I'm actually leaving this time."

"No, you're not," they say in unison, each grabbing one of his arms to keep him in place.

"We still haven't picked out your outfit," Taehyung reminds him.

"Or talked about protection," Jimin adds.

"Or—"

"Fine!" Jungkook throws his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Just... please stop saying 'web-shooting' in relation to... that."

His friends exchange matching grins that make him immediately regret everything.

"No promises," they say together.

Jungkook screams into a pillow.

The doorbell rings, loud and obnoxious, startling you out of your focus.

You pause mid-sentence, fingers hovering over your laptop's keyboard as you glance toward the door. When did the bell get so loud? It's like it's mocking you for forgetting—or pretending to forget—that you invited him over.

You sigh, pulling off your headphones and letting them rest around your neck as you shuffle toward the door.

Your bunny slippers scuff softly against the floor, and you tug at the hem of your tank top absentmindedly. You're not exactly dressed to impress—grey sweats, a loose tank top, hair probably a mess—but whatever. It's your apartment. Comfort trumps everything else.

(Though a small voice in your head reminds you that maybe you should've put on something less... revealing. Something that doesn't show quite so much skin, doesn't blur the lines between sunbae and…)

You open the door, and there he is.

Jeon Jungkook, standing in the hallway in his own grey sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking like he just stepped out of a cozy loungewear ad. His hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he'd rushed to shower before coming over. He's holding a plastic bag in one hand, and his other is shoved awkwardly into his pocket. For some reason, he's staring off to the side, like he's too nervous to look directly at the door.

But then his gaze shifts—quickly, immediately—and lands on you. And just like that, it's like all the tension in his body melts away. His shoulders drop slightly, and there's this soft little exhale that escapes him as his lips curve into a sheepish smile. The pure relief in his expression makes your stomach twist with guilt.

"Brought jajjangmyon as you requested, noona," he says, holding up the bag like it's some kind of peace offering.

The way he says "noona," all shy and reverent like it's some sacred title only meant for you—it shouldn't make your chest feel warm, but it does. It really shouldn't.

You bite back both a smile and the urge to tell him to go home, to forget about whatever this thing between you is becoming. Instead, you step aside to let him in, watching as he hesitates for half a second before shuffling past you into the apartment, his sneakers squeaking softly against the floor.

You close the door behind him and turn to find him standing awkwardly near the entrance, clutching the bag like it's a lifeline. His eyes dart around your apartment—taking in the cluttered desk with your laptop still open, the half-empty mug of coffee on the table, the blanket draped over the back of your couch—but they always seem to come back to you.

Like he can't help himself, like you're some kind of magnet he can't resist.

And then there's this moment—a brief flicker—where his gaze lowers slightly, catching on your tank top and sweats. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you notice it anyway. The way his jaw tightens just a fraction before he quickly looks away again, like he's afraid of being caught staring.

It reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, all desperate want and nervous energy.

He clears his throat. "Uh... nice place."

You snort softly, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles under his gaze. "It's a mess."

"It's cozy," he says earnestly, and when he looks at you again, there's something warm in his eyes.

Something that makes you want to push him away before you do something stupid like pull him closer.

You shake off the feeling and motion for him to follow you further inside.

"C'mon," you say over your shoulder as you walk toward your desk, needing distance. "I need some help with something."

"With what?" he asks immediately, trailing after you like an obedient puppy.

Always so eager to please, so ready to do anything you ask. It would be easier if he wasn't so genuine about it.

You glance back at him briefly and smirk, falling back on teasing because it's safer than acknowledging whatever happened. "Carrying all this food to my desk."

His lips twitch upward into another sheepish smile as he holds up the bag again. "I can do that."

Of course he can.

You roll your eyes but don't say anything else as you plop back down into your chair and gesture for him to set everything on the table beside your laptop. You need to focus on something—anything—other than how domestic this feels, how naturally he fits into your space.

As he unpacks the containers of jajjangmyon with meticulous care—like each one is some kind of precious artifact—you can't help but watch him out of the corner of your eye. There's something about seeing him here—in your space—that feels... different.

Dangerous.

Like this is some kind of alternate universe where Jeon Jungkook isn't just that awkward freshman who follows you around campus with snacks and stammered compliments but someone who actually belongs here.

It's stupid. You know it is. But still.

"You didn't have to bring all this," you say finally, breaking the silence as he sets down a pair of chopsticks beside one of the containers. Your voice comes out sharper than intended, an edge of defensiveness creeping in.

"You asked for it," he replies simply, glancing up at you with those wide doe eyes of his.

Always so earnest, so sincere. It makes something in your chest ache.

"I was joking."

"I know." He smiles softly—just barely—but there's something about it that makes your guilt surge.

“Then why’d you bring it?”

“Because…” He hesitates for half a second before shrugging lightly. “Because I wanted to.”

There's something so simple—so pure—about his answer that it catches you off guard for a moment. You don't know what to say to that, so instead, you just grab one of the containers and pop it open with a quiet "thanks," trying to ignore how your hands shake slightly.

He sits down across from you without being asked—like this is normal now—and starts unpacking his own food while sneaking occasional glances at you when he thinks you're not looking. Each glance feels like a weight on your conscience, reminding you how badly you're handling this whole situation.

The silence stretches between you as you both eat, broken only by the soft clicking of chopsticks against containers.

Something’s... off.

Jungkook's usually endless chatter is conspicuously absent, replaced by this heavy quiet that makes your skin crawl.

You glance up from your food to find him staring intently at his container, his fingers fidgeting with the chopsticks like he's trying to work up the courage to say something.

There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before, a nervousness that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, and—

Oh.

Oh.

The guilt hits you like a slap on the fucking face.

Because what kind of sunbae are you? Getting off on making your hoobae squirm? Letting him grind against you until he came in his pants? Who even are you? Was it worth the power trip?

God, you’re insane. You are out of your depth. You are disgusting.

And now he's sitting here, all quiet and nervous, probably thinking about it too, probably wondering if you're going to acknowledge it or pretend it never happened and—

Something ugly and defensive rises in your chest, a need to push him away before he gets too close. Before you can fuck this up any more than you already have.

"So," you start, your voice deliberately casual as you type random nonsense just to look busy. Your fingers move across the keyboard without purpose, just needing something to focus on besides the way he keeps sneaking glances at you. "Did you tell your friends about our little encounter?"

Jungkook chokes on his noodles, face immediately flushing red. "I—what?"

"You know," you continue, still not looking at him because you can't handle those doe eyes right now. "The closet thing. Did you brag about it? Tell all your freshman friends how you got felt up by a senior?"

God, you sound cruel even to your own ears. But it's better this way, right? Better to push him away now before this gets even more complicated. Before you let yourself get used to having him in your space, all soft smiles and eager eyes.

"N-no!" he stammers, sounding horrified. "I wouldn't—I mean, I did tell Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, but—"

"Of course you did," you cut him off with a sharp laugh that doesn't sound like you at all. "Bet they were impressed, huh? Their baby Jungkookie getting action in the library?"

His breath hitches audibly, and you hate how the sound makes your chest tight. You're doing this for his own good, you remind yourself. He deserves better than some senior who gets off on making him cry.

"It wasn't like that," he says quietly, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. "I just... I needed advice—"

"Advice?" You finally look at him, raising an eyebrow even as your nails dig into your palms. "What kind of advice? How to last longer than three minutes?"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see him physically flinch. His eyes go wide, glassy with unshed tears, and something in your chest fractures.

You're the worst. The absolute worst.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—I know I was pathetic—"

"Stop," you say immediately, panic rising in your throat because you can see it coming—the way his lips tremble, the way he's looking at you with such raw emotion.

Don't say it. Please don't say it.

But he's already spiraling, words tumbling out between hiccupping breaths: "I know I'm inexperienced and awkward and probably really bad at everything, but I—I really like you, noona, and I—"

"What's next?" You spit out, desperate to stop the confession you don't deserve, nails drawing blood from your palms now. "Gonna cry? Beg? Whimper noona until I take pity on you?" A harsh laugh scrapes your throat. "What would you even do if I told you to get on your knees right now?"

Silence.

You snort, turning back to your laptop, relief flooding through you because finally, finally he's going to realize what a terrible person you are and—

Fabric rustles. The soft thud of denim hitting floorboards. Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.

He kneels between your spread legs, palms on his thighs. The overhead light catches the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"Okay."

Your pulse thunders. "Okay what?"

"However you want me." His voice quivers but doesn't break. "However you need."

The cursor blinks mockingly on screen. You suddenly can't remember your Wi-Fi password. Your thesis topic. Your own name.

"What are you doing?" Your voice comes out strangled.

"You asked," he whispers, voice trembling but determined. "If I would get on my knees for you, noona."

"I was being cruel," you say quickly, but your mouth feels dry. "I was trying to hurt you."

"I know." His hands shake where they rest on his thighs, tears tracking down his cheeks. "But I'd still... I'd still do anything. Even if you're just being mean. Even if you're trying to push me away."

Your breath catches. "Jungkook—"

"I bought them," he blurts out suddenly, face burning red. "The condoms. Even though—even though you said you were joking. I just... just in case. Because I wanted—I wanted to be ready if you..." He hiccups, more tears spilling over. "If you ever actually wanted me."

The guilt chokes you. "Stop it."

"Please don't push me away," he begs, voice cracking as he shifts closer, forehead pressing against your knee. "I know I'm pathetic. I know I'm just some stupid freshman who came in his pants the first time you touched him, but I—I can't stop thinking about you. About how good you made me feel. About how much I want to make you feel good too."

You stare at him, caught off guard by his desperate honesty. "You don't know what you want."

"I do," he insists, looking up at you through wet lashes. "I think about you all the time. When I'm alone, I—" He cuts himself off with a hiccup, shame coloring his cheeks. "I touch myself thinking about your hands. Your voice. How you said I was good for you."

A broken noise escapes you—something between a laugh and a sob. "Jungkook, we can't—"

"I'll be better," he promises frantically, hands hovering near your thighs like he's afraid to touch. "I'll last longer. I'll learn how to... how to please you properly. Just please don't—don't regret what happened. Don't hate me for wanting you so much."

You drop your head into your hands, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. He's still crying, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs as he kneels before you like some kind of devoted supplicant.

"I practiced," he confesses in a broken whisper, and you can hear how much it costs him to admit this. "After... after the closet. Trying to—to last longer. Because I was so embarrassed about... about how fast I..." He hiccups, pressing his burning face against your knee. "Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, they tried to help. Gave me advice. Told me how to... how to be good for you."

"Jesus, Jungkook," you breathe, because what are you supposed to say to that?

"I know it's stupid," he rushes out, words tumbling over each other between hiccups. "I know you probably think I'm just some dumb kid with a crush, but it's more than that. You make me feel... you make me feel like I could be good enough. Like maybe being inexperienced isn't... isn't the worst thing in the world."

Your fingers find their way into his hair without permission, and the broken sound he makes at the contact nearly kills you. He leans into your touch like he's starving for it, tears still flowing freely.

"When you touched me," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "in the closet... it was the first time anyone ever... and you were so gentle. So patient. Even though I was pathetic and came too fast and probably squeezed your breast too hard—"

"Stop calling yourself pathetic," you interrupt, tugging gently at his hair until he looks up at you. His face is a mess of tears and vulnerability, and something in your chest breaks. "God, Jungkook. You weren't pathetic. You were adorable."

He makes this wounded sound, like your words physically hurt him. "But I—I ruined it. Made it weird. Got too desperate and needy and—"

"That's what made it beautiful," you admit softly, thumbs brushing away his tears. "How honest you were. How much you wanted it. Wanted me."

His breath hitches, fresh tears spilling over. "I still do," he whispers. "Want you. So much it hurts sometimes. Even if you're being mean, even if you're trying to push me away... I just want to be close to you."

Your hands tremble slightly as you cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His skin is feverish under your palms, tears still flowing freely as he looks up at you with those devastating doe eyes.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, watching as he blinks in confusion. "For being cruel earlier. I just... I felt so guilty. About taking advantage of you. About wanting you when I shouldn't."

"You weren't," he says immediately, desperately. "Taking advantage. I wanted it so bad, noona. Still want it. Want anything you'll give me." His voice cracks on another hiccup. "Even if—even if it's just this. Just letting me be close to you."

"Jungkook..." Your thumbs brush away fresh tears, but they're quickly replaced by more.

"I know I'm not good enough," words spilling out between quiet sobs. "Know I should probably be with someone my own age. Someone who won't have to teach me everything. But I—I want it to be you. Want you to show me how to... how to make you feel good. How to be what you need."

Your heart clenches at his words, at how earnestly he offers himself up to you.

“Baby," the endearment slips out again, making him shudder. "You don't have to try so hard."

"I want to," he insists, hands finally settling on your thighs, grip trembling but determined. "Want to learn everything. How to touch you. How to... how to use my mouth. How to make you cum. Please, noona."

His voice breaks on the honorific, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I like you so much. So—so much it hurts. Can't focus in class because I keep thinking about you. Can't sleep because I keep remembering how you touched me, how you looked at me like I wasn't just some stupid freshman."

"Jungkook—"

"Please don't tell me to stay away," he chokes out, panic clear in his voice. "I know I should. Know it's wrong because you're my sunbae and I'm just—just me, but I can't. I can't." His fingers dig into your thighs desperately. "I'll do anything. Be anything you want. Just please don't push me away."

Your heart aches at how broken he sounds, at the raw desperation in his voice. "Baby..."

"I dream about you," he confesses in a rush, like he's afraid you'll stop him. "About—about your hands. Your voice. The way you said I was good for you. Nobody's ever—nobody's made me feel like that before. Like I’m good enough. Just Jungkook.”

He's rambling now, words tumbling out between hiccups and sobs. "I know I'm probably terrible at everything. Know I should've lasted longer, should've touched you better, should've—should've been more in control but I couldn't. Can't think straight when you look at me like that. When you call me 'baby' and touch my hair and—"

You can't take it anymore. Can't handle how earnest he is, how desperately he's trying to convince you not to reject him. Your hands slide from his tear-stained cheeks into his hair, and he makes this broken little sound that goes straight to your heart.

"Noona," he whimpers, looking up at you through wet lashes. "Please."

You lean down, your heart thundering in your chest as you press your lips to his.

It's soft at first—tender, careful, like you're afraid he might shatter if you push too hard. His lips are warm and slightly salty from tears, trembling against yours as he makes this tiny, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

When his mouth parts on a shaky exhale, you can't help but deepen the kiss. Your tongue slides against his, and the way he gasps—soft and surprised, like he can't believe this is happening—makes heat pool in your stomach. His hands clench against your thighs, fingers trembling with nervous energy as he tries to match your rhythm.

God, he's so fucking precious. So earnest in the way he responds, letting you guide him with gentle pressure and encouraging hums. When you thread your fingers through his hair, he whimpers into your mouth, tears still tracking down his cheeks even as he kisses you back with clumsy enthusiasm.

You press harder, something possessive and hungry unfurling in your chest at how pliant he is, how desperately he tries to please you. Your other hand cups his jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further, and he just melts for you. His mouth is sweet and eager, and you want to fucking devour him—want to swallow every little hiccupping sob and breathy moan he makes.

You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake—this eager, crying freshman who looks at you like you hung the moon. But the way he trembles under your touch, the way he gives himself over so completely... it makes you want to wreck him. To take him apart piece by piece until he's sobbing for an entirely different reason.

When you finally pull back, he chases your lips with a broken whine that goes straight to your core. His eyes flutter open, glazed and desperate, tears still clinging to his lashes like diamonds.

"Noona," he breathes, and his voice is wrecked—all raw and pleading in a way that makes you want to kiss him stupid again.

You shouldn't.

You really, really shouldn't.

But god help you, you do.

Jungkook's brain is absolutely short-circuiting.

Like, full system failure, blue screen of death, please-restart-your-computer levels of malfunction.

Because this? This can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream or maybe he hit his head on the way over here because there's no way—absolutely no fucking way—that you just kissed him.

But you did. You actually did. Your lips were on his, soft and warm and real, and now he's kneeling here like an idiot, staring up at you with what he's sure is the most pathetic expression ever because holy fuck.

He hadn't expected any of this. Really. After the whole teasing thing earlier (and the mortifying sex ed session with Taehyung and Jimin), he'd convinced himself nothing would happen. That's why he wore his comfy clothes—his safe clothes—even though yeah, okay, maybe he did buy condoms. Just in case. Because he's pathetic and hopeful and maybe a tiny part of him wanted to believe...

But no. He was fine with just bringing jajjangmyon. More than fine. He would've been happy just sitting here, watching you work, existing in the same space as you. That would've been enough.

Then you started pushing him away, and he just... broke. Started crying like some kind of oversized baby because apparently that's who he is now—someone who sobs at the first sign of rejection.

God, he's such a mess. Such an absolute disaster of a human being.

He apologized (between hiccups and tears because of course he did), but then you apologized too, and then—and then—you kissed him. You actually kissed him. With your mouth. On his mouth. While he was crying. Which should be embarrassing (it is embarrassing), but he can't even care because holy shit, you kissed him.

And now you're looking at him with this expression he can't quite read, your hands cradling his face like he's something precious instead of just some awkward freshman who can't keep his emotions in check.

"Stand up," you murmur, thumbs brushing away the remnants of his tears.

He scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process because apparently his body has forgotten how legs work. His knees protest after kneeling for so long, and he sways slightly, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides because he doesn't know what to do with them.

Should he touch you? Is he allowed to touch you? What are the rules here? Is there a manual for this? Why didn't Taehyung and Jimin cover proper post-crying makeout etiquette in their weird sex ed lesson?

"Breathe," you remind him softly, and oh—right. That's a thing he should probably be doing.

He takes a shaky breath, then another, trying to calm his racing heart as you look up at him with those eyes that make him feel like he's simultaneously floating and drowning.

This is real. This is actually happening. Somehow, his pathetic, crying, disaster self has achieved... something. He's not sure what exactly, but something.

And he really, really hopes he doesn't fuck it up.

His tears haven't quite stopped—because of course they haven't, he's a walking emotional disaster—when you look up at him from your chair. His breath catches in his throat, expecting... well, he doesn't know what he's expecting. More kissing maybe? You to stand up? To tell him to stop being such a crybaby?

What he's definitely not expecting is for you to slide out of your chair and onto your knees in front of him.

His brain short-circuits completely when your hands find his hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweats. A gasp escapes him—embarrassingly high-pitched and needy—because holy fuck, are you—is this—what is happening?

You look up at him through your lashes, and his heart actually stops. "Is this okay?" you ask softly, thumbs rubbing circles against his hipbones through the fabric.

He nods so fast he probably gives himself whiplash, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks because he can't seem to get his body under control. Words fail him entirely—his vocabulary reduced to a series of choked sounds as you hook your fingers into the waistband of both his sweats and boxers.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

This is actually happening. This is—

The fabric slides down his thighs, and Jungkook wants to die immediately because his dick is already hard. Like, embarrassingly hard. Because apparently his body is determined to humiliate him at every possible opportunity today.

A strangled whimper escapes him as cool air hits his exposed skin. His hands flutter uselessly at his sides, trembling with the effort not to cover himself as more tears track down his burning cheeks.

He's never felt more exposed in his life—standing here with his pants around his thighs, dick straining eagerly toward you like some kind of desperate compass pointing true north.

God, could he be any more obvious? Any more pathetic?

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice cracking. "I—it just—you just—"

“You’re okay.”

Your words are so gentle, so soothing, that it only makes Jungkook cry harder. Because how can you be this understanding? This tender with someone like him who can't even stop sobbing long enough to form coherent sentences?

But then—oh god—your thumb brushes against the underside of his cock, a slow, deliberate stroke from tip to base that makes his entire body shudder. And when you squeeze softly, testing, exploring? His knees nearly buckle.

He watches, transfixed, as your hand glides up and down his length with careful precision. Slow, so, so slow. The movement is hypnotic, making his breath catch on every upstroke, forcing tiny whimpers past his lips that he tries desperately to muffle behind his hand.

"Eyes on me," you command softly, and his gaze snaps to yours immediately.

His chest heaves with hiccupping sobs, tears still falling freely as he tries to process that this is real—that you're actually touching him, that this isn't just another fevered fantasy. His free hand hovers awkwardly in the air, unsure where it's allowed to land.

You chuckle—a warm, tender sound that makes his heart flip—and murmur, "Don't hold back those pretty sounds, baby. And here..." You guide his hovering hand to your hair. "Hold onto me if you need support."

The permission—both to touch and to be vocal—makes him whimper pathetically. His fingers thread shakily through your hair, careful and reverent, like he still can't quite believe he's allowed this.

"That's it," you encourage softly. "Just like that."

He can barely breathe as you maintain eye contact, your hand working him in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tremble. Every touch feels electric—too much and not enough all at once.

"I'm s-sorry," he chokes out between sobs, fingers tightening reflexively in your hair. "For the—hic—crying, I can't—hic—stop—"

"Shh," you soothe, your free hand stroking his hip. "You're being so good for me."

The praise makes him whimper, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. His cock twitches in your grip, already leaking precum, and he feels his face burn hotter with embarrassment.

"Noona," he whines, voice cracking. "I'm—hic—I'm already so—"

"I know, baby," you murmur, and then your tongue flicks out to taste the bead of precum at his tip.

The noise he makes is absolutely wrecked—somewhere between a sob and a moan. His hips jerk forward instinctively before he catches himself, mortified.

"S-sorry! I didn't mean to—hic—to—"

"It's okay," you assure him, looking up through your lashes. "You can move if you need to."

He shakes his head frantically, still hiccupping. "Don't wanna—hic—hurt you—"

Your response is to take him into your mouth properly, and Jungkook's entire world narrows to the welcoming heat of your tongue sliding against his length. His legs shake so hard he has to grip your hair tighter just to stay upright.

"Oh god," he sobs, watching through tear-blurred vision as you take him deeper. "Oh fuck, noona, I can't—hic—it's too much—"

You hum around him in response, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. He's babbling now, unable to stop the stream of desperate praise and broken pleas falling from his lips between hiccups.

"So good," he whimpers, "you're so—hic—perfect, I can't—please—hic—noona—"

Jungkook’s brain is mush. Absolute, scrambled, incoherent mush.

Because he’s seen porn—obviously he’s seen porn, military barracks aren’t exactly monasteries—but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality of your mouth on him. The heat, the suction, the way your tongue swirls just beneath his tip every time you pull back—it’s obscene.

He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. Or dying. Or both.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, a choked sob tearing from his throat as you take him deeper.

“N-noona—hic—’m sorry, I can’t—hic—can’t hold—”

You pull off with a filthy pop, and he nearly collapses right there.

But then you’re looking up at him, lips glistening, and saying the words that unravel him completely: “It’s okay, Jungkook-ah. Noona wants to taste you.”

His vision whites out for a second. You want to taste him. Want him. His pathetic, trembling, overeager self. 

The thought alone makes his cock twitch desperately, more precum beading at the tip as he fights the urge to just—

"Please," he chokes out between hiccups, his filter completely gone. "Can I—hic—down your throat? Please, noona, I've wanted—hic—for so long—"

Oh god. Oh fuck. Did he really just say that out loud?

Taehyung and Jimin's voices echo in his head—focus on her comfort, ask what she wants, don't be selfish—but his horny brain has completely taken over, reducing him to this desperate, begging mess.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified tears streaming down his face. "That was—hic—so stupid, I shouldn't have—you don't have to—"

Then you swallow him back down, all the way to the hilt, and his brain restarts completely.

"F-fuck—hic—noona—" His voice breaks as his orgasm builds, violent and overwhelming. His grip on your hair tightens, probably painful (god, he's the worst, he's so fucking inconsiderate, he should let go, should—). "I'm c-cumming—hic—'m so sorry, I'm—hic—ah—!"

He tries to pull back, he really does, but you hold him in place, humming around him like this is exactly what you wanted.

His vision blurs with tears as he comes harder than he ever has in his life, a broken groan tearing from his throat that would normally send him into a spiral of embarrassment.

Stupid stupid stupid, his brain chants as he shakes through the aftershocks. So fucking selfish. So desperate. She probably thinks you're disgusting. Probably hates you now. Probably—

But then you're looking up at him through your lashes, swallowing deliberately, and his spiral breaks at the soft, approving sound you make. Like this is good.

Like he's good.

Your laugh—warm and tender—cuts through his panic as you pull off to press a gentle kiss to his sensitive tip.

"That's exactly what I wanted," you murmur, and his heart stops completely.

God help him.

Jungkook wipes at his tears with the back of his wrist, sniffling softly as he tries to gather what's left of his courage. His voice is still shaky, still thick with tears, but there's a determination in it that surprises even him:

"Please let me—hic—eat you out," he manages, his face burning but his gaze steady. "Want to make you feel good too. You've done it twice for me now, it's not—it's not fair."

"Jungkook," you start gently, "I'm fine, you don't owe me—"

"It's not about owing," he interrupts, surprising himself with his boldness. His hands tremble, but his voice stays firm despite the lingering hiccups. "It's not fair that—hic—that you get to taste me and I don't get to taste you."

The words come out needier than he intended, more desperate, and he feels his face heat further. But he doesn't take them back. Can't take them back. Not when he's wanted this for so long—wanted to know what you taste like, what sounds you'd make, if you'd guide him with your hands in his hair like you did in the closet.

"Please, noona," he whispers, eyes wide and earnest despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. "Let me try? I—hic—I'll do whatever you tell me to. I'll be good, I promise."

Your eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on your face, and Jungkook realizes you'd misunderstood—thought he meant it wasn't fair to you, when really... god, how could he explain that getting to taste you would be the biggest privilege of his life?

A soft chuckle escapes you, warm and amused. "Since when are you so bold, young mister?"

His face burns hotter, but he doesn't back down. Can't back down. Not when the thought of tasting you is making his head spin with want.

"Since—hic—since you let me have something I never thought I'd get," he admits, voice wavering but sincere. "And now I just... want more."

The last word comes out embarrassingly needy, but he's beyond caring at this point.

"More?" you echo, that amused smile still playing at your lips.

"Everything," he breathes, the word tumbling out before he can stop it. "Anything you'll give me. Please, noona. I just—I want to know what you taste like. Want to make you feel good like you made me feel good. Want to—hic—learn how to please you properly."

Your expression softens at his earnestness, at how desperately he's trying to convey just how much he wants this—wants you.

"You really want to taste me that badly?" you ask, standing up and pushing back the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

He nods frantically, leaning into your touch like a touch-starved kitten. "More than—hic—anything. Please?"

The way he says 'please'—all breathy and desperate—makes something in your expression shift. Your thumb brushes across his bottom lip, and he parts them instinctively, wanting to show you just how eager he is to learn.

"Such a good boy," you murmur, and his whole body shudders at the praise. "Always so polite when you beg."

Your words go straight to his dick, which—obviously—twitches back to life because apparently it has absolutely no shame when it comes to you. Zero self-control. None. Especially when you say things like "good boy" in that voice that makes his whole body feel like it's on fire.

"Oh, hi again," you chuckle, glancing down at his rapidly hardening length.

Something possesses him then—maybe it's the lingering high from his orgasm, or maybe it's just the way you're looking at him like he's actually worthy of your attention—but his hands move on their own, fingers trembling slightly as they cradle your jaw. He guides your face back up, wanting to see your eyes, needing to see them.

Then he's leaning down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so soft it makes his chest ache.

When he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze, his voice comes out as barely more than a whisper:

"Can I please, then?"

You nod with a smirk, and Jungkook's entire nervous system goes into overdrive.

Okay. Stay calm. Everyone stay fucking calm. His brain is firing signals in every direction like a broken switchboard—hey blood cells, maybe focus on making his tongue work instead of rushing to his dick again? Thanks.

You help him pull his sweats and briefs back up (and he tries very hard not to combust at how domestic that feels), then grab his wrist. His heart leaps into his throat as you lead him through your apartment, past the living room and—oh.

Oh.

That's... that's definitely your bedroom.

His eyes dart everywhere at once, trying to memorize every detail like he's studying for the most important test of his life.

There's a small plant on your windowsill (note to self: you like greenery), some photos on the wall (maybe he could get you a nice frame?), books scattered on your nightstand (he should ask what genres you—)

His mental catalog screeches to a halt as you sit on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your palms and looking up at him with that expression that makes his knees weak. Your eyes flick meaningfully to your sweats, and then:

"Take them off for me, Jungkook-ah?"

He actually chokes on his own spit, because what the fuck. How do you do that? How do you make simple requests sound like commands that make him want to drop to his knees and pledge eternal devotion?

Jungkook crouches down in front of you, his fingers trembling as they find the waistband of your sweats.

Oh god. Oh god. Is this happening? This is happening. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Or pass out. Or maybe combust entirely. His dick is already twitching against his thigh, and he’s genuinely terrified he might actually cum just from looking at you.

He swallows hard, trying to steady himself as he pushes the fabric down, watching with wide, reverent eyes as your sweats slide over your hips and down your legs. It feels surreal—like he’s in some kind of dream sequence or shooting a luxury lingerie ad. The way the fabric clings to your skin, catching briefly on your foot before sliding free under his careful fingers—it’s too much.

Too elegant. Too perfect.

And then they’re off, and he’s back on his knees, staring at you like you’re a goddess descended from the heavens. His gaze trails up your legs, over the soft curve of your thighs, until it lands on the black panties that cling to you in a way that makes his mouth salivate.

Oh god oh god oh god. He’s going to die. He’s going to die right here on your bedroom floor because there’s no way his body can handle this level of perfection.

But then—your fingertip touches his chin, tilting his face upward until he meets your gaze. His breath catches as you make a small beckoning motion with your finger, and he stumbles forward without hesitation, letting you guide him.

"You should start with kisses," you murmur softly, your voice low and inviting. "Come here."

His breath hitches audibly as you part your lips slightly, leaning back just enough to wait for him. He scrambles up a little higher, hands planting themselves awkwardly beside your thighs for balance as he leans in.

His lips meet yours again—soft at first, hesitant—but then you hum against his mouth, and it’s like something inside him snaps. His hands grip the bedspread tightly as he kisses you deeper, pouring every ounce of devotion and desperation into the press of his lips against yours.

Because this? This is everything. You’re everything. And he wants—no, needs—to show you just how much he means that.

Your lips move against his, slow and deliberate, guiding him like you’re teaching him a language he’s desperate to learn. Jungkook tries to follow your lead, tries to match the way your mouth parts just slightly, the way your tongue brushes against his bottom lip before retreating. He’s clumsy—he knows he is—but you don’t seem to mind. Every time he falters, you hum softly, tilting your head to show him how to angle his better, how to deepen the kiss without rushing.

It’s intoxicating. The way you taste, the way you feel—like you’re pouring all your patience and care into this one moment. He can barely keep up, his breaths coming in short, shaky bursts as his hands grip the bedspread tighter, knuckles white with the effort of not touching you anywhere else.

“Slower,” you murmur against his lips, and he nods frantically, trying to remember how to breathe as he adjusts his pace. Your tongue slides against his again—not too much, just enough—and it sends a shiver down his spine so intense he nearly collapses onto you.

He pulls back slightly, gasping for air as his chest heaves. His gaze flickers up to meet yours for a split second before snapping downward—and that’s when he sees it.

Your tank top has shifted slightly in all the movement, and now your nipples are peaked against the fabric, straining in a way that makes his brain completely shut down.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

He’s going to cum in five seconds if he doesn’t look away—if he doesn’t—

“Jungkook,” your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts like a lifeline, and then your hands are cradling his face again, forcing him to look back up at you. Your thumbs brush gently over his cheeks as you smile softly.

“Take it off for me,” you say simply, nodding toward your tank top.

His breath catches audibly as his hands twitch at his sides.

"I—I—” Words fail him entirely because what the fuck is happening? Is this real? Are you actually asking him to—

“Go on,” you encourage gently, your voice steady and patient in a way that makes him melt. “You can do it.”

He swallows hard and nods shakily, his trembling hands moving toward the hem of your tank top like it’s some sacred artifact.

He almost fumbles the hem of your tank top. He swallows hard, his throat dry as he grips the fabric and starts to lift it, moving slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping the most precious gift in existence. The soft material slides up over your stomach, then your ribs, and then—oh god—your breasts.

He freezes for a moment, tank top bunched awkwardly in his hands as his gaze locks onto you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

They’re perfect.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

Round and soft and exactly how he remembers them from the closet incident—how they felt in his hands, how they fit so perfectly against his palms like they were made for him. He’s revisited that moment in his head a hundred times since it happened, but seeing them now? Bare and right in front of him? It’s so much better than anything his imagination could’ve conjured.

His mouth goes dry as his eyes trace every curve, every detail. The way your nipples are peaked just slightly, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath—it’s mesmerizing. He feels like he should say something, do something, but all he can do is stare like a fucking idiot.

“Jungkook,” you chuckle softly, breaking the silence after what feels like an eternity. “Go on.”

Your voice snaps him out of his trance, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s still holding your tank top halfway up your body like some kind of moron. His face flushes bright red as he scrambles to pull it the rest of the way off, nearly tangling it in your hair before finally tossing it aside.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out immediately, his voice cracking as he looks back at you with wide, panicked eyes. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt gently, reaching out to cup his cheek again. “It’s okay.”

He nods frantically, still blushing furiously as his gaze flickers downward again—just for a second—before snapping back up to meet yours.

“You’re just—you’re so—” He cuts himself off with a strangled noise because there aren’t words for what you are.

Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You tap one of his hands where it's gripping the bedspread, and his gaze follows the movement before understanding clicks.

Oh.

You want his hand.

You're reaching for his hand and—oh fuck—pressing it against your breast.

He swallows thickly as his palm makes contact with soft, warm skin. It's exactly as perfect as he remembers from the closet, maybe even better because now he can actually see what he's touching.

His hand twitches automatically, squeezing slightly, and you hiss.

"Sorry!" he yelps immediately, trying to pull back, but you just chuckle and hold his hand in place.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice gentle but firm. "Don't grab. You need to knead." Your fingers guide his, showing him how to massage properly. "And brush your thumb... here." You move his thumb to your nipple, and the soft sigh that escapes your lips makes his cock twitch violently against his thigh.

Fuck, that was hot. That was so fucking hot he might actually die.

"Roll it between your thumb and forefinger," you instruct softly, "and do the same with the other one."

Okay. Okay, he can do this. This is fine. This is totally fine. He's just touching the most perfect breasts in existence while trying not to cum in his pants. Again. No pressure.

His other hand moves up hesitantly to mirror the first, and when you make another pleased sound, his nonexistent tail practically wags. Each soft sigh that falls from your lips feels like a reward, like proof that he's doing something right for once.

He can't help himself—he leans in to kiss you again, unable to resist the way your mouth parts slightly with each breath. His hands work in tandem now, one kneading gently while the other plays with your nipple, and the moan you let out against his lips?

Yeah, that's getting filed away in his brain forever. Right next to his most precious memories, ready to be replayed approximately ten thousand times when he's alone.

Because holy fuck, the sounds you make. The way you feel. The fact that you're letting him touch you like this, teaching him how to please you—it's almost too much. Almost overwhelming in how perfect it is.

But he wants more. Wants to earn more of those sounds, more of those sighs, more of everything you're willing to give him.

"Noona, I'm gonna cum," Jungkook stammers against your lips when you finally let him breathe.

He doesn't even know why he says it—except that it's absolutely true. His cock is twitching violently against his thigh, ready to explode at any second because apparently that's just what his body does around you now.

You chuckle warmly, and he almost starts crying again because god, he's so fucking embarrassing. But then your hand is in his hair, stroking gently, and your voice is so soft when you ask:

"Is this your first time? With breasts?"

He looks away, cheeks burning as he nods shyly. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes, too afraid of what he might see there.

"That's normal then," you assure him, fingers still carding through his hair. "Everything feels more intense the first time."

He glances back at you, heart stuttering at the gentle understanding in your expression. There's no judgment there, no mockery—just warmth and something that makes his chest ache.

"You can cum while sucking and playing with my tits if you want," you murmur, and the eager moan that escapes him should be mortifying but somehow isn't. Not when you're looking at him like that, like his enthusiasm is endearing rather than pathetic.

You lean back onto the bed, and his mouth goes dry as he watches you position yourself. He follows eagerly, hovering over you before leaning down to take one nipple between his lips. The moment his mouth makes contact, your back arches slightly and your fingers find his hair again.

Oh fuck.

The sound you make—this soft, breathy thing—nearly sends him over the edge right there.

His hand finds your other breast, kneading and rolling the nipple between his fingers like you taught him, while his free hand fumbles desperately with his sweats, shoving them down just enough to wrap around his leaking cock.

He's so close already, pre-cum making his fingers slide easily as he strokes himself. Every little gasp and sigh you make sends sparks down his spine, making his hips buck into his own grip as he sucks and licks at your nipple like his life depends on it.

"Can I—" Jungkook chokes out between desperate pants, "Can I cum on your—your tits? Please?"

You nod softly, and he almost sobs with relief as he positions himself, straddling your waist. His hand works frantically over his length as he stares down at your perfect breasts, and then he's cumming with a broken moan, painting white stripes across your skin.

"I'm sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified at the mess he's made. But you just shake your head, reaching for some wipes from your nightstand.

"Stop apologizing," you murmur, but before you can clean yourself, he's already grabbing the wipes from your hand.

"Let me," he insists softly, carefully wiping his traces from your skin with reverent attention.

Once you're clean, he can't help himself—he leans down to press soft kisses against your breasts again. And again. And then he's back to sucking and kissing your nipples because how could he not? The content hum you make only encourages him further.

But then you're tugging gently at his hair, making him look up at you. "You can start kissing your way down," you tell him, and his face flushes crimson even as his cock twitches with renewed interest.

Yes. Fuck yes. Thank you god and jesus and buddha and whoever else is listening.

He starts trailing kisses down your stomach, each press of his lips deliberate and worshipful. When he reaches the edge of your panties, he pauses, moving to kneel between your thighs at the foot of the bed. His hands shake as he hooks his fingers in the waistband, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

Then you spread your legs, and holy fuck. The sight of your pussy—bare and glistening and so fucking perfect—draws a deep groan from his chest. You're so wet, so ready for his tongue, and he's pretty sure he's actually died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Because you are. You absolutely are.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up, and his breath catches when he sees you propped up on your elbows, watching him with a soft, almost amused look. Your fingers slide into his messy hair, carding through it gently, and his heart stutters in his chest. He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he asks,

“Can I…?”

You nod, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yes.”

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He just has to remember what Taehyung and Jimin told him—don’t overthink it, listen to her cues, focus on what she likes—but oh god, he really doesn’t need to think about Taehyung and Jimin right now. What the fuck, brain? Not helpful.

He shakes his head quickly, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts as he refocuses on you—glistening and beautiful and so fucking damp it makes his heart race. He did that. He got you like that. The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through him, and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“Start slow,” you murmur softly, your fingers still threading through his hair. “Use your tongue first. Just… explore.”

He nods eagerly, leaning in closer until he can feel the heat radiating off you. His tongue flicks out tentatively, tracing a slow line up your folds, and the quiet sigh you let out makes him shiver.

“Good,” you hum encouragingly, and he nearly preens at the praise. “Now try circling around my clit—gently.”

He follows your instructions immediately, his tongue moving in slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your hips shift slightly in response sends a thrill through him, and he presses in just a little harder.

“Not too much pressure,” you warn gently, your hand tightening slightly in his hair to guide him. “Keep it soft for now.”

“Okay,” he mumbles against you, adjusting his movements until your soft hum of approval tells him he’s doing it right.

“Now try flicking your tongue,” you instruct softly. “Just there—yes, like that.”

The sound you make when he obeys is enough to make him moan into you, his hands gripping your thighs for support as he loses himself in the taste of you. Each little noise of pleasure that escapes your lips feels like a reward, spurring him on as he tries to remember everything you’re teaching him.

“Good boy,” you murmur again, and fuck—he’s pretty sure he could cum just from hearing those words alone.

Jungkook’s tongue moves with trembling focus, every flick and stroke guided by your soft instructions. The taste of you is overwhelming—sweet and musky and perfect—and he can’t get enough. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps at you, and the way your thighs tighten around his head makes him dizzy with pride.

“Slower,” you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He obeys immediately, easing the pressure as he circles your clit with featherlight strokes. The whimper you let out sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock, which is already leaking against his thigh again. God, he’s so fucking sensitive right now.

“Use your fingers,” you murmur, your voice strained. “Just one… inside me. Slowly.”

His breath hitches as he pulls back slightly, his lips glistening. He’s shaking so badly he can barely coordinate his hands, but he manages to press a single finger against your entrance, sliding it in with painstaking care. The way you clench around him makes his head spin.

“Good,” you gasp, hips lifting off the bed. “Now curl it—there—”

He obeys, crooking his finger upward, and the choked moan you release is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. His cock throbs, but he ignores it, too focused on watching your face—the way your brows knit together, the way your lips part as you pant.

“Add another,” you say, your nails scraping gently against his scalp.

He slides a second finger in, marveling at how you stretch around him, how impossibly hot you feel. Your hips grind down against his hand, and he scrambles to keep up, curling and scissoring his fingers the way Jimin had described during their mortifying “lesson.”

“Fuck—Jungkook—” Your voice cracks, and he looks up to see your back arching off the bed, your free hand fisting the sheets. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t if he tried. Not when you’re falling apart above him, your thighs trembling as he works you closer. Your clit is swollen under his tongue, and he flicks it faster, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“I’m close,” you warn, your voice pitching higher. “Keep going, just like that—”

He moans against you, the vibration making you cry out. Your hips stutter, and then you’re clenching around his fingers so tightly he can barely move them. The sound you make—a raw, unfiltered gasp—echoes in his bones as you shudder through your release.

He keeps licking, keeps fingering you through it until your hand yanks his hair back gently.

“Enough, baby,” you pant, chest heaving. “You’ll overstimulate me.”

He pulls back immediately, fingers slipping free as he stares up at you in awe. Your skin is flushed, your hair fanned out around you like a halo, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Come here,” you murmur, patting the bed beside you.

He scrambles up, still trembling, his sweats clinging to his hips. You reach for him the moment he’s within reach, pulling him into a searing kiss that tastes like you. His hips jerk forward instinctively, his cock grinding against your thigh, and he breaks the kiss with a whine.

“Shh,” you soothe, your hand sliding down to palm him through his sweats. “You did so well. Let noona take care of you now.”

He nods frantically, his breath hitching as you tug his sweats down. Your hand wraps around him, and he nearly sobs at the contact.

“Look at me,” you command softly, and his teary eyes snap to yours. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”

It takes three strokes. Three strokes and the way you’re looking at him—proud, affectionate, hungry—and he’s coming with a broken cry, stripes of white painting your stomach.

He collapses against you, boneless and spent, his face buried in your neck as you stroke his hair.

“Good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So good for me.”

He doesn’t have the energy to respond, but he nuzzles closer, his heart swelling so big it threatens to burst.

Twenty minutes later, after cleaning you both up with trembling hands and bringing you water, he's curled around you in bed, his nose buried in your hair. His cock is already stirring against your thigh because apparently his body has absolutely no chill when it comes to you.

"Noona?" he whispers, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

"Hmm?"

He swallows hard, gathering his courage. "I need to tell you something."

You shift slightly to look at him, and his heart stutters at how soft your expression is. "What is it?"

"I'm..." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm Spider-Man."

There's a pause, and then you... laugh? Not mockingly—just this warm, gentle sound that makes his chest tight.

"I know," you say simply, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead.

His eyes widen comically. "You—what? How long have you—?"

"Jungkook-ah," you interrupt softly, "you pulled me away from a bus from five meters away. And you're literally always wherever I am. And you bring me the exact snacks I mention wanting, even when you weren't there when I said it."

"Oh." He flushes, ducking his head. "Was I that obvious?"

"Extremely." Your fingers card through his hair, and he melts into the touch. "But it's cute that you finally told me."

He peeks up at you through his lashes. "You're not... mad?"

"That you're Spider-Man? No." You smile. "That you stalked me? Maybe a little."

"I wasn't stalking!" he protests immediately. "I was... protecting!"

"Uh-huh." Your tone is teasing, and he pouts until you lean in to kiss him softly. "Sure you were."

When you pull back, his expression has shifted to something more... heated. His cock twitches against your thigh, and you raise an eyebrow.

“So… since you’re not mad…”

“Yes?”

“Can we… go again?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”

“Yeah,” he blurts. “I’ve got—uh—stamina. Like, a lot. Super… stamina. From the… you know.” He gestures vaguely at nothing. “Spider… stuff.”

You snort, clearly fighting a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” He nods frantically, hands flailing as he tries to explain. “I can go for hours! Days! Well, not days, but—I mean, I could eat you out again right now if you let me. Please? You don’t even have to touch me! I’ll just—I’ll jerk off while I do it. I can cum three or four more times, easy. Maybe five? Let’s try five.”

You stare at him.

He wilts slightly. “Or… two? Two’s good. Two’s cool.”

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

He scrambles up immediately, eyes bright and hopeful. You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his pouty bottom lip. “You want to taste me that badly?”

He nods so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “Please.”

“Okay,” you say, flopping back onto the pillows. “But slowly this time. I’m not a superhero.”

He’s already scrambling down the bed, eyes gleaming. “Yes. Yes, okay, slowly. Got it. Thank you. Thank you.”

You snort as his lips find your inner thigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously grateful,” he mumbles against your skin, and the vibration makes you laugh again.

Not done, he thinks, and this time, he’s grinning.

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

TAGLIST:

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stuti2904 @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @ahgasegotarmy116 @chloepiccoliniii

[eternalguk]

Our Quiet Christmas | jjk. (M)

You are my home, my home for all seasons.

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : After a whirlwind year of schedules, chaos, and never-ending to-do lists, Jungkook whisks you and your daughter away to a secluded cabin for a much-needed Christmas getaway. With snowflakes falling outside and the crackling fire keeping the cold at bay, it’s the perfect chance to slow down and soak in the love that makes your little family so special… But Jungkook has more than just cosy movie nights and snowman-building in mind—he’s set on expanding your family, and he’s not exactly subtle about it. Between his playful charm, heartfelt confessions, and stolen kisses by the fire, it’s hard to resist the idea of giving Areum the sibling Jungkook can’t stop dreaming about.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, dad!jungkook x mom!reader, marriage au, comfort au, pwp

↠ Word count : 9.3K

↠ Warnings : making out, explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), riding, missionary, impregnation!kink, dirty talking, begging, dom!jungkook, sub!reader (think that’s all)

↠ A/n : hi there ; merry Christmas Eve 🎄! I hope you’re all having a restful break and enjoying the holiday period 🫶🏻 I present you soft dad!Jungkook being absolutely smitten with his family. Snowy vibes, fireplace cuddles, Jungkook being charmingly relentless about baby number two, and you trying (and failing) to resist his puppy eyes. Feedback is always appreciated & happy reading 🦢!

↠ Song : Snowman by Sia

Winter had arrived. An icy serenade surrounds you yet the warmth of love is all you feel. An old Christmas movie plays in the background and the smell of home-baking permeates the air.

Comfort, peace and solace is all you feel right now.

“This years going to be different, I can feel it in my bones.”

“Guk, baby you say that every year.”

“No no, I’m sure about this one, you see I can feel it-

“In my bones.” You both say in sync, causing Jungkook to chuckle as he brings his hand to your jaw, moving your face towards him so he can kiss you.

His lips join yours in a soft, gentle manner.

Years have passed, but every time you and Jungkook kiss, you swear you feel the same butterflies that you felt when he kissed you for the first time after your third date outside the art gallery.

Magical. That’s how you’d describe kissing Jungkook.

His lips were warm, soft, and when they touched yours, there was no rush. Jungkook deepens the kiss ever so slightly, letting the pressure build with gentle insistence, the rhythm of the kiss calm but full of intention.

The two of you are lying on the couch, legs entangled under your daughter's blanket as you watch the fireplace emit sparks of warmth, bathing the wooden interior with golden hues.

“Eomma, appa!” A voice calls out, full of pride.

Areum.

4 years old and a bundle of joy. Your bundle of joy.

“Look, I fixed it!” Areum’s tiny and soft voice breaks the quiet. She jolts into the room, clutching the wooden reindeer ornament Jungkook had given her to paint earlier this morning. It had been her project all afternoon.

The reindeer was, to put it kindly, a riot of colour - blobs of red, green, and yellow mixing like a child’s dream of Christmas. One of its legs appeared a bit wobbly, but it stood proud, just like Areum did right now, her rosy cheeks flushed with pride.

Jungkook lets out a low whistle, sitting up slightly as the blanket slips down his chest. “Wow, princess, you really did that all by yourself, mhm?”

“Mm-hm!” Areum nodded vigorously, imitating her father. Her dark hair bounces as she hurries to place it on the small mantle above the fireplace.

You smile softly at your princess, watching Jungkook’s eyes glisten with adoration like a knight in shining armour. His role as a father suits him more than you could have ever imagined. The playful glint in his gaze softens into something so reverent every time Areum enters the room.

You know confidently that she is his whole world, as much as she is yours.

“Appa, is it good?” Areum’s wide eyes sought his approval.

“Good? Baby, it’s perfect, just like you,” Jungkook says warmly, reaching for her hand and pulling her into his lap. She lets out a giggle as he peppers her face with kisses, her tiny hands swatting at his cheeks playfully.

“Go easy on her, Guk,” you tease, leaning your head against the armrest of the couch as you tuck your legs under the blanket again.

Jungkook grins at you, Areum still squirming in his arms. “I’ll stop when she says ‘my appa is the best.’”

“My appa is the best!” she squeals, breaking into a fit of laughter and reaching to kiss her fathers cheek.

A Mini Jungkook indeed.

Satisfied, Jungkook sets her down gently, watching as she scurries off to grab another decoration. He leans back on the couch with a contented sigh, the blanket once again draped over the two of you.

“You know,” he begins, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “this is exactly what I needed. Just us. No schedules, no phone calls, no distractions.” His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone as his chocolate brown eyes hold yours, the firelight dancing in its depth.

“I know,” you softly murmur, running your fingers over the back of his hand. “This year has been so… relentless? It’s nice to just breathe and soak in the silence.”

You both sigh, snuggling into one another despite being as close as humanly possible.

“Except when Areum remembers she has parents,” you chuckle, shaking your head in laughter as you see her ornament.

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Speaking of Areum interrupting our silence…” He shifts even closer, his voice dropping to that low tone he uses when he wants to get under your skin. “I’ve been thinking about adding another little someone to, you know, interrupt our quiet moments. What do you think?”

Your eyes flicker to him, your breath hitching at his boldness. You contemplate playing aloof, but your husband’s abruptness stops you. “Are you serious?”

Jungkook nods, the grin on his face unmistakably cheeky now. “I mean, we’ve been talking about it for a while. And look at Areum - she’s so ready to be a big sister. Aren’t you, princess?” he called out to her.

Areum looked up from where she was arranging ornaments on the small tree by the window, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Hmm, Appa?”

“Are you ready to be a big sister, my angel?” Jungkook questions her tenderly.

“What’s that?” Areum queries, curiosity etched into every feature of her face. “How do we get one?”

You stifle a laugh, your cheeks warming. “Don’t confuse her, Guk.”

But Jungkook was undeterred, his hand sliding under your sweater to rest on your hip beneath the blanket. “Just think about it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “Another little one resting here with us next year. Maybe a boy this time… although I wouldn’t mind another girl if she’s as perfect as Areum.”

Your heart clenches at the thought. You could picture it so clearly—a tiny baby, smaller than a bag of sugar from the grocers, cradled in Jungkook’s strong arms, Areum’s careful hands reaching out to stroke a soft cheek and your hand clutching your heart at the scene. The cabin, filled with even more love than it already is.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you say, turning to press a peck to his jaw.

“I’m just optimistic,” Jungkook counters, his dimples showing as he smiles down at you. “And we’d be so good at it, don’t you think?”

Before you could answer, Areum runs back over, throwing herself between the two of you with an exuberant laugh. “I found the star!”

The star.

Jungkook had promised Areum that when she finds his hidden star, he will help her put it on top of the already full tree. The things this man did to get a quiet moment with you…

“Eomma, can we put it on top of the tree now?”

“Of-”

“Of course, princess,” Jungkook interrupts, sweeping her up effortlessly and carrying her to the tree.

You laugh at the father daughter interaction. Maybe you did need another baby to keep you company.

You watch the two from the couch, your chest swelling with gratitude. The year had been chaotic to say the least, but this - this simple, intimate moment right here - was everything you’d ever yearned for.

Jungkook catches your eye as he lifts Areum high enough to place the star on the tree. He gives you a knowing wink, his silent promise clear: there was more love to come.

And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to embrace it.

After the tree was decorated to Areum’s satisfaction - every inch of its branches covered in her creative flair - Jungkook carried her upstairs to put her to bed.

You decided to stay downstairs, tidying up the remnants of her crafting supplies and rearranging a few of the more precariously placed ornaments. The cabin is even quieter now, save for the occasional creak of the wooden beams and the faint sound of Jungkook’s voice drifting from the upper floor.

He’s singing to her.

It’s something Jungkook has done since Areum was a baby, and the sound of his melodic voice humming a lullaby never fails to warm your heart.

You lean against the doorway, pausing to listen. His voice, smooth and honeyed, wraps around the melody like a cosy blanket.

You carry on clearing Areum’s toys away, wanting the place to be nice and tidy before Christmas Eve tomorrow.

When Jungkook finally comes downstairs, steps light and careful, his eyes meet yours. “Out like a light,” he whispers softly as though he’s scared to wake her, running a hand through his messy hair. “I barely made it through the second verse.”

“She always loves when you sing to her,” you pout, crossing the room to take his hand. “Just like me.”

Jungkook pulls you into his arms, your cheek pressing against his welcoming chest. “I think I’ve got some magic left tonight,” he whispers in a low voice, his lips brushing your hairline.

“Oh, do you now?” you taunt, tilting your head to look up at him. “What tricks you gonna show me?”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to capture your lips. But, before he could do so, something catches both of your attention. A faint tapping sound comes from the large bay window at the front of the cabin.

Curious, you turn towards it, only to see that snow has begun falling in earnest. The flakes were large and fluffy, blanketing the world outside in pristine white.

Jungkook steps out of your embrace, walking to the window to get a better view.

“Jagi, it’s a Christmas miracle.”

“I can’t believe it,” you run to the window, happiness like that of a child.

Jungkook stands there for a moment, his broad shoulders outlined by the golden glow of the fireplace, before turning to you with a mischievous grin. “It’s perfect. Let’s go.”

“What? Now?” you exclaim, your brows lifting in surprise. “You’re fucking crazy!”

“Why not?” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s just us, remember? No one’s here to tell us we can’t.” Jungkook pulls a funny face which you can’t help but laugh at.

You hesitate for a second, but the gleam in his eye is irresistible. Laughing, you grab your woolly coat and leather knee-high boots, following him outside into the magical winter night.

The air is crisp and sharp, biting at your cheeks and nose, but the snow truly made everything feel softer, quieter, as if the world had been wrapped in cotton wool and there was no way out. The two of you stand on the small porch, the snow crunching underfoot, watching as the forest rapidly around you transforms into a winter wonderland.

Jungkook turns to you, his eyes sparkling. “Dance with me, jagi.”

You laugh again, shivering as he grabs your hands. “There’s no music, you idiot!”

“Sure there is,” he replies swiftly, stepping closer. “Listen. The wind, the snow, the quiet. That’s all the music we need.”

Jungkook begins to sway with you, his hands warm as they enveloped yours. The two of you move slowly, his body sheltering you from the cold. Snowflakes are caught in his dark hair, his nose reddening from the chill, but he looks as handsome as ever, his smile lighting up the night.

“This is what I meant,” he hushly says, voice low and intimate. “Just us. No rush, no noise. Just you, me, our princess, and moments like this.”

You move forward to rest your head on his chest, letting the quiet envelop you both in a warm hug. Jungkook’s arms tighten around you, his chin coming to rest on your head.

“I think you might be right,” you whisper, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

“Right? About what, love?”

“This year being different. It already feels like it is.”

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes softening. “It’s different because we make it that way,” he reassures you, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “And we will keep making it better. Every year, every moment. Together.”

The snow continues to fall, and for a while, you simply stand there, swaying in the quietude, wrapped in each other’s arms. The world around you disappears, leaving only the two of you and the love that made every moment worth remembering.

Once the cold began to creep through your coats and boots, Jungkook insisted on pulling you back inside, laughing at the way your teeth chattered as you kicked off your snow-covered boots.

You now stand in the living area, shivering like a child in a cold cradle.

“I told you it was too cold,” you huff, trying to warm your hands with your breath.

“And I told you it was worth it,” he nonchalantly replies, tugging off his gloves and taking your icy hands in his. His larger palms envelop yours, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine. “Better, baby?”

You nod, letting him guide you back to the couch.

Jungkook grabs the blanket you were sharing earlier, draping it over the two of you as you snuggle close, your body seeking the warmth radiating from him.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. Jungkook reaches for the mug of hot chocolate he’d abandoned earlier, holding it to your lips for you to sip. The sweetness and warmth spread through your chest, and you sighed in contentment, leaning back into his embrace, inhaling his woody scent.

For a while, neither of you speak, simply basking in the serene silence and your comforting presence. Jungkook rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms circling your waist as you both gazed at the fire.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Of course, babe.”

Jungkook hesitates for a moment, his thumb absently tracing circles on your hip. “I meant what I said earlier, you know? About wanting another baby.”

You turn slightly to look at him, your brow lifting in curiosity. “Really?”

“Yes,” he says confidently, his eyes soft but steady. “Areum’s growing up so fast, and every time I see her smile or hear her laugh, I think… we made that. You and me. She’s this perfect little person, and I can’t help but think how amazing it would be to do it all over again.”

Your heart swells at his words, the sincerity in his voice making it impossible to brush off the idea. You’d talked about it in passing before, but the way he spoke now felt different.

Earnest. Hopeful. Loving.

“You make it sound so easy,” you chuckle, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Jungkook snickers, his breath warm against your neck. “I know it’s not. The sleepless nights, the mess, the chaos… but it’s worth it, isn’t it? Every bit of it. I mean, just look at what we’ve already got.”

Your gaze flicks to the staircase, where you could just imagine Areum fast asleep in her bed, her little chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

“You’re right,” you admit, turning back to him. “She’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”

Jungkook leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “And we can do it again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin. “If you’re ready, of course.”

Your eyes meet his, searching them for any trace of doubt, but there is none. Only love and unwavering belief in the life you’d built together.

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “Maybe,” you say, your tone playful but your heart already leaning towards yes. “We’ll see.”

Jungkook’s grin widens, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. “That’s not a no.”

Jungkook’s persistence was truly admirable.

“It’s not a yes either,” you counter, however, you can’t stop yourself from laughing as Jungkook leans in to kiss you, his hands sliding up your back.

“You’ll come around,” he mutters against your lips, voice low and teasing. “You always do.”

“Don’t get ahead yourself, mister,” you chuckle as you move to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

The fire crackles before you, its warmth matching the heat building between you.

Jungkook’s kisses deepen, his hands tighten their hold on you, and for a moment, the world fades again, leaving only the two of you in your little cocoon of love.

But then a soft cry breaks the moment, drifting down from upstairs.

“Eomma? Appa?”

You both freeze before pulling back with identical smiles, your foreheads pressed together.

“Think she had a dream,” Jungkook utters, his voice laced with affection.

“Your turn,” you whisper, nudging him gently.

Your husband groans in mock protest but stands fairly quickly, tossing the blanket aside. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“I think we’re even,” you tease, watching as he heads towards the stairs.

Jungkook pauses halfway up, turning to look back at you with a smile so warm it rivals the firelight. “We’ll pick up this conversation later.”

You laugh softly, pulling the blanket tighter around you as he disappears upstairs. The fire continues its steady crackle, and you lean back into the couch, your heart full as you listen to Jungkook’s soft voice comforting Areum.

It was in moments like this - simple, unassuming, and utterly filled with love - that you realised you’d already found everything you’d ever wanted. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to grow it a little more.

The cabin is quiet again.

You hear Jungkook’s footsteps, soft, as he makes his way back down the stairs. Areum must have settled quite quickly.

You are still curled up on the couch, the firelight painting your skin with a warm glow as you scroll through TikTok.

Jungkook pauses at the end of the staircase, leaning on the banister for a moment, his eyes fixated on you.

“You’re staring,” you sing, your lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Can’t help it,” he replies, pushing off the banister and crossing the room to sit beside you. “I have the most beautiful wife in the world.”

“You always know what to say,” you taunt, resting your head against his shoulder as he pulls the blanket back over both of you.

His arm comes around you, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm. “What can I say? I’m a man in love.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, scrolling through your FYP as the fire crackles softly, a contrast to the snow that continues to fall outside.

Jungkook’s hand never stops moving, his touch soothing and intimate, as if he needed to keep that connection to you at all times.

“You know,” he interrupts the silence eventually, voice deep, “when I first thought about taking you and Areum out here, I wasn’t sure if I’d done the right thing. It’s so… quiet.”

“Mhm?” You urge him to continue.

“Another part of me felt bad for leaving our family, but…” Jungkook pauses, trying to find the right words.

“It was exactly what we needed,” you finish his sentence for him, softly, nuzzling into his side.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t realise how much I needed it too. Being here with you, with her… it’s like everything else has immediately faded. All that stress, the busyness, it just doesn’t matter anymore.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his expression. “Guk, you have worked so so hard for us. For everything. You deserve this time just as much as we do.”

Jungkook knew in that moment that you were his comforting love. The fort that comes in advance of danger. His protection before the need for that even arises. For you, he was the softest thing in the universe. There was a solace in feeling the goodness of your soul. You always carried a gentle certainty that Jungkook was born to absorb and accept love.

People had always told you, you were lucky to have Jungkook. But Jungkook knew, he was luckier to have you.

He meets your gaze, his dark eyes filled with gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken but understood. “You make it all worth it,” he says in simple words.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. His lips linger on yours, slow and tender, as if he were trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into that single moment.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “I know I keep bringing it up, but… I really can’t stop thinking about another baby,” he whispers, his voice tinged with both hope and hesitation.

You laughed tenderly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Only because I know how good we’d be at it,” he argues, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “And if I’m being honest, I’m kind of selfish. I want more moments like this. More little hands to hold, more giggles filling the house. And more time with you, building this life together.”

Your heart clench’s at his words, the integrity in his tone making it impossible to tease him this time.

“What if I said yes?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible over the fire’s crackle. A newfound shyness came over you.

Jungkook’s breath hitches, his eyes widening slightly as he pulls back to look at you fully. “You mean it?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’ve been thinking about it too. And you’re right… Areum deserves to have a little partner in crime. And I…” You trail off, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. “I think I’d love to see you holding another baby of ours. To see our family grow.”

The smile that spread across Jungkook’s face was brighter than anything you’d seen all night. He let out a breathless laugh, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispers against your hair.

You cackle, your arms wrapping around his neck. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Jungkook pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You’re incredible, you know that? I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply, swatting lightly at his chest. “If anything, I don’t deserve you.”

“We’ll just have to agree that we’re both pretty lucky,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you again.

This time, the kiss is deeper, filled with promises and excitement for the future you’d just agreed to build together. The fire burns low in the hearth, and outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the cabin in a hush that seemed to echo the love you shared.

When you finally pull apart, you settle back into his arms, the blanket cocooning you both.

“So… when should we start?” Jungkook asks, his voice light but laced with mischief.

You laugh, swatting at his chest again. “How about we enjoy the rest of this quiet night first?”

“Fair enough,” he says with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

As the fire’s glow dims and the snow piled high outside, you close your eyes, the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful slumber. And though the night was quiet, your dreams were filled with the sound of tiny feet and laughter, and the warmth of a love that felt boundless.

It was now 1AM.

The two of you were awake again.

The cabin was silent save for the soft crackle of the flames. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket that had been your haven all evening, Jungkook’s arm draped lazily across your shoulders.

His fingers trailed absent patterns along your arm, the touch light but deliberate, sending tiny shivers over your skin. You lean further into him, sighing in contentment as your head rests against his chest.

“I love this,” you say softly, the words barely audible over the quiet.

“This?” he questions, his voice low and warm.

“Us,” you clarify, tilting your head to look up at him. “This moment. It feels… perfect.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk into a small, almost boyish smile as he leans down to kiss your forehead. “It’s because we are perfect,” he teases, his voice teasing but laced with sincerity.

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Confident?”

“Always,” he replies, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger against your cheek, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

The mood shifts subtly but unmistakably.

Jungkook’s hand slides down, his fingers grazing your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck. He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens, his other hand slipping around your waist to pull you inevitably closer.

The blanket falls slightly as you shift to become more comfortable in your husband’s embrace. Your hands find their way to Jungkook’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. He groans softly against your plush lips, his fingers tightening their hold as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss further.

Kissing Jungkook always felt so poetic. In the emotions of his kisses, you could understand a language so passionate, it transcended the works of the greatest poets combined.

When your husband finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing slightly uneven. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he admits, his voice husky and low.

“Thinking about what?” you ask, though the heat in his gaze is leaving very little room for doubt.

Jungkook grins, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “About how much I want you.” He kisses your forehead.

“About how much I love you.” He kisses the tip of your nose.

“And…” He pauses, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “About how nice it would be to give Areum a little sibling.” Jungkook leans forward to capture your lips again, but you swiftly pull him back by his luscious brown tresses.

Your eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by his boldness. “Jungkook!” you laugh, swatting lightly at his chest, your cheeks warming at the suggestion.

“What?” he asks innocently, though his grin only widens. “I’m just reminding you that you said yes.”

“I-“

He cut you off with another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate. More urgent.

And when he pulls back, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “Maybe I can convince you tonight.”

Your heart races at the low, teasing tone of his voice. His hand slips beneath the hem of your sweater, his touch warm against your skin as he traces light patterns along your back.

“You’re crazy,” you whine, though your voice lacked any real protest.

Jungkook chuckles, his breath hot against your neck. “Only because I know how amazing we are together. And because I love the idea of us growing our little family.”

The sincerity in his words melts any resistance you might have had, and you find yourself leaning into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“You wanna start trying already?” you ask softly, your lips brushing against his.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with excitement and love. “Well, we shouldn’t waste any time.”

You laugh, your heart full as you let him guide you closer, his lips capturing yours once again. The fire burns low, its warmth nothing compared to the heat between the two of you.

“Let’s head upstairs,” Jungkook says as he pulls away. “I want to do this properly.”

You eyes soften as you nod. Preparing yourself for the night to stretch on, knowing it will be filled with whispered promises of love and … filth.

The bedroom is dimly lit, the only light coming from the crackling fire in the hearth and the glow of the Christmas lights strung around the bed. The air is warm, thanks to the fireplace, and is scented with the faint aroma of pine and cinnamon.

Jungkook sets you down on the ground gently, his hands lingering on your hips as he steps back to admire you. Your red sweater and matching skirt make you look like a holiday gift, and he couldn’t wait to unwrap you.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice calm yet husky. “Slowly.”

Your cheeks warm, but you obey, your hands moving to the hem of your sweater. You peel it off inch by inch, revealing the lacy black bra underneath.

The universe was on your side.

Jungkook’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he watches you. When you finally toss the sweater aside, his hands are on you again, thumbs brushing over the lace before slipping beneath it to cup your breasts.

“You look beautiful,” he declares, voice low yet you are still able to sense that it is thick with emotion.

A smile tugs at your lips as you glance up at him. Jungkook moves closer, lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a velvety caress that makes your skin prickle with heat.

You laugh softly, leaning into him. “It feels like our first time all over again,” you say, heart racing.

“Does it?” he asks, although you know he isn’t looking for an answer.

The air between you and your husband is thick.

Thick with anticipation.

The low flicker of the fire casts a light shadow across his features as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world. One hand rests on your hip, his grip firm yet gentle, as he thumbs at the band of your lacy underwear. The other is wrapped around your waist, holding you close as though he’s scared you’re about to get away.

You gaze at one another with eyes full of love.

Jungkook is a drug. Your drug. One touch from him and the intoxication is instant. It always has been.

This man could tell you to do anything, absolutely anything, and that is exactly what you would do. His gaze, his scent, his everything sends you into a heady trance.

You guide his digits to your centre, your sticky core waiting for him. Jungkook rubs your soaked lacy underwear, groaning deeply as he takes in your wetness.

“And I thought it was just me who was excited,” he whispers in an indulging tone, voice rich with lust as he draws you closer with his free hand, lips finding yours. “Look at you, angel, you’re fucking drenched.”

You respond by pulling him closer by dark tendrils, capturing his lips against yours. The kiss starts slow, tender, but it doesn’t take long for the heat to intensify.

Jungkook’s hand slides up to cradle your jaw, angling your face as his lips move against yours, each kiss growing deeper, hungrier. Your fingers tangle in his soft strands as you tug gently, earning another low groan from your husband, vibrating against your mouth.

“Jungkook…” you whine between kisses, your body starting to need more.

Before you can say anything else, his hands are on your waist, lifting you effortlessly like you weigh absolutely nothing. Jungkook carries you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours, and when your back hits the mattress, the world tilts slightly.

You lock eyes for just a moment, just enough for you to feel safe with one another. And then? Then Jungkook is all business.

Pulling your underwear off, he begins by kissing from your toes upward, slowly, his hands on your legs, always inching just a little higher than the kisses he plants.

Your back arches in anticipation, knowing where his fingers will soon reach. And as he does, your head rocks against the fluffy pillow, the first moan escaping your lips.

Jungkook hovers above you, one knee pressing into the bed. His dark hair falls forward, brushing against your skin as he leans in, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jawline and then lower, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your neck before pulling back slightly.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he shifts, his free hand bracing beside your head. You feel the tension in his body - the strength in his arms as he hovers above you, the control in every deliberate movement - and it’s intoxicating.

Your hands roam down his back, tracing the lean muscles. The firelight casts golden shadows across his bare chest, highlighting every dip and curve, and for a moment, all you can do is stare.

He smirks, leaning down to kiss you again, his lips brushing yours as he teases, “See something you like?”

You roll your eyes, but your laughter catches in your throat as his mouth claims yours again. The kiss is hotter, slower, more deliberate, pulling you further under his spell. His hands explore every inch of you, mapping your body as though he’s determined to remember every detail, his touch setting your nerves alight.

“You’re irresistible,” Jungkook groans, the sound itself sending you into a deep spiral.

He bends down, his mouth capturing one nipple through the fabric, sucking gently until you arch into him, another moan escaping your lips, louder this time. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavishes attention on your other breast, his tongue darting out to tease the sensitive peak.

Arching into him, you massage his scalp and moan pleasurably as he prods at your nipple with his scandalous tongue. He fondles your other breast, kneading it which has you sighing out in bliss.

“Oh fuck, I love your tongue,” you whine gratifyingly whilst he continues his soft assault on your breast, sucking and tugging at your nipples lewdly. Your fingers inch further into his hair when you feel him jut his tongue out, licking around the soft area.

Jungkook moves to place kisses between the valley of your breasts, making his way further down your sexy body, still fondling your breasts delightly. You arch further into him, half-lidded gaze peering down at him, massaging his scalp whilst he perfectly nips at your smooth skin, ascending you to cloud nine.

Sighing out in sheer ecstasy, you tug Jungkook closer to you. His hand canvases down your body, cupping your soaked sex in his palm.

You let out a scandalised gasp, gut filling with heat.

“Always so fucking wet, princess,” Jungkook groans as he glides his two fingers through your tight cunt. You brace yourself on his broad shoulders, breathing heavily and Jungkook revels in each sultry sound that leaves your pretty mouth.

“J-just for you,” you manage to whimper out as his fingers skim around your battered mound. Jungkook begins to push your legs apart and releases a satisfied hum when he sees how soaked your cunt is for him.

Jungkook pulls back, winking at you before moving forward to kiss down your body. To where you need him most. His lips adorn every inch of your body and your core ignites when you feel him reach closer to your already naked sex.

Jungkook’s eyes locking onto yours as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. The garment falls, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. His hands roam over your body, tracing every curve, every dip, while his lips replaced his fingers, kissing and nibbling along your collarbone, your shoulders, your throat.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. “All mine.”

You shudder from the cold, now completely naked, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he hovers above you. His fingers trail down your stomach, stopping just above where you need him most. He glances up at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief before his fingers dipped lower, sliding through your folds.

“So wet for me,” he groans, voice dripping with possessiveness. He circles your clit once, twice, before delving inside you, his fingers thrusting deep as he continues to stroke your most sensitive spot.

Jungkook’s thumb was gentle yet insistent as he traced lazy circles around your clit, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You lay back against the plush pillows, your breath hitching as he leans over you, his dark eyes smoldering with desire. His lips brushes against your ear, his voice low and husky as he whispers, “Everyone will see you swollen and know I’ve fucked you.”

You moan, unable to form words as his fingers dip inside you, teasingly slow at first.

Jungkook watches your face intently, his thumb pressing against your clit in a rhythm that has you arching off the bed. “You’re so hot,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. “So ready to be bred.”

His fingers move faster now, scissoring inside you while his mouth trailed kisses along your jawline. “Tell me,” he demands, his tone commanding yet laced with tenderness. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hips instinctively meeting his hand. “I want… I want you so bad.”

Jungkook chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Not just me,” he corrected, his voice growing deeper. “You want our baby. Tell me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as the weight of his words settles over you. “I do,” you admit, voice trembling. “I want - oh, God ; I want everything with you.”

Jungkook’s eyes are coloured with a shade of satisfaction, as he adds in another one of his delicious fingers, satiating your ache for more.

You cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure seeps through you. Jungkook’s free hand moves to your plump ass, squeezing roughly as his fingers pick up speed, plunging in and out of you with increasing urgency.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice gruff. "Tell me who’s got you soaked."

“You,” you croon, your voice breaking. “I’m wet for you.”

At your words, he stands, lifting you once again and placing you on the edge of the mattress. His fingers leave your aching core, and you only hope it is replaced by his mouth, the image of his tongue lapping at you with fervor making you shudder.

You cry out his name, your back arching as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Jungkook moves his head in front of your cunt, breathing against it deeply, knowing the sensation of his hot breath would spur you on further.

And it certainly does.

You jerk rapidly as Jungkook places a kiss to your clit and your insides constrict, anticipating his next ministration.

“Can I eat you out?,” Jungkook huskily asks. He knows how tired you must be, so he ensures he’s safe to go ahead. Your chest swells with butterflies, in awe of how caring your husband is.

You move forward and cup his cheek, urging him to look towards you. You smile at him brightly, nodding your head and place a quick peck against his swollen lips.

Jungkook is quick to get back in position, paying attention to your leaking cunt again. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, letting them rest there daintily. You lean back, palms planted on the mattress beneath you as you savour the view before you.

Your sexy husband stands before you with his exposed, tanned and Apollo-sculpted body ready to devour you whole. Jungkook breathes against your folds and you quiver with arousal. His hands massage the inside of your thighs, calming your anticipation.

“My wife’s so pretty,” he whispers before moving to press a gentle kiss on your clit. You shudder at the sensitivity, bucking your hips into his face, yearning for more.

You run your fingers through his dark tresses, tightening your grip on his scalp. “Jungkook, pleasee,” you whine, arching into him more in the hopes that he’ll provide you with some form of relief.

“Patience baby,” Jungkook murmurs before jutting out the tip of his tongue and lightly tracing your nether lips. You squirm, moaning his name shamelessly and uttering soft pleas as you mentally pine for more contact from his skillful tongue. Jungkook feels more turned on as he hears you become more needy despite him not having done very much.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he growls before licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He latches onto your quivering cunt, making out with it and sucking on your labia. Jungkook buries himself further as he gathers your slickness on his tongue. You mewl at the euphoric sensation his tongue supplies and he provides you with no mercy as he eats you up with his masterful tongue.

Bucking your hips closer to his face, you wordlessly beg for more and Jungkook abides almost immediately, lapping at your folds like a starved man. He flattens his tongue against your cunt, generously sucking on the pulsing bud. Jungkook groans at the sweet flavour of your juices that has you reeling for more.

He repeatedly licks up your slit shamelessly, tongue delving into you deeper and deeper as he cranes his own neck with no care in the world. He basks in the mess between your legs, chest swelling with pride as he realises it’s all for him. Only him.

“Fuck,” he moans into your cunt, “your pussy always tastes so good. Fucking missed this,” he says as if he hadn’t woken you up by eating you out this morning.

His large, tattooed hands fail to stay still. They move from holding your thighs apart to having a tight grip on your ass, pulling you further into him.

“L-love seeing your face between my thighs,” you manage to voice weakly.

“I know you do,” Jungkook replies whilst bringing his thumb to rub against your aching clit. You rut your hips in his face, head falling back as the pleasure washes over you.

“Jungkoook, fuckk.”

He buries himself closer into your pulsing folds, nose burrowed deep within. Your hips develop a mind of their own and you begin to grind against his face, practically riding it. Jungkook hums satisfyingly as he moves his hands to rest on your ass again. He probes you forward and rocks your hips back and forth against his face making you grab a fistful of his hair, earning a slight hiss from him.

His hooded eyes meet your own and you send a lazy smirk his way as you rut your hips against his face. Your wetness from riding his nose, chin and tongue glistens on his skin which somehow turns you on more.

“Ahh shit,” you cry out, internally thanking the Heavens above that your cabin is located in a secluded area. You only hope Areum doesn’t wake up.

Whilst you continue to ride his face, Jungkook licks up and around your folds ravenously and his fingers bore into the meat of your ass.

He angles himself better and secures his lips down around your mound, dragging his tongue around until he latches onto your sensitive clit again. You moan lewdly and lurch when you feel Jungkook press his devious tongue against your throbbing bud.

“I’m gonna come!” You cry out, riding his face at a faster pace and your grip on his hair becoming tighter. Jungkook suckles your clit, tongue running through your folds, providing you with eons of paradisiacal pleasure. He shoves his face deeper into your cunt, violently capturing it with his plush, swollen lips and his grasp on you becomes harder.

You feel him smirk against you before he brings those bunny teeth of his and bites down on your clit. Your body jolts at the impact, but still manages to send hot, orgasmic spikes of arousal through your veins.

“Oh fuck,” you sharply moan, the need to come undone too prominent now.

“Come for me, angel,” he coos at you, hands moving to soothe your lower back. His dulcet voice does it for you and you feel your orgasm wash over you vigorously. Your hips grind against your husband's stupidly handsome face and he laps at your palpitating pussy.

Your mind spins and stomach bubbles as you come down from your high. Jungkook continues his assault, lapping at thecum that stains your cunt before he pulls away. You meet his desperate eyes, shimmering lips and a scandalous grin as he pants harshly.

You beckon him to you eagerly, hands growing taxed as you reach for his sweaty neck and pull him in for an all too chaste kiss. Smothering your mouth with his, you groan as you taste your essence on his enticing lips.

You devour his mouth, nibbling at his plump lower lip.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.”

You chuckle at him simping over you once again, tugging him closer. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and continue to mouth at him languidly, tongues tangling together.

Jungkook smiles against you, gushing at your sudden boldness. He runs his hand up and down the expanse of your back, gleefully continuing to make out with you.

But he isn’t done yet. When you were teetering on the brink, Jungkook pulls away, standing and stripping off his own clothes in seconds. His cock is hard and throbbing, and you can’t help but reach for him, your fingers curling around his length.

“Not yet,” he growls, stepping back. Jungkook positions himself between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance.

“Look at me,” he commands, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m fucking you full of my cum tonight.”

With that, he thrust inside you, filling you completely. You cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he claims you, his hips snapping forward with brutal precision. Every thrust is deliberate, every movement calculated to bring you both to the edge.

Jungkook’s hands grips your thighs, holding you steady as he pounds into you. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans, voice ragged. “Always so tight and ready for her husband.”

You cling to him, legs wrapping around his slim waist as you meet every thrust, your bodies moving as one. The tension between you is electric, crackling in the air as you both race toward release.

Then, without warning, Jungkook pulls out, flipping you onto your back and positioning himself between your legs once more. He grabs hold of your hips, lifting you slightly before slamming back into you.

“Ride me,” he demands with his sultry voice.

“Jungkook!” you cry, your hips rising to meet his, your body instinctively obeying his command. You shift your position, your core contracting around him as you take control, riding him with everything you had.

“Jungkook, you fuck me so good.”

“I know baby, I know,” he says, almost condescendingly.

Jungkook’s hands grips your hips firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he guides you with precision. You feel the intensity of his desire in every movement, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Ride your husband’s dick like you mean it.” His voice is low, almost a growl, sending shivers down your spine.

You obey without hesitation, rising slowly at first, the sensation of him inside you igniting a fire that spreads through your core. Your breasts bounce gently with each upward motion, the weight of them reminding you of how close you both are to this shared dream.

Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours, his dark irises locked onto your gaze as if he can see straight into your soul. There is no doubt that he probably could.

“Faster,” he urges, his hand moving from your hip to your thigh, encouraging you to pick up the pace. You comply, drawing in a sharp breath as your body adjusted to the rhythm.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your bodies colliding, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing softly. Jungkook’s other hand finds your breast, kneading it roughly as his thumb brushed across your nipple, sending electric shocks through your system.

“Do you feel how ready you are for me?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with possessive heat. “Your body is perfect, so wet, so tight for me.” His words sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you can’t help but moan loudly, your head falling back as you surrender to the sensations.

Jungkook takes advantage of your distracted state, shifting his hold on you and flipping you onto your back once more. His chest pressed against yours, his weight grounding you as he begins to thrust deeply, each movement deliberate and unrelenting.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “Tell me you want my baby.”

The intensity of his question catches you off guard, but the truth is already bubbling up from deep within you. “Yes,” you whine, clutching at his shoulders as his thrusts grow more urgent. “I want you, I want this… want us.”

His response is rough, hips snapping forward as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “Good girl,” he praises, his voice thick with arousal.

“So good for me.” He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in circles that synced perfectly with his movements.

You cry out, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure builds higher and higher. Jungkook’s hand moves again, this time slipping lower, two fingers pressing into you alongside his cock. “God, you’re so wet for me,” he notes, voice strained. “So ready to become a mother again.”

The combination of his fingers and his cock was overwhelming, every nerve ending in your body lighting up like a firework. You can feel the orgasm building, closer and closer until there is no holding it back.

“Jungkook!” you scream his name, your body convulsing around him as you come, stars bursting behind your closed eyelids.

He doesn’t stop, not even for a second. If anything, his movements become more intense, his breathing ragged as he chases his own release. “Stay with me, baby,” he commanded, his voice gravelly. “Don’t let go yet.”

You cling to him, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he continues to pound into you, his fingers still working their magic. “Almost there,” he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic as he nears his climax. “Almost…”

And then he freezes, his body tensing as he comes inside you with a deep groan, his seed spilling into you with an urgency that betrays his desperation to make this moment real. “Mine,” he says roughly, voice breaking as he collapses onto you, his breathing heavy.

For a long moment, neither of you speak, the only sound heard is the rapid beating of your combined hearts.

Jungkook’s lips find yours, kissing you deeply as if sealing the promise they had just made.

“This is just the beginning,” he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with conviction.

“Our family starts here,” Jungkook affirms, caressing your hips softly.

The morning sun crept over the horizon, its golden rays slipping through the cabin’s frosted windows and telling you a story that today will be a perfect day.

You stir first, the soft glow coaxing you from the cocoon of blankets. Jungkook is still fast asleep beside you, his face relaxed in a way that makes your heart swell. His hair was tousled, his lips slightly parted, one arm flung protectively over your waist as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Careful not to wake him, you shift slightly, your gaze falling on the fireplace across the room. The embers had long since died, leaving a bed of ash that glowed faintly in the morning light. Outside, the snow glittered like diamonds, untouched and pristine.

Last night replays in your mind, every whispered word and shared touch lingering like a secret promise. A soft blush warms your cheeks as you rest a hand on your stomach, wondering, hoping.

Before your thoughts spiral further, Jungkook groans beside you, his arm tightening around you as his eyes flutter open. He blinks a few times, his face slowly breaking into a sleepy smile as he finds you watching him.

“Morning,” he sighs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning, baby,” you respond, brushing a strand of hair from his face and leaning in to kiss his forehead.

Jungkook leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed again for a brief moment. “You’re glowing,” he says softly, cracking one eye open to peek at you.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” Jungkook pronounces confidently, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch. “Last night…” His voice trails off, a grin spreading across his face. “Let’s just say I think we’ve got good odds.”

Your stomach turns at the memory of Jungkook fucking you so intensely. You’d been at it most of the night, Jungkook wanting to try as many positions as possible. Your husband's stamina was as high as the chances of you being pregnant already.

“Confident, are we?” you tease, though your heart is still skipping at the thought.

“With you? Always.”

The two of you lay there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other and the promise of what was to come. Eventually, the sound of tiny feet padding down the stairs broke the peaceful quiet.

“Eomma!” Areum’s voice calls out, bright and cheerful.

Jungkook groans dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “She’s too good at waking up early,” he mumbles, making you laugh. “I thought I might be lucky enough to have you ride me into being fully awake.”

“Come on,” you chuckle, nudging him playfully. “I’ll ride you later.”

With a sigh and a mumble of ‘you better’, Jungkook rolls out of bed, grabbing a pair of fresh boxers from the open suitcase and tossing his hoodie to you.

“Get it on, we don’t need to show her our anatomy just yet.”

You chuckle, quickly slip the hoodie over your head, before padding out to meet Areum, who stands at the bottom of the stairs clutching her favourite stuffed bunny.

“There’s snow everywhere!” she exclaims, her eyes wide with excitement.

“I know, princess,” Jungkook brightly says, scooping her up into his arms. “Maybe after breakfast, we can go outside and build the biggest snowman you’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Areum’s face lit up, her joy infectious. “Bigger than the one at yoonie samchon’s house?”

“Of course,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Ours will be much better.”

That competitive streak will never die.

You watch them with a soft smile, the sight of Jungkook cradling her so naturally makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Eomma, you’ll help too, right?” Areum asks, turning her bright eyes on you as she finally notices your presence.

“Of course,” you warmly respond, reaching out to take her into your arms. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

As the three of you settle into the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes filling the air. A quiet sense of peace lingers and you feel whole.

Jungkook catches your eye over the rim of his coffee mug, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. He didn't say anything, but he didn’t need to. You knew. You always did.

Whatever the future held, whatever new adventures or challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

And maybe, just maybe, there was already a tiny spark of new life waiting to join your little family.

A Quiet Christmas was exactly what you needed.

You reach for your phone, capturing a photo of your husband and Areum scrunching their noses as they laugh at one another.

The photo is quick to make it to your instagram, with a sweet caption that summarises it all.

Our Quiet Christmas.

And there we have it! I hope dad!jk made you feel as cosy as I felt writing this 🦢! Merry Christmas, my loves ; I hope you have a wonderful Christmas 🎄.

Here is my masterlist if you would like to check out my other works <3

↠ Taglist : @iamstilljk @lovingkoalaface @kooeuphoria @jeonsgf-97 @taeskrve @freshmoondragon (names in italics - I was unable to tag)

[nymphoniah]

shotgunning a cigar while grinding in origins!logan’s lap 😵‍💫😵‍💫

steal away | logan howlett

pairing: origins!logan x afab!reader

i literally can’t stop thinking about smoking with logan, whether it be the two of you stepping out for a quick smoke break, to him busting out a cigar after the two of you just had sex. like ohmygaaaawd. i need to be put down. thank you anon for giving me another scenario to fantasize about >_<

content/tags: nsfw, minors dni, 18+ only, suggestive content, dry humping, grinding, pet names (princess, doll, etc.), teasing, very very subtle dom/sub vibes.

you could see him all riled up when he comes back home from work, his muscles aching and sore—begging for your attention.

he flops onto the couch, his legs splayed, both arms resting across the backrest of the couch. and tilts his head back, spotting an upside-down version of you typing away furiously on your laptop keyboard.

a little whistle escapes out from the corner of his lips, grabbing your attention. he flashes you a coquettish smile, his hands gesturing to come join him on the couch.

you follow his command with no hesitation, wanting any excuse to get away from work—sending chains of corporate emails could only get so interesting.

pulling his legs together, he pats his quads. “c’mere princess, need to get a good look at you,” he mumbles, reaching over to the coffee table to grab a cigar.

you help logan, passing him the straight cutter placed alongside the ashtray, playfully pulling the rusted lighter he kept in the chest pocket of his flannel.

you flicked the lighter, shielding the flame from the cool breeze that lingered from an opened window in the kitchen.

his scent floods your senses as you lean into him with the lighter in your hands, his lips wrapped tightly around the cigar—the strong musk of wood and amber. the unique smell of him when he comes back from the lumberyard.

taking your hand in his, he guides the lighter to the end of the cigar. logan’s hazel eyes bore into yours as the smoke floods between the two of you, reluctantly letting your hand go.

“can’t get enough of you, darlin,” he grumbles out the corner of his mouth, followed with a puff of smoke.

you place the lighter and cutter over to the side, which eventually would be lost between the cushions later tonight.

his hands move their way to the small of your back, the calloused pads of his fingertips teasing their way underneath your nightgown.

a small gasp slips out from your lips as his hands continue to work at your skin—it felt as if you were on fire, his cold hands roaming further down, playfully tugging at the waistband of your panties.

your hands steady themselves on his brooding shoulders, giving him a little squeeze of affection. “it tickles, logan,” you chuckle, resting your head against his chest, eyelashes fluttering against him.

you can feel him exhale in response, his hands making their way to your ass, grasping at the plump flesh. “sorry, doll. just can’t keep my hands off you.”

you whine against him, and before you know it, your hips start to move on their own; the steady rhythm of your grinding matched the way his chest faltered up and down, feeling his length grow beneath you.

he gives you a slight tap on the ass, signaling for you to look back at him. “eyes up, princess,” he lulls into the shell of your ear before you pull back to meet his gaze.

“wanna taste?” logan asks, pulling the cigar away from his lips. the timbre of his voice making the offer even more tempting.

you nod your head eagerly, moving your hand from his shoulder to reach for the cigar, but he teasingly pulls it further away from you grasp, a tsk escaping from the corner of his mouth.

“use your words, princess.”

“can i have a taste, lo?” you respond rather hastily, your eyes flicking back and forth from the cigar to his lips, curled forming an impish smirk.

“c’mon. you’re missing something,” he taunts, raising his eyebrow.

“please?” you sweetly add, rutting your hips against him as an added oomph to your little request.

“‘atta girl,” he groans, feeling his cock twitch at the friction, nails digging into the soft flesh of your ass to ground himself.

with his other hand, he pulls the cigar back between his lips, deeply inhaling, letting the smoke linger in his mouth for a bit, and rests the cigar against the ashtray.

his face now a mere inch away from yours, he firmly grips your chin, and you slack your jaw open, your plump lips parted.

logan then steadily shotguns the smoke into your mouth—the heady aroma of ash and tinder flooding your senses, followed by the rush of the nicotine entering your bloodstream.

the buzz made everything feel more pleasurable, intense. the way his nose gently nudged against yours sent a shiver down your spine, the way you felt his dick grow even bigger made you press your pelvis into his further.

your head finds its way back nestled deep into his chest, and your hips seem to have a mind of its own as you continue to grind sensually against him.

“such a needy girl, huh?” logan teases, his hands guiding your hips, allowing you to rut faster against him.

“missed you so bad, lo. waited for you all day to come back home,” you whine, pressing kisses against him, the coarse hair of his chest riling you further.

“well, you’re in for a treat tonight, princess…”

[sasheemo]

Revenge and Reconciliation

Pairing: Ex gfs Bound!Agatha x Witch!Reader

Summary: When the hex shatters, the bond between you and Agatha reignites with a force too raw to ignore. Confronting her after decades of anger, betrayal, and yearning, you’re determined to make her pay. Power, passion, and a collision of unresolved emotions blur the line between vengeance and surrender.

Tags: Bitter Ex Gfs, Smut, Revenge Sex, Emotional Angst, Power Dynamics, Magic-Infused Sex, Magic Strap, Magic Cum, Magic Wrists Restraints, Slight Degradation, Cum Powered Reconciliation, Revenge Gets Sticky, Sub!Agatha (I know, wtf), Writing Sub Agatha Feels Illegal, Is It Subbing If She Still Wins Tho?

Word count: 6.6k

A/N: I wrote this fic as an attempt to wrestle my way out of the creative block that’s been clinging to me like an overly affectionate stray cat. I don’t think it’s the best thing I could have written, and I’m not entirely convinced by it, but the idea had been gathering dust on my list for a while, so here we are.

The concept of sub!Agatha has always intrigued me—mostly because, in my mind, it’s about as rare as a solar eclipse. I usually stick to writing Dom!Agatha, but hey, I think sub!Agatha is canon-compliant too… just in that “blink and you’ll miss it, alignment of the magical cosmos” kind of way.

For this fic, I decided to throw caution (and some very own personal hcs) to the wind and see if I could somehow make that dynamic work in an x Reader setting. Did I nail it? Definitely not. Do I feel like I truly captured the elusive sub!Agatha vibe that lives rent-free in my head? Eh, we’ll call it a work in progress. Maybe I’ll take another swing at it someday. For now, here’s my first attempt—enjoy! 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

It’s subtle at first—a faint ripple in the air, like a string pulled taut and suddenly slackened. But you feel it, deep in your body and soul, as if the ground beneath you shifted. 

The hex is broken. 

Agatha.

Her name lingers in your mind like a curse, dragging with it a torrent of emotions you’ve spent decades trying to bury.

Fury, white-hot and all-consuming, surges to the surface, clawing at the walls you’ve built around it. You can feel it all, the bitterness, the pain, the endless ache of betrayal.

Yet everything feels shushed by the unmistakable pull of her magic, faint but familiar, like the distant hum of a melody you can’t forget.

You’ve tried to sever this bond more times than you can count, poured every ounce of power into cutting the thread of magic that still ties you to her. 

But it never worked. Years of spells, rituals, and desperate attempts to scrape her magic from your soul couldn’t erase that connection, that cruel reminder of the love you once shared.

You don’t want to feel her. You don’t want to feel anything.

But with the hex shattered, she’s there—everywhere. The memories rise like a tide, drowning you in the ghost of what once was. 

The warmth of her fingers, trailing just long enough to leave a fire in their wake. Her voice, low and teasing, laced with promises that made your heart race. You remember the way she laughed, genuine and unguarded when she let herself forget the world, or the way her lips curled into a smirk when she caught you staring, daring you to look away. Those stolen nights, when her touch was tender and her kisses slow, felt endless, like she was giving you pieces of her no one else had ever seen.

And then… nothing. 

She left. Without a word. Without a reason. Without even a shred of decency to say goodbye. She disappeared like smoke, leaving only the cold, bitter truth: it meant nothing. You meant nothing.

The memories crash to a halt, mocking you, shaming you, for ever believing she could be anything more than one of her masterly crafted lies. 

Your magic surges in response, wild and vengeful, begging for release. You clench your fists, trying to ground yourself, but it’s futile. Her presence—or the absence of it—calls to you.

It’s been decades, but the wound is as raw as the day she abandoned you, as sharp as the moment you realized she wasn’t coming back. 

But you won’t give her the chance to run this time.

Without hesitation, you focus your energy, feeling the familiar pull of teleportation. The world shifts, and when you open your eyes, you’re standing outside her house in Westview. It’s dark and unassuming, the air around it heavy with the remnants of the hex’s magic.

The door slams open with a burst of energy, the wood groaning under the force of your magic. The faint remnants of Wanda’s hex still cling to the air, a metallic tang that pricks at your senses, but they’re nothing compared to the oppressive weight of her presence.

Agatha is sprawled on the couch as if she hasn’t a care in the world, her posture loose and unbothered despite the clear signs of exhaustion clinging to her. 

Her dark hair, longer than you remember, tumbles around her shoulders in wild, mussed waves, catching the light like ink kissed by moonlight. Her clothes are rumpled, the lines of her blouse wrinkled and her jeans have clearly seen better days, but somehow the disarray only adds to her maddening allure. 

And then there’s her face—those sharp cheekbones, that pale, smooth skin, and the glint in her icy blue eyes that even now refuses to dim. 

She looks up at you, her smirk curling with the same audacity that’s haunted you for decades, and for a moment, you hate how effortlessly breathtaking she is, how your heart still skips a beat whenever her eyes meet yours. Even now, even when she’s powerless.

“Well, well.” she drawls, tilting her head, her voice laced with a defiance she has no right to feel. “Come to gloat?”

You take a step inside and the air shifts, charged with the force of your presence. For the first time in decades, you’re the one with the power, and Agatha—bound, powerless, and alone—is at your mercy.

“You look terrible.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting. “What happened to the all-powerful Agatha Harkness? Shouldn’t you be out scheming, manipulating, destroying lives? Oh, wait—”. You step closer, savoring the way her smirk falters, “You can’t.”

Agatha’s smirk snaps back into place, but there’s a flicker—tiny, fleeting—of something behind her eyes. Fear? No, she wouldn’t let you see that. Regret? That would be even more shocking. Whatever it is, it’s gone in an instant.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.” she says, leaning back against the couch. “I guess that hasn’t changed.”

Your jaw tightens, so hard you’re lucky you don’t chip a tooth. The sheer audacity of her, lounging there like she hasn’t single-handedly fueled centuries of your bitterness, makes your magic flare. 

The air around you hums with tension, a wave of heat radiating from your skin, but she doesn’t even flinch. Of course she doesn’t. Why would she? Agatha has always been maddeningly immune to the consequences of her actions. 

“Don’t you dare pretend nothing happened.” you snap, stepping closer until you’re towering over her. “You left, Agatha. You abandoned me without a word. No explanation, no goodbye—just gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

“I had my reasons.” she murmurs, voice quieter now, almost too quiet.

Your laugh is cold, bitter. “Reasons? That’s the best you can come up with? You destroyed me, Agatha. For decades, I tried to understand why, to make sense of how I meant so little to you.”

Her lips part as if to speak, but no words come out. For a moment, just a moment, you see something raw in her gaze—a vulnerability she’s trying desperately to hide.

“Don’t.” you say sharply, your magic flaring brighter. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did. You don’t get to play the victim.”

Her smirk falls back into place, but it’s weaker now, almost brittle. 

“You’re really milking this righteous fury thing, aren’t you?” she quips, though her voice lacks its usual bite. “What do you want, then? Revenge? Closure? Or did you just miss me?”

The last question catches you off guard, her tone teasing but her eyes searching. Your magic is screaming at you to be unleashed, the rage bubbling so close to the surface as you lean in closer, your face inches from hers.

“What I want,” you say, your voice low and dangerous, “is for you to feel even a fraction of the pain you caused me.”

The heat of your fury presses down on her, forcing her back into the couch. Her sharp tongue falters, her bravado slipping just enough for you to see it: the crack in her armor, the shadow of fear in her eyes.

“Give me one good reason,” you hiss, venom drenching your tone, “why I shouldn’t end this now. Why I shouldn’t take everything from you the way you took everything from me.”

“Because you still love me.”

Five words, and everything you’ve built comes crashing down.

It festers like an old wound torn open, flesh ripped apart to reveal something gory beneath, bleeding and pulsing. It’s a visceral pain that feels like it might consume you whole, a dark, twisting ache that blooms in your chest and radiates outward.

Your grip on your magic falters, and for a fleeting second, you see her as she was all those years ago—the woman who once held your heart in her hands, who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.

The memory bleeds into the present, stark and jarring, clashing with the image of the woman before you now. She’s still breathtaking, but there’s a hollowness in her now, a shadow where the fire used to burn brightest. 

The contrast churns something bitter and broken inside you—resentment, grief, yearning, perhaps all three at once. It’s unbearable, the way the past and present collide, leaving you adrift in the space between what was and what is.

You force yourself to recoil, your magic snapping back to you as if burned. 

“Love?” you spit, the word a venomous hiss that cuts through the charged air between you. “You think I could still love you after everything you did? I fucking hate you, Agatha.”

Her laughter startles you—a sharp, bitter sound that carries no joy, only a rawness that sinks deep under your skin. It’s the laugh of someone who’s long since made peace with their own destruction.

“Hate’s just love that’s been shattered to pieces.” she says, her voice cracking, the edges sharp enough to draw blood. “And we both know you’ve been holding onto those shards for decades.”

You want to deny it, to unleash every ounce of fury you’ve carried for all these years, to rip her apart for daring to speak such a painful truth aloud.

But you can’t.

And it’s in this moment of hesitation, of vulnerability, that the rage in your chest shifts—twisting into something far more dangerous.

The bond between you roars, electric and alive, as if responding to your emotions. It’s always been there, tethering you to her no matter how much you tried to sever it. And now, it’s pulling you closer, wrapping around you like dense smoke.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. And you fucking missed it.

Even bound and powerless, Agatha looks at you as if she’s still in control, as if the years of pain and betrayal you’ve carried mean nothing.

Her eyes narrow, a glint of recognition flashing in that unnervingly sharp gaze. She sees it, she feels it, the way her words have struck a nerve. And, of course, she pounces on it.

“What’s the matter, hon?” she purrs, her voice a sickeningly sweet mockery of concern. “Can’t decide whether to kill me or fuck me?”

The words land like a match to gasoline, igniting a fire it’s far too late to extinguish. The line you’ve been toeing shatters, and before you can stop yourself, you close the final distance between you in one swift movement, your hand wrapping around her throat as you press her back against the couch. 

Her smirk doesn’t leave her lips—if anything, it deepens, her breath catching just slightly as her eyes gleam with something dark and infuriatingly pleased.

You can feel her pulse under your fingertips, quick and unsteady, and it only feeds the chaos roiling inside you.

“You don’t get to say that.” you hiss, leaning closer until your face is inches from hers. “You don’t get to act like this is a game.”

“And what if it is?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost daring. “What if that’s all we’ve ever been?”

The anger in your chest twists, warping into something raw and untamed. You hate her. You want her. The two emotions bleed together, inseparable, consuming.

Your grip on her throat tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who has the power now. She doesn’t fight you, but she doesn’t look away either.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” you say, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you’ve held back. “No idea what it’s been like to carry this—this anger, this pain, this fucking bond I can’t escape.”

Of course, you don’t expect her to apologize, she never would, but the flicker of regret in her eyes is louder than words.

The bond between you hums again, relentless and unyielding, pulling you closer even as you try to resist. You do hate her, but you also can’t deny the way her presence calls to you, the way her magic—even diminished—feels like a part of you.

“Why, Agatha?” you demand, your voice breaking as you lean in closer. “Why did you leave? Why did you—”

She cuts you off by brushing her lips against yours in the barest hint of contact. It’s not a kiss, not yet, but it steals the breath from your lungs all the same. 

As her breath mingles with yours, the world collapses to the infinitesimal space between your lips, a charged, aching void that demands to be closed.

And then, as if honoring that demand, she closes the distance. 

Her lips crash onto yours in a kiss that isn’t tender—it’s a storm, a battle, a clash of wills. Her mouth moves against yours with a desperation that feels like surrender, but there’s no mistaking the way she bites at your lower lip, as if daring you to take more.

You growl low in your throat, the sound vibrating against her lips as your hands find her hips, pinning her harder against the couch. She arches into you, her body a perfect, infuriating fit against yours, and the bond between you flares alive, pulling you deeper into the chaos of her.

Her tongue meets yours, and it’s molten—hot and demanding, tangled in a rhythm that feels like a fight for dominance neither of you is willing to lose. The couch creaks beneath you as you press her down, your weight covering hers completely, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp into your mouth.

This isn’t forgiveness. It isn’t reconciliation. It’s unfiltered emotion, punishment and possession, everything you’ve bottled up for decades exploding in a collision of anger and desire that leaves no room for restraint.

With a flick of your wrist, her clothes dissolve into shimmering wisps of magic, vanishing like smoke into the air. What’s left behind steals the breath from your lungs despite every part of you screaming not to react, not to let her affect you like this.

The sight of Agatha’s bare body, a masterpiece of soft curves and sharp angles, reignites memories you thought you’d buried—the way her skin once felt beneath your hands, how her body moved in perfect synch with yours, every sound she made etched into your soul.

It’s been decades since you last saw her like this, but time has done nothing to dull her power over you. 

Your pulse thunders in your ears, heat spreading like wildfire through your veins as your gaze trails over her, lingering on the lines of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs tremble ever so slightly.

She’s bound and powerless in every possibile sense of the words, yet somehow she still holds the upper hand.

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. “Still as easy to impress as ever, I see.”

The words snap you out of your trance, a surge of irritation mingling with the desire coursing through you. 

With another flick of your wrist, ropes of magic coil around her wrists, pulling them together and suspending them above her head. The glowing bonds crackle with energy, casting faint light over her bare skin. 

Her smirk falters, just slightly, as she tugs against the restraints, her muscles flexing in defiance and testing their hold.

And it’s that—that small attempt at resistance, her futile struggle against the bonds you’ve created—that makes something snap inside you. 

It’s not just power—it’s the realization that she, the woman who’s haunted your every waking thought and dream, is finally yours to control. The intensity of it almost scares you, the way it spreads through your chest like spilled ink, staining every corner of your mind in pitch black.

It’s a visceral, consuming need to claim her, to fill her, to mark her in a way that will sear into her soul, leaving no room for doubt or escape. The hunger burns through you, fierce and unrelenting, every ounce of your power thrumming with it, shaping itself into something tangible, something undeniable.

Your lower clothing dissolves into shimmering magic, leaving you partially bare—but not fully. The vulnerability of complete nakedness is a luxury you can’t afford. Not right now. Not with Agatha. You want the contrast to be stark—her, stripped of everything, exposed and powerless beneath you, while you remain in control. It’s a statement, a reminder, that here, now, you’re the one with the upper hand.

And then, as though summoned by your need, the strap materializes. And it’s not just magic—it’s a part of you, an extension of your body. 

The weight of it settles against your hips, grounding you, the connection immediate and intimate, as if it’s always been there.

Your gaze drops for a moment, drawn to the way your cock stands proud and commanding, and a smirk tugs at your lips. You take in its size, the thick, substantial girth that demands attention. You make no effort to hide your satisfaction as your hand wraps firmly around its base, stroking it in slow, deliberate movements that make your intent unmistakable.

Agatha’s eyes widen, her own gaze falling to your cock before flicking back to your face. Her lips part slightly, and her tongue darts out to wet them in a motion so instinctive, so sinful, that it sends a fresh jolt of heat through you.

For once, she seems utterly at a loss for words, the sharp wit you’ve come to expect from her silenced by the weight of the moment, and by you.

“Speechless?” you ask, your tone dripping with mockery. “Not like you.”

“Well,” she manages, clicking her tongue, her voice laced with an edge of forced confidence, “you’ve certainly… outdone yourself.”

You press the tip against her thigh, watching as her body tenses and her breath hitches. Slowly, teasingly, you trail it upward, letting it graze her glistening folds but never quite giving her what she wants. 

You see all of her defiance falter the second you tap the tip against her clit. You do it multiple times, teasing her until she’s a panting mess, her chest heaving as her body completely betrays her. 

And yet, her eyes stay locked on yours, burning with a mix of frustration and longing.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your hand sliding back to her throat, wrapping around it just enough to keep her grounded. Her pulse races beneath your fingers, and you feel her body relax into your touch, her submission becoming more evident with every passing second. “You’re supposed to be the powerful one, remember? The one who’s always in control. How does it feel to be at my mercy?”

She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, a broken moan escapes her lips as you finally push the tip of your cock into her. The sensation shoots through you like lightning, raw and electric, and you can’t stop the low hum that escapes your lips.

“So wet for someone who acts like she’s above it all.” you say, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Tell me, Agatha—do you always get this needy when you’re powerless? Or is it just for me?”

Her cheeks flush, and she glares at you, but the humiliation in her eyes only makes your smirk deepen. She tilts her hips toward you in an attempt to take more, the motion drawing a smug chuckle from your throat.

“Pathetic.” you mock, “You used to have me on my knees, begging for you. And here you are now, so desperate for my cock you can’t even hide it.”

Her lips part in a sharp, trembling intake of breath, her chest rising and falling as her wrists strain futilely against the glowing restraints above her head. 

“You think you’re in control now?” she spits, though her voice trembles. “That this makes you powerful?”

You laugh, cold and merciless, leaning in until your breath fans across the shell of her ear. 

“Oh, I don’t think.” you whisper, your words nothing but a cruel taunt. “I know.”

To drive the point home, you push deeper, and the wet, obscene sound of her body yielding to you fills the room. 

She’s molten, deliciously tight, and her slick heat draws you in like a drug. Every inch you sink into her feels like a conquest, you can feel how her body stretches to take you, how her walls tremble and clench around the pleasurable intrusion, pulling you deeper as if begging for more. 

The sensation is so vivid, so overwhelming, that a loud, unrestrained moan tears from your lips.

“Seems like I’m not the only needy one.” she murmurs, her voice trembling but cutting nevertheless. “Such pretty sounds for me.”

Her words strike a nerve, and the moment they register, your hips snap forward in one sharp, punishing thrust, driving the strap so deep your hips collide with hers. 

The impact sends a jolt through both of you, her sharp cry echoing through the air before it’s cut off as your fingers tighten around her throat.

“Is that what you wanted? Mmh?” you hiss, your voice trembling with the effort to stay in control. “To be fucked like this? To feel what it’s like to be under me for once?”

She doesn’t respond, her voice swallowed by a series of breathless moans as you pull back and thrust in again, setting a slow, languid rhythm that feels more like a claim than a motion. 

You want to break her—but not physically. Even now, even with the all this anger coursing through you, the thought of truly hurting her is unthinkable. You know you’re big, and despite everything, you couldn’t forgive yourself if you let the fury bleeding into your movements cause her pain.

Instead, you pour that intensity into control, into precision, into the way you angle your hips just right to drag your length against every sensitive spot inside her. The sound of her wetness grows louder with each thrust, mingling with the faint creak of the couch beneath you.

“Gods.” you murmur, your free hand gripping her hip to steady yourself. “You feel that, don’t you? How wet you are for me? How much you want this?”

Her head nods slightly, the motion almost instinctive, as if her body answers before her mind has time to process, before the final syllable of your last question even hangs in the air.

“Yes—fuck.” she whispers, the word trembling on her lips. “Yes, I—”

“Louder!” you command, your tone sharp as you feel it—a fresh gush of wetness enveloping you, slick and hot, pulling you in. 

“Yes!” she screams, her voice cracking under the weight of her need. “I want it—I want you.”

Her admission is a spark to the inferno raging inside you, and you give in to it, your magic surging wildly. 

Your pace quickens, your hips snapping forward with growing intensity, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, the slap of your hips against hers a relentless cadence of possession that blends with her cries.

Her wrists pull at the restraints while her back arches and her moans rise higher, each one a testament to your power over her, a surrender you claim with every punishing thrust.

Your gaze drops involuntarily, drawn to the mesmerizing rhythm of her breasts bouncing in time with your movements, and the sight instantly makes your mouth water. The memory of their softness, the way they felt against your tongue and lips, rushes back unbidden, igniting a primal urge to lean down and take one into your mouth.

But you catch yourself, clenching your jaw against the temptation. This isn’t about her pleasure. You’re not here to make her enjoy herself. You’re here to ruin her, to make her crumble under your control.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Your eyes snap back to hers, a wicked grin spreading across your lips as your grip on her throat loosens, your hand sliding down to join the other on her hips. With both hands anchoring her in place, your pace grows ruthless, each thrust drawing louder and more desperate sounds from her.

Her walls tighten around you, squeezing your cock as the connection between you deepens, your magic tangling with hers in a way that feels both chaotic and inevitable.

And then, just as you feel teetering on the edge of release, you pull back, slowing to a maddening pace. 

Your thrusts become shallow, deliberate teases that barely fill her, leaving her gasping and writhing beneath you. Her frustration is palpable, her hips bucking in search of relief, but you hold her steady, a cruel smirk curling your lips.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” you purr, each word dripping with satisfaction. “Just say the word, Agatha. Beg me, and I’ll let you come.”

Her body tenses beneath you, every muscle taut as she fights the command with everything she has, struggling to cling to the last fleeting semblance of control. Even as her thighs quiver and her hips twitch uncontrollably, her pride holds her back, refusing to surrender to you so easily.

But as each thrust reminds her of what she’s being denied, drawing out her torment, her nails curl into her palms, her jaw tightens, and her resolve cracks little by little under the relentless pressure. 

Finally, her head tilts back, her voice breaking as the words tear from her throat. “Please—fuck… please, let me come.”

Her words ignite something feral and all-consuming. Power surges through your veins, setting your every nerve ablaze as you answer her desperate plea and resume fucking her with renewed vigor. 

You slam into her with brutal force, each thrust hitting that soft, devastatingly perfect spot inside her that makes her entire body jerk beneath you. Her eyes roll back, her cries turning into incoherent, panting moans that fuel the raw, insatiable need driving your every motion.

“That’s it.” you growl, your hand sliding down to her clit. You circle it with fast, precise movements, your fingers slick with her arousal as you push her closer to the edge. “Come for me, Agatha. Come on my cock.”

Her moans climb higher, until they peak in a scream that tears through the air as the tension within her shatters all at once. 

Agatha’s orgasm bursts forth like a supernova, bright and devastating, her walls clenching and spasming around you in rhythmic pulses that leave you breathless. She cries out your name, her voice splintering into a sob as her body quakes with the force of her release.

The sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, her chest heaving as she trembles in the throes of ecstasy—is almost enough to undo you. But you don’t stop. You keep pounding into her, forcing her to take every inch over and over as you drive her higher, helping her ride out each wave of her climax.

And then, as you revel in the way she’s gripping you as though she never wants to let you go, and your own release threatens to overtake you, you falter.  

Because her eyes—half-lidded, blown wide, and dark with need—lock onto yours, piercing through the haze of control you’ve clung to. Her lips part, trembling, and her voice cuts through the storm.

“Fuck—please, baby.” she gasps, each word breaking into a whimper that makes your stomach tighten and your magic throb. “Come inside me. I need it—need to feel it, need you to fill me up.

That’s it. Her words, how she begged for it, the pet name falling so effortlessly from her lips, the raw desperation in her voice, the sheer thought of filling her up with your cum, of watching her take every drop like she’s made for it. It’s all more than enough to tip you over the edge.

How utterly ruined she looks beneath you only adds to it, and whatever fragile grip you had on your restraint shatters instantly, obliterated by the force of her need.

Your hips snap forward in one last devastating thrust, burying your cock into her as deep as it can go, your climax slamming into you like an explosion. 

And then it happens.

The magic within you surges implacably, a relentless flood that erupts deep inside her in thick, scorching waves. Each pulse of your cock forces more of your release into her, a molten rush that fills her completely. The bond between you roaring with life as your magic claims her from the inside out, leaving no part of her untouched.

Beneath you, Agatha’s body goes taut, her back arching violently as the blue in her eyes gets rapidly swallowed by a swirling, familiar, luminous purple. 

You can feel her magic pouring back into her, she gasps as it all overtakes her, her body trembling violently as another orgasm tears through her. But this one is unexpected, different, and even more powerful than the first. 

Her cry pierces the air, a sound of pure ecstasy and unrestrained power, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It’s primal, otherworldly, and devastatingly beautiful. For a moment, you’re left breathless, unwillingly captivated by the sight of her. A vision that makes something inside you ache.

When the final waves of pleasure subside, you collapse onto her, your breath ragged, your body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering hum of magic. 

The restraints on her wrists dissolve, fading into shimmering sparks, and her hands hover for a moment, uncertain, before they settle gently on your back.

Her touch is light, not hesitant but careful, as though rediscovering something long lost. And as your bodies press together, it feels as if no time has passed at all since you last lay in each other’s arms.

Agatha’s chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, her lips parted as her hooded eyes lock onto yours.

Her gaze is a labyrinth, a tangle of emotions so layered and profound it’s impossible to unravel. There’s no trace of defiance, no smugness, no sharp wit lurking in the corners. Instead, disbelief and shock hum beneath the surface, while a glimmer of something softer—gratefulness, maybe even devotion—burns faintly. And yet, woven through it all is an aching, unguarded longing.

It’s a silent confession wrapped in questions, and the absence of her usual masks, the sheer vulnerability staring back at you, stirs something deep in your chest, a feeling too overwhelming to even begin to name.

As you pull out of her, you catch how her hips twitch instinctively at the sudden emptiness, and the sound she makes—a quiet, needy whine—makes your breath hitch. 

The cock dissolves in a flicker of shimmering light, fading back into the ether, but your eyes remain fixed on what it left behind.

You watch your cum drip from her, thick and glistening as it slides slowly down her folds. The sight is mesmerizing and utterly filthy, making a new rush of heat coil low in your stomach. 

Agatha notices the shift in your gaze, lazily tilting her head to follow it. When she sees what’s caught your attention, a smug grin spreads across her face, equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.

“Hmm.” she hums, her voice a sultry drawl that sends shivers down your spine. “You always did know how to leave an impression, darling.” 

She pauses, her grin deepening as her eyes flick back to yours, gleaming with sharp amusement. “Though I must say, I never expected to get my powers back this way… not that I’m complaining.”

As soon as you register her words your jaw clenches, a flush rising to your cheeks as frustration surges through you. 

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The thought echoes in your mind, relentless and deafening. You didn’t plan this—hell, you didn’t even know you could do that, and the realization leaves you stunned, reeling. 

You came here to break her, to strip her of whatever scraps of control she had left, to show her just how worthless she was without her power. You came here to make her pay.

But instead, as always, in the end, Agatha got exactly what she wanted. 

The smugness etched into her face says it all. It’s infuriating. Humiliating. Maddening. Everything always plays out in her favor, no matter how the odds stack against her. The universe itself seems to bend for her, conspiring to deliver her victory, while you’re left choking on the ashes of your intentions.

And yet, even in your frustration, there’s a selfish, shameful flicker of satisfaction burning in your chest. You gave her back her power, yes—but you did it your way. Intimate. Indelible. Something neither of you can ignore or undo. 

No matter how powerful she becomes again, no matter how she wields what’s been restored, she’ll always know who gave it back to her and how. She’ll owe you, whether she admits it or not.

In that way, you did make her pay. And the twisted irony of it feels like a cruel, bitter triumph.

Agatha notices the shift in your expression, the way your gaze has drifted into the distance as if lost in thought, and her voice slices through the haze with a softness that catches you completely off guard.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.” she whispers, her tone impossibly gentle, like a secret meant only for you. ”When you’re all mine.”

Her words land like a jolt, anchoring you back to the present and cutting through the fog in your mind. 

There’s something in her voice, an aching sincerity you didn’t expect, that makes something deep inside you twist painfully.

But even if her tenderness disarms you, it still strikes a nerve, clashing violently with the anger and resentment still simmering beneath your skin. You cling to that anger desperately, using it to shield yourself from the confusion clawing at the edges of your control and threatening to drag you under.

“I’m not yours.” you snarl, but the words lack conviction, and you know she hears it.

Her grin returns, sharper now, as if she’s savoring your futile resistance. 

“Oh, darling…” she whispers, her voice dripping with equal parts confidence and affection. “You’ve always been mine.”

You open your mouth to reply, to hurl another retort that might restore some semblance of control, but the words die on your tongue as her hand moves with startling speed. 

Her fingers curl around the back of your neck, her grip firm yet trembling, and she pulls you down roughly, her lips crashing against yours before you can resist.

The kiss is instant chaos, scattering your thoughts like leaves in a storm. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tangling and teasing with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs. 

It’s wet, messy, the taste of her flooding your senses as she kisses you with the same confident, consuming intensity she always did. 

But beneath the confidence, there’s something unspoken. 

It’s in the way her body shudders beneath you, in the way her fingers dig into your neck, in the way her lips cling to yours as though letting go might unravel her completely. The vulnerability in her touch and the aching need in her kiss cut through the haze of anger, leaving you trembling and unsure whether the ache blooming in your chest is pain, longing, or both.

But right now, whatever it is you’re feeling, you refuse to linger on it. 

You won’t allow her another second of your time, your presence. The very air around her feels oppressive, making it harder to breathe, and you know that if you stay a moment longer it will be too late to resurface.

With all the strength and willpower you can muster, you push yourself up, breaking away from her touch and from her warmth. 

You wave a hand, conjuring back your underwear and pants in a blur of hasty magic, your movements jerky and unsteady while every fiber of your being screams at you to put distance between yourself and her. To leave.

Suddenly, the bond hums again, loud and persistent, gnawing and mocking at your resolve. You grit your teeth and force yourself to ignore it, taking a couple of steps toward the door, refusing to look back. 

You’ll leave. You need to leave. You want to leave.

But with Agatha, it’s never that easy.

“Wait.”

It’s not a command. It’s not teasing or smug. It’s quiet, almost unsure, and that alone makes you hesitate.

You glance back over your shoulder, your voice sharp with all the frustration burning hot in your chest. “What could you possibly want now?”

She sits up slowly, still completely naked, making no effort to conjure clothes with the magic now thrumming through her.

“Answers.” she says, her tone smooth but tinged with a sly undertone, her gaze locked on yours with unnerving steadiness. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To finally hear the truth you think I owe you.” 

She pauses, her lips curving into a faint, almost teasing smile as her eyes flick downward to her still-bare body. “Especially after… this.” Her eyes return to yours, glinting with amusement. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

You fold your arms across your chest, your anger warring with the pull of her words. 

“You owe me more than answers.” you bite back, your voice cutting and cold. “You owe me years of my life, years of trying to understand why you left.”

“And you’ll have them.” her voice softer now, almost disarming. “But not like this.”

Your eyes narrow, suspicion curling in the pit of your stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rises slowly, her movements deliberate as she closes the distance between you. Her nakedness robs her of nothing—if anything, it sharpens her power, her control. 

When she reaches you, her hand lifts to cup your cheek, her touch infuriatingly warm, a silent challenge wrapped in unsettling intimacy.

“Stay.” she says, her thumb skimming your skin with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. “We’ll talk. Over dinner. But only if you stay.”

You bristle at the condition, your pride flaring. 

“Using my need for closure as leverage?” you ask, your voice biting. “How very you.”

Her grin returns, sharper now, but her eyes betray a flicker of something gentler. 

“Oh, darling.” she purrs, her voice dripping with confidence, “I know you want this, so, let’s not play pretend. I’d say we’re well past that point, wouldn’t you?”

Your jaw tightens, the weight of her gaze making it hard to hold onto your anger. You hate that she’s right. Hate that you want to stay, that the bond between you has wrapped itself around your heart so tightly you can’t bear to leave.

“Fine. Dinner.” you say, your voice clipped. “But no games, Agatha. You owe me the truth.”

Her smirk deepens for a moment, a glimmer of mischief flashing in her eyes, before softening into a genuine, almost nostalgic smile. 

“No games.” she whispers, her tone unexpectedly gentle. “Just dinner… like old times.”

You shake your head, as if trying to clear the lingering warmth of her touch. But it stays with you as you watch her move toward the kitchen, humming softly to herself.

As you follow her, you can’t help but wonder if staying will be your salvation or your undoing. But with Agatha, it’s never a question of one or the other—it’s always both, tangled together in a way that, after all this time, you’re starting to realize you were never meant to escape.

[traumadzz]

# ! MISSING YOUR BF- 𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚. ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝒻!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

> 𝒲here because you miss him, you look at your old conversations and touch yourself with a picture of his dick.

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 → non-idol au, explicit intimacy, dom/sub vibes, smut.

C𝗐: rough 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖽𝗈𝗆!heeseung, spanking, orgasm control, dirty 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄, established relationship, no protection (please take care!) overstimulation, humiliation.

────୨ৎ────

𝖥𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝖨'𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 sa𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 m𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖨'𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖳𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗋! 𝖲𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗍, I 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝖾; 𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉 𝗒𝖾𝗍 (Grammatical mistakes can happen, btw)

That was it, thanks to those who read it! 💌 ⌗

Cw:9k

��️ 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁.

Your boyfriend works almost all day, and you know perfectly well that he comes home tired. Despite this, he always has the best attitude with you and doesn't show his frustration by treating you badly. In fact, the best thing you can do with your sweet boyfriend when he arrives is to take him to bed and hug and kiss him all night.

Today, like most days, you found yourself missing him a little too much. So, you grabbed your phone and sent him a message: something soft, something honest. Since you were already in the chat, you felt a little pull to scroll through your old conversations. And as you did, you stumbled upon a photo of him. A photo that made you feel. His cock already hard, thick and tempting even through the screen. You felt a subtle pulse deep between your legs, a slow ache building just from the memory of how good he feels inside you.

What began as a gentle ache from missing your boyfriend slowly morphed into something deeper, a hunger that settled low between your legs. You bit down softly on your lip as your hand trailed down, slipping beneath your waistband and underwear, fingers seeking out your clit with slow, needy strokes, chasing the memory of how full he makes you feel.

As time went on, just rubbing your clit wasn’t enough. The need built up too strong, too deep. So you eased one finger inside, then another, and finally a third. It still didn’t match the way he filled you ,not even close ,but at least it dulled the ache, just enough to keep going.

The deeper you sank into your pleasure, the more time seemed to blur. Every breath, every motion pulled you further from reality, until a strange sensation crept in, like you weren’t alone anymore. Your movements slowed, hesitation curling around your spine, and you finally opened your eyes. He was there, your boyfriend was there watching you quietly.

Heeseung was standing in front of you, still and silent. His expression caught somewhere between shock and pleasure. He didn’t say a word. Just watched. And even though surprise flickered in his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t looking away. He was enjoying every second.

After a brief silence, his voice finally cut through the air ,deep and calm -“So, this is how you missed me?”

His words dripped with teasing, but there was no mistaking the heat behind them. He took a slow step forward, eyes fixed on you,onthe way your chest rose and fell, the way your fingers were still trembling. Then he crouched down to your level, bringing his face closer until his breath ghosted over your lips.

“Do you think a good girl welcomes her boyfriend like this?” he murmured, voice like velvet and smoke. “Touching herself, legs spread, making a mess of herself before I even walk through the door?”

His hand reached out ,not to touch, not yet,but just to brush a strand of hair from your face. The gesture was gentle, but also demanding. -“Answer me.”

After a few tense seconds, your voice finally broke the silence soft, breathless, laced with embarrassment. -“I… it just happened. I was looking at our old conversations and...”

Heeseung let out a quiet laugh, low and sharp, the sound scraping down your spine. -"And that made you start touching yourself like a filthy little slut?” The words made you flinch,not from fear, but from the raw effect they had on you. His eyes dragged over your body, slow and deliberate, taking in your disheveled state: the way your hand still hovered between your legs, the mess clinging to your thighs, the heat in your flushed skin.

“Look at this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Soaking your panties, ruining your pants, all because you couldn’t wait for me.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that carried more threat than sweetness. “You wanted to act like a whore?” he murmured against your ear. “Then you're going to take it like one.”

Without another word, Heeseung slid his hand out from your pants, the wet sound of it only adding to the heat between you. Then, without warning, he grabbed both of your arms and hauled you up with ease, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You gasped,more from surprise than protest as he carried you down the hall, his grip firm, possessive.

Once inside the bedroom, he didn’t bother with gentleness. He dropped you onto the bed with a thud, the mattress bouncing under the force.“take off your clothes,” he ordered, voice sharp and breathless with lust.

You scrambled to obey, trembling fingers pulling at your waistband, peeling your clothes off one by one. Heeseung stood at the edge of the bed, eyes dark and fixed on your every movement as he tugged off his own shirt, then pushed his boxers down. His cock sprang free it was hard, aching, already leaking at the tip from how long he’d been holding back.

By the time you were both bare, the air between you was thick with anticipation. He climbed onto the bed, settling between your legs like he belonged there ,because he did. But before anything else, he leaned in and kissed you. Deep, slow, claiming. His tongue slid against yours, tasting your breath, while one hand slipped between your thighs. And without a word, his fingers found your clit slick and throbbing,and began to circle it with slow, deliberate pressure, like he was just getting started.

He finally pulled away from your lips, breath warm against your skin, and studied your face for a few seconds. There was a flicker of something in his eyes; amusement, control, hunger, before a small smirk curled his lips. "You look so beautiful, who would have thought you act like a slut at home?" he said softly, but without a trace of gentleness.

His gaze dropped between your legs, and his hand followed, fingers brushing over your slick folds. He dragged them slowly, deliberately, taking in the wetness with a dark gleam in his eyes. "Do you want me to make you cum, hm?" You hesitated, lips parting, but no sound came out. The moment stretched, tense and then his hand lifted slightly and landed a sharp slap against your soaked cunt.

You jolted, a soft cry escaping your throat, more from shock than pain. "Oh doll, aren't you going to answer? Don't try my patience if you don't want the next one to be stronger."

Your breath hitched, and your voice came out trembling, desperate. “Y-Yes… please, I want it… I want you to make me cum.”

Satisfied with your pleading, Heeseung finally gave in. Without warning, he pushed into you with a deep, hard thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. The stretch made your back arch, a broken moan tumbling from your lips as he filled you completely.

“F-fuck…” you gasped, clinging to the sheets as your body adjusted. Heeseung groaned low in your ear, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled back, only to slam into you again slower this time, but just as deep, just as rough. Every movement was deliberate, each thrust meant to be felt, to leave you sore and wanting more.

“Yeah… this is what you needed, huh?” he muttered against your skin, breath hot. “Touching yourself like a whore… but it’s never enough, is it?” He leaned down further, pressing his chest to yours, and sank his teeth into your neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper. He sucked at the spot until he knew it would leave a mark, then dragged his tongue over the sensitive skin.

Your fingers dug into his back, breath ragged, words coming out between moans. “Y-you feel so good, Heeseung… so deep" He chuckled darkly, thrusting harder, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget what it felt like to be empty,” he growled. “Until the only thing you remember is me, buried inside you, making you mine all over again.” And judging by the way your voice broke with every moan, and your legs trembled around him, he was already halfway there.

Heeseung’s pace picked up, each thrust harder, faster, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind blur and your moans come out louder, needier. The bed creaked beneath you, your body jolting with every sharp movement, pleasure coiling dangerously low in your stomach.His hand slid up your torso and wrapped loosely around your neck,not to hurt, but to hold you still, to remind you who was in control. His eyes locked with yours, dark and full of fire.

“Who’s the only one who deserves to make you feel this way, hm?” You tried to speak, but the words got lost in your throat. His grip tightened just enough to make your breath catch. “Answer me, bitch.”

Your voice came out in a whimper, broken and desperate. “You… Only you, Heeseung.” He smirked, pleased, and leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s right. No one else gets this. No one else gets you like this.” You felt your orgasm building fast, your body clenching around him involuntarily,and he felt it too.

“Oh no” he growled, pulling back just enough to look down at you, his thrusts never slowing. “You don’t cum until I say. Got it?” You nodded quickly, panting, every muscle shaking from the effort of holding back. But he didn’t make it easy. He drove into you deeper, angling his hips just right, making you cry out his name again and again.

"Don't you dare make a mess without permission," he warned, voice low and threatening. "If you cum before I tell you to, I'm going to keep fucking you until you're crying for real." And by the way he was moving relentless and precise you knew he meant every word.

You were shaking. Everything inside you was coiling tight, so close to snapping. Heeseung's thrusts were relentless, and his fingers on your clit were merciless, fast, punishing, like he wanted to see you lose control.

"You’re close, aren’t you?" he growled, breath heavy against your mouth. "Fucking desperate. A mess already."

Your head fell back, your body trembling. "I-I can’t-"

"Oh, you will," he snarled. "You’ll hold it like a good girl."

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The orgasm ripped out of you with brutal force. Your body arched violently, and your moan came out broken and loud as your walls clenched hard around him.Heeseung stopped. His hand left your clit and landed across your cheek in a sharp slap,not cruel, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.

"You came without permission," he muttered, hand gripping your face to make you look up at him. "Did I fucking say you could?"

You whimpered, lips trembling. "I’m sorry, I-I couldn’t stop.."

He laughed, low and humorless. "That’s not an excuse." He pulled out of you briefly, just to slam back in harder. "You’re gonna regret that."His rhythm changed, slower, deeper, rougher. He wasn’t chasing release anymore. He was teaching you a lesson. Each thrust felt like it reached places you weren’t ready for, making your overstimulated body twitch under him.

You cried out, tried to close your legs, but he grabbed your thighs and kept them wide open. "Oh no, baby. You’re gonna take it. You wanna act like a needy little whore? Then you’re gonna be fucked like one." Minutes passed. He didn’t let up. His hand returned to your clit, but now he was taunting, drawing slow, agonizing circles while he stayed deep inside you. Your body was twitching again, trying to hold back, trying not to break.

"I can’t take it," you gasped, tears blurring your vision. "Please, Heeseung-"

"Please what?" His voice was low, mocking. "Please let you cum again? After you already disobeyed me once?"

You nodded frantically. "Yes. Please. I need it. I’ll be good I swear."

He stared down at you for a second, amused at the wreck you’d become, then leaned in close to your ear. "You’ll cum when I fucking say," he growled. He angled his hips and started fucking you harder again, your body jolting beneath him. His fingers didn’t stop, rubbing your clit faster now, dragging you closer to that unbearable edge once more.

Every sound you made was messy, choked, begging. Your legs were trembling, your breath short and broken.Then, finally, after pushing you right to the edge again, he gave the word. "Now. Cum again. Do it."

Your second orgasm crashed into you, harder than the first, your body arching, your scream echoing off the walls as you clenched and pulsed around him. Heeseung cursed, thrusts growing erratic until he finally groaned and came deep inside you, holding you down as his body trembled above yours.

You lay there, breathless and shaking, your skin burning, your mind floating. He kissed your jaw lazily, still panting. "You’ll think twice next time, won’t you?"

[aevellewritessometimes]

Touchstarved NSFW Headcanons

Just some general NSFW HCs for the main cast (because Elyon and Sen are both enigmas to me)

I'm just going to preface this by saying that @/creepsterdreams just happened to hit the nail right on the head with what I was thinking. Unrealated note, y'all should check out their work if you ever get the chance :)

Content Warnings: Mildly unconventional kinks? (we don' kinkshame here though), blatant Vere favoritism, may or may not be OOC, this whole thing was written by an aspec person, most of this was written at 12 am while sleepy

Edit: I took the opportunity to try and fix some previously missed typos, and after I finished I found out that the Pope fucking died. Happy Easter!

Word Count: 2,010

MINORS DNI

KURAS

Alignment: Vers + Switch

Kinks: Body worship (giving), cockwarming, lingerie, soft sex, masochism

Due to his height, he's more used to domming and/or topping by default, but he doesn't really have anything against being the submissive one

That being said, I get masochist vibes from him. He's usually good at not showing that side of him, but it's also not all that hard to get him to show it

Not too apposed to being on the receiving end of body worship, but just feels weirdly guilty about it

^ Combining body worship with his masochistic tendencies could potentially get him to cry, which is otherwise difficult because I feel like he has really high endurance

Soft dom/service top vibes

Has a much larger lingerie collection than one would expect

^ It's not crazy large or anything, it's just that most people wouldn't expect him to have one to begin with

I don't know if he needs to sleep at all, but in a situation where both he and his partner are in the mood but his partner is too tired to actually have sex with him, he'd be very open to just cockwarming either until they fall asleep or they get riled up

Due to him disliking "difficult patients," I feel like an excessive amount of bratiness would be a bit of a turnoff for him

Would absolutely be the type to light candles to set the mood

(^ Don't ask me about what types/scents; I don't use candles often enough to give you a good answer)

Corruption kink is also a turnoff for him as of "present day." However, I do see a chance of this changing depending on how his endings alter his character by the end of the game

Knows how to make his own lube and protection/contraceptives and is a God at aftercare

LEANDER

Alignment: Switch + Vers

Kinks: Bondage (domming + subbing), praise (giving + receiving), degradation (mostly receiving), temperature play, semi-public sex, aphrodisiacs, corruption kink

Generally prefers subbing, but there are a few scenarios where he'd rather dom

^ Those scenarios can range from anywhere between specific kinks to who he's sleeping with

Would be the type to swap roles mid-sex if that's what he and his partner both want

Is very good at tying and untying knots

^ Has once tried to use his magic for bondage purposes, but it turned out to be much more flammable than anticipated. Kuras still gives him shit for that time he and his friend had to rush to the clinic at one in the morning due to third degree burns

Make him do some honor bondage if you really wanna torture him

Has tried cockwarming on multiple occasions; never has the patience to stay still for very long

Would generally be willing to degrade his partner if that's what they're into, but his overall comfort with doing so entirely depends on his relationship with them outside of sex

Would be the type to mix praise and degradation in the same sentence

Also gives me masochist vibes, but is much more willing to admit it than Kuras

^ Doesn't really outright say it, but also doesn't put too much effort into hiding it

Probably has a lower back tattoo

The pierced nipples are canon in my mind, fight me

If his partner is someone he's trying to keep close (*cough* MC *cough*) then he's definitely going to bring out the subtle corruption kink

^ Doesn't matter if he's the dom or sub, one way or another he's going to figure out how to corrupt them

Knows how to make his own aphrodisiacs. Shockingly enough, he doesn't do anything crazy with them, but nobody really trusts him enough to test that out (except for Ais that one time)

^ Also knows how to make his own contraceptives. They're effective but they taste weird. Has tried and frequently failed to make his own lube; it always turns out concerningly chunky

Has a very expensive toy collection

VERE

Alignment: Circumstantial

Kinks: Predator/prey roleplay (theoretically), corruption kink, hypnosis (domming), pet play (domming), degredation (mostly giving), praise (mostly recieving), vocalness, bloodplay, lingerie, orgasm control (domming + subbing), dacryphilia, sensory deprivation, biting, sadomasochism, breeding (occasional)

His alignment is fully dependent of his relationship with his partner outside of sex

^ Casual fling? Definitely a dom, most likely a top. Close friend/romantic partner? Vers switch who prefers to dom

Enjoys the idea of predator/prey roleplay, but Eridia is just too crowded with people and Soulless for him to indulge in it as much as he'd like

^ Sure, both situations would be easy for him to handle, but having to suddenly halt everything to disembowel something/someone just ruins the mood, especially if it ends up putting his partner in danger

Very prevalent corruption kink. Something something false idol stuff

^ He doesn't care much about the concept of virginity, but if his partner is 1) someone he actually gives a fuck about and 2) a virgin, then he's definitely going to make something out of it for the sake of said corruption kink

Hypnosis and pet play are the two scenarios that he is strictly the dom for when they come up; both kinks spawning from the fact that he, who was once revered as a god, has been brought down to be something lesser than what he probably once considered as pawns means that he takes great pleasure in seeing someone being so willing to allow themself to become something lesser just for the sake of worshiping him, even if it's only temporary

^ Also, I feel like Vere being able to hypnotize people is just canon. Not to start theory posting, but given that the eyes for his monster silhouette look almost like spirals if you squint, his voice was described as "so supple I could slip into it" (or something along those lines), and there's two scenes where he seems to mess with the shadows to keep MC from looking anywhere except directly into his eyes… yeah this guy has to at least know how to hypnotize people, if he doesn't have some kind of hypnosis-based powers

Not necessarily apposed to dishing out praise, he's just more of an "actions over words" type and generally prefers to be on the receiving end

^ If the praise feels condescending and/or overly sappy it will just end up being a turnoff

^^ Despises the phrase "good boy" being used on him

Is willing to be degraded, but saying the wrong thing on the wrong day is a very easy way to damage your relationship with him

^ It is also possible for him to say the wrong thing on the wrong day as well. Honestly, I think it could be a very likely scenario

Knows he looks good in blood, but also likes seeing his partner in blood when given the option

Is the one with the truly impressive lingerie collection, although he doesn't actually have many toys

^ Does own some absurdly expensive lube though

Two quick facts about foxes: they're very vocal when having sex and they're the most active during winter

I imagine that Vere, no matter his role or position, is vocal in some way, shape, or form; whether it be crying or moaning or talking or even screaming

The little winter tidbit makes me think that Vere becomes a bit more sadistic and significantly hornier during the winter months; sees it as a great way to keep warm blow off some steam while waiting for the horrid season to come to an end

^ Temporarily develops a breeding kink during this time, but it goes away as the snow starts melting

^^ If he's closer with his partner in this circumstance, he would absolutely steal some contraceptives from Kuras for his partner if they were to be needed. Yes, he knows they could just ask and get it for free, but why skip out on the opportunity to be a thorn in the doctor's side?

Loves making his partner scream

Always leaves at least one bite mark for his partners to remember him by

^ The amount left and the placement depends on his level of closeness outside of sex

Overall enjoys most forms of power play, but he needs to be in a specific mindset to willingly be the submissive one'

^ Doesn't see the appeal in age play, though. Like, at all. Hard no for him

AIS

Alignment: Vers + Switch

Kinks: Brat taming (domming + subbing), sadomasochism, voyeurism (?), intox kink, bloodplay, choking (domming), shibari (domming + subbing), biting (giving + receiving), dacryphilia, orgasm control (domming + subbing), size kink

First thing's first; the groupmind may or may not be a potential factor for his sex life, depending on how exactly it works

^ For instance, if Ocudeus or the other groupmind members are able to. Like. Perceive things from Ais's perspective, then voyeurism is going to be an aspect of his sex life and there's little he can do about it

Moving on: also generally doms by default; partially due to his size, but also because he's the type to test if whoever's trying to dom him is actually assertive enough to do so

^ Hence why he's such a (literally) massive brat

Judging by how he feels about MC's and Vere's shitty personalities, him being into brats is just a given

There's also some subtle corruption kink going on, but unlike in Vere and Leander's case, it's not intentional on his end

Slightly prefers being bitten over biting his partner

Strongly prefers drug intox over alcohol intox when it comes to intox play

Prefers shibari over regular bondage because he's a fan of the patterns

^ Oddly enough, he isn't that big of a lingerie fan; he doesn't have anything against it, he just prefers full nudity

Impact play is a strong turnoff for him, though most other forms of pain play are generally on the table for him

Choking isn't something he indulges in often, partially because he doesn't like being choked and partially because he is very aware of his own strength; won't even make an attempt if he's having angry sex

Better at aftercare than most people tend to expect

MHIN

Alignment: Circumstantial

Kinks: Size kink (domming), predator/prey play (domming; deeply internalized), knife play (domming), bondage (domming + subbing), honor bondage (subbing), hypnosis (subbing), brat taming (domming), overstim (subbing), soft sex

Wouldn't sub for a fling. They also wouldn't want to bottom for a fling, either; nor would they want to bring any strong kinks into bed for them

If their partner is someone they trust, then they would honestly much rather be the submissive one

They've stumbled across topics such as hypnosis or predator/prey kinks in books, but they've never actually tried them in real life, despite both topics peaking their interest

^ Due to recent circumstances, they actually feel quite guilty about having a predator/prey kink these days, rather than just feeling a bit embarrassed

Enjoys domming a partner who is shorter than them, really enjoys domming a partner who is taller than them

Finds the presence of ropes oddly comforting, but also enjoys testing their own patience with honor bondage

As much as they like control, allowing someone else to take the reins so that they can take a break is just as pleasurable for them

^ Sometimes a bitch just needs to shut down their brain for a bit

Isn't really a fan of knife play in the leaving marks/drawing blood way, but they do like just lightly dragging a knife across their partner's body

Another one who knows how to make protection/contraceptives, but doesn't know how to make effective lube

[leejenowrld]

back to you - three

pairing - lee jeno x reader

word count - 58k words… oops

genre - smut, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

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

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

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

[fic ml]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jeno — i’m five minutes away now

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

y/n — hi baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Messy?” you repeated, incredulous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The suggestion lingered, thick with temptation, the possibilities wrapping around your thoughts like a slow burn. You pictured yourself on the empty stage, the spotlight casting shadows as you peeled away each piece of clothing, his gaze devouring every inch of your skin. The idea of swaying your hips just for him, performing in nothing but the heat of his stare, sent a shiver coursing through you. Your mind wandered further—to his hands gripping your waist as you tangled together behind the bar, his lips marking trails down your neck in the dim light, your bodies pressing against the cold counter, unapologetically lost in each other. The thought of that much space, that much freedom to surrender to him without restraint, made your breath hitch and your thighs clench. Every inch of you ached to turn that fantasy into reality.

Jeno’s hands slid down to your back, his grip tightening. He groaned appreciatively, his gaze darkening with interest, but then he hesitated, the briefest flicker of guilt crossing his face. “That sounds incredible,” he said, his voice low, “but my party’s this Sunday, baby. I’ve been planning it for weeks.”

Your excitement deflated slightly, and you huffed, crossing your arms as you gave him a mock glare. “You’d rather hang out with those annoying people, especially those girls who throw themselves at you, than me?” you teased, your tone light but carrying just enough of an edge to show your true feelings.

Jeno smirked, tilting his head as he looked at you. “I’m still gonna spend time with you because you’re going to be there. You know you’re the only one I actually care about being there, right?” His tone was smooth, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made your chest tighten.

The weight of the conversation pressed on you, a necessary shift from the lingering heat between you. You sighed, breaking the silence first, your voice softer, reflective. “None of them there know that you’re mine,” you murmured, your fingers moving absently through the strands of his hair, soft and slightly tousled from the day, as you spoke.

Jeno’s response was immediate, his voice steady and unwavering as his eyes met yours. “But I do,” he said, the simplicity of his words holding a depth that tightened something in your chest.

Your breath steadied as you leaned closer, every movement deliberate, measured, like the calculated steps of a chessboard. You didn’t speak without weighing the consequences, without first dissecting every possible outcome in your head, analyzing how each piece would fall. The proximity was strategic, your voice softened but unwavering, meant to disarm, to guide the conversation in your favor. Words weren’t released carelessly; they were chosen with purpose, crafted to leave no room for misunderstanding.

“Where we’re going, though,” you began, your voice carrying a precision sharpened by your meticulous nature, “this—keeping it a secret forever—it’s going to do more harm than good.” You studied his reaction, your eyes tracing the slight furrow of his brow, cataloging it as a sign of resistance. “I think we should start slowly becoming more public, I want people to know you’re mine. Seeing girls all over the campus actively trying to get with you isn’t something I can bear to see anymore.” You let the word linger, watching how it settled in the air between you. “It doesn’t seem useful anymore to hide this. It doesn’t benefit us.”

There was no flourish in your tone, no overstep. Every syllable reflected the logic of someone who didn’t make decisions on a whim. You had already analyzed how this secrecy left cracks—moments of unnecessary tension, fleeting paranoia, a strain on both of you that, in the long run, served no purpose. And now, you were presenting your findings, offering the solution like a carefully prepared argument, your mind already tracing the next step forward, ready for his reply.

Jeno’s expression shifted, his brows knitting as he leaned back slightly, studying your face with an unreadable look. “It’s true,” he began carefully, his voice low, as though he were testing the weight of each word. “I’ve turned down every single girl who’s tried to get with me, and yeah, that’s raised suspicions. That’s why there’s a rumor going around that I’m secretly seeing someone.” His gaze flickered, not out of insecurity, but out of the heaviness of what he was about to say. “But you do know that for some of these girls, even if they knew I was exclusive with someone—or serious—it wouldn’t stop them. It happened when I was with Areum for all those years and she was my girlfriend.”

It hung in the air like a blow you couldn’t quite dodge. The implication was there, his sentence unfinished, unspoken and heavy. And you’re not.

You didn’t react outwardly. You never did. Calculations ran in the background of your mind, sorting through every possible reaction and discarding anything that might betray the smallest hint of insecurity. But it didn’t stop the thought from cutting through. You’d wondered before, more than you’d care to admit, if you would ever mean enough to him for that title. Girlfriend.

He hadn’t ever asked. You hadn’t discussed it. And somewhere, buried under every carefully laid layer of reason, there was a small, pathetic certainty that he wasn’t going to ask at all. It stung. Not enough to shake you, but enough to harden something inside of you. If he wasn’t going to offer you that title, you’d take something else. You’d make sure this wasn’t a relationship buried in shadows, suffocating under the weight of secrecy. Your next words were sharp, cutting through the tension like glass breaking.

“It’s not my problem if girls will still try to get with you, it’s more of a reflection on them then me. I really don’t give a fuck about those types of girls.” The bluntness of your tone caught him off guard, his brows knitting slightly as he blinked at you, but you didn’t falter. You couldn’t afford to falter.

“This isn’t about them. It’s not about what they’ll do, or what they’ll say. It’s not about whether they’ll stop, because I know they won’t. They didn’t when you were with her, and they won’t now.” You took a breath, your voice sharpening like a blade with every word. “This is about me. Becoming public with you is something I want to do for me.”

You didn’t say it out of malice, or to hurt him, but the selfishness in your words felt justified. You weren’t thinking about him, or the rumors, or the way people would whisper behind your backs. You were thinking about what it would mean to you.

It wasn’t just about claiming him—it was about claiming yourself. About stepping out from behind the wall you’d built to protect yourself, to make sure no one ever saw how vulnerable you could be when it came to him. Keeping this hidden no longer felt like a shield; it felt like a shackle.

“You’re mine, Jeno. And it’s getting harder and harder to hide that.” The conviction in your voice didn’t waver, though your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “I don’t care about how this ends, or how people will react, or what it’ll cost. I just want this to be something I don’t have to hide anymore.”

You exhaled sharply, the words hanging between you like an unspoken challenge. But even as you stood firm, staring at him with a defiant glint in your eyes, that quiet, unrelenting ache gnawed at the edges of your resolve. The same question that had haunted you for weeks returned, sharper now: Would he ever choose to give you the thing you wanted most without you having to ask?

He nodded, but you didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the way they darted to the side for a split second before locking back on yours. That momentary pause—so brief it would’ve been invisible to anyone else—was enough to make your chest tighten. “What about Mark?” he asked carefully, his tone light but too measured, like he was bracing himself for the fallout.

You groaned inwardly, biting down on the sharp reply that hovered on your tongue. That’s really what you want to ask me right now?

A heavier sigh escaped your lips, the weight of his question pressing down on you more than you wanted to admit. You shook your head slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’ll deal with him,” you said, your voice steady and low, but carrying enough weight to make your stance clear.

You leaned in slightly, your gaze unwavering, challenging. “I’m a grown woman, Jeno. I can handle him being bitter. He doesn’t control me, and he sure as hell doesn’t control how I feel about you.” The firmness in your tone softened at the edges, but the steel remained. “There’s nothing he can do—nothing anyone can do—to change the way I feel about you. I don’t care how he reacts. Not about him, not about anyone else.”

Your words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown, daring him to challenge you further. But even as your exterior remained composed, a small part of you braced for his response, for any sign that he didn’t share the same conviction you were willing to risk everything for.

Jeno’s hand lingered on your thigh, his touch deliberate yet uncharacteristically gentle. His thumb traced slow circles over the fabric of your jeans, grounding you even as his words set your nerves alight. “Being able to kiss you, hold you without worrying who’s looking… not having to hide around—it’s very tempting,” he murmured, his voice low, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. But that smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was something else there—something heavy, lingering, and it made your breath hitch in a way you couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening, but you forced yourself to speak, your voice quieter than you intended. “Is that the only reason?”

For a moment, he didn’t react. His hand stilled against your thigh, the room thick with the weight of unspoken truths. His gaze, usually so sure, seemed to falter, his eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name—hesitation, guilt, maybe even fear. His jaw tensed, a muscle feathering beneath his skin, and when he finally lifted his gaze to yours, it was darker, more conflicted, like he was caught between wanting to tell you something and keeping it locked away.

Then, slowly, he shook his head, his lashes lowering as he closed his eyes, exhaling deeply through his nose. It wasn’t a sharp denial, nor was it a clear admission. It was restrained, quiet, loaded with a tension that pressed against your chest like a vice. His head dipped forward slightly, the faintest brush of his forehead against yours, as though the closeness might absolve him of what he wasn’t saying.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stayed there, your breathing shallow and your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything left unsaid. You weren’t sure if you wanted to break the silence or let it stretch, afraid of what either choice might reveal.

But then Jeno’s breath hitched as he lifted his head slightly, his eyes fluttering open. They burned with something raw and unguarded, a fight raging behind them that he couldn’t fully conceal. His gaze locked on yours, heavy with unspoken words, and when he finally spoke, his voice was uneven, trembling with restrained intensity.

“You know you’re mine, right?” he rasped, the words spilling out like they carried the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

The vulnerability in his tone, in the way his fingers flexed at his sides as if trying to steady himself, left you breathless. Your heart hammered, but you didn’t falter. You nodded, your voice soft yet certain. “I know.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours, searching for something—reassurance, absolution, maybe even control he no longer had. Then he shook his head, exhaling deeply before his lips curved into the faintest smile. His next words came out quieter, lower, as if they were just for you.

“My girl.”

The way he said it, low and possessive, sent a shiver through you, your chest tightening with an ache that was equal parts yearning and relief. It wasn’t just a claim—it was a promise, a possession spoken not out of dominance but out of need. His gaze softened slightly, but the tension remained, the moment so charged it was as if the air had been pulled from the room.

This wasn’t just a declaration; it was him laying himself bare, a rare and sacred thing that he handed to you without reserve. And you, in return, held it as tightly as you could.

Jeno called your name, his voice a low thread pulling you from the haze of your thoughts, unraveling the composure you clung to. When your eyes met his, the world narrowed to just him—his gaze, heavy with an emotion you couldn’t name, yet it settled in your chest like a weight and a spark all at once. It was disarming, like finding a crack in the armor you’d spent years forging, his vulnerability pressing against your own. You felt exposed, as though he’d peeled back the layers you didn’t even know you had, leaving you defenseless in a way that was both terrifying and achingly intimate. For a moment, you didn’t recognize him—or maybe it was you who felt unfamiliar, reflected in the rawness of his expression.

You coughed, breaking the moment with an awkwardness that wasn’t characteristic of you, before dragging the conversation in a safer direction. “So,” you began, adjusting your position as if the shift in topic could steady you, “I told Shotaro… about us.”

Jeno blinked, surprised. “Really?” His brow arched slightly, his tone laced with curiosity. “Why him?”

You nodded, your fingers brushing against his as you spoke, grounding yourself in his soft touch. “I had to tell someone, and he was the safest option. I can’t tell Mark—not yet. And the others would make it a thing, and I can’t deal with that right now. Shotaro’s different. He’s supportive and understanding. He’s good at listening, at making sense of things. I knew he’d hear me out without turning it into some… spectacle.”

Jeno exhaled, his lips curving into a small smile, something warm yet restrained. “I’m glad it’s slowly getting off your chest.”

Relief flickered through you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “I feel a bit bad, though. I kind of cornered him. He screamed a lot.” You paused, a wry laugh slipping through. “I might’ve traumatized him.”

Jeno’s chuckle was low and smooth, his hand sliding up to settle lightly against your arm. “Poor Shotaro. Bet he’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“He’s never gonna look at me the same,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “I told him how many people I’ve been with… and now he knows what I really do at the bar.”

Jeno raised a brow, feigning offense. “Hey, that was supposed to be my secret, I love being the only one who knows,” he teased lightly. “Now you’re just giving it away?”

The humor lightened the air between you, easing the weight of the confession. Still, there was a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface—a shared understanding that this wasn’t just about Shotaro knowing. This was about you taking a step toward making your relationship something real, something that couldn’t be hidden forever.

“Jen…” His name slipped from your lips in a whisper before you could stop yourself. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say, but his name lingered in the space between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. You hesitated, searching for the right words, but nothing came.

Jeno noticed your pause, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing your eyelids in the softest kiss. “Look at me,” he murmured, his voice so low it felt like a secret meant only for you.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for one last second before obeying. The moment felt fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter it entirely. When your gaze met his again, your chest tightened. His touch, his presence—it all felt too much, like a truth you weren’t ready to fully face. But there was no running from it now. Not when he was right here, grounding you in a way that only he could.

Jeno’s hand fell to your charm bracelet, his thumb brushing over the delicate trinkets that dangled from it. “You’re going to need another one soon,” he teased gently, the shift in tone offering you both an escape from the intensity of the moment.

You let out a soft laugh, grateful for the reprieve. “My apartment or yours tonight?” The question was light, but the weight of everything unsaid lingered in the air between you.

His grin returned, slow and knowing. “Yours,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with the kind of promise that sent heat rushing through you.

The night unraveled like silk, fraying at the edges with need and care, every touch pulling you further under. As soon as the door closed behind you, the restraint you’d both carried all day evaporated. Jeno’s lips claimed yours, hot and urgent, his hands rough yet reverent as they gripped your waist and pulled you flush against him. It wasn’t gentle—it was primal, a release of every pent-up desire that had built between you. His breath was jagged, your moans swallowed by the space between you as he pushed you back against the wall, pinning you there as if afraid you’d slip away.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tipping your head back to expose the curve of your neck, where his lips found their place, biting and sucking until you whimpered his name. Your hands clawed at his hoodie, yanking it off and marveling at the heat of his skin beneath your touch. He groaned when your nails raked down his chest, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

Clothes hit the floor in a trail to the bedroom, neither of you caring where they landed. By the time you fell onto the bed, it wasn’t just desperation driving you—it was something deeper, something neither of you dared to name yet. His name spilled from your lips like a prayer as he kissed down your body, his hands mapping every inch of your skin as if committing you to memory. It was raw, messy, and consuming. When he finally sank into you, your gasp echoed in the room, and for a moment, nothing else existed. He moved like he was trying to undo you, every thrust deliberate, every whispered word in your ear driving you closer to the edge.

Afterward, when your breaths finally steadied and your bodies cooled, the intimacy shifted into something softer. Jeno helped you into a sweatshirt, his smile lazy as he tugged the hem down over your hips, and you laughed, swatting his hand away. The night wasn’t over, and the promise of something more lingered as you ventured out into the city.

The riverfront was quiet, bathed in the warm glow of streetlights reflecting on the water’s surface. The cool air bit at your exposed skin, crisp enough to raise goosebumps, but Jeno’s hand in yours anchored you, its warmth seeping through like a slow-burning ember. His fingers laced with yours in a way that felt inevitable, a quiet promise in the simple act. He gave your hand a soft squeeze, and when you looked up, the faint curve of his lips, the way his eyes softened just for you, made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t explain.

You leaned against the railing, the metal cold beneath your fingertips as you gazed at the water, its surface rippling with reflections of the city lights. The hum of the river, the faint sounds of the city in the distance—it was a quiet rhythm that made the night feel alive, like a secret shared between the two of you. “I used to come here all the time as a kid,” you murmured, your voice softer than the lapping waves. “It felt… alive. Like the city’s heartbeat. I’d sit here for hours, just watching.”

Jeno stepped behind you, his arms sliding around your waist and pulling you against his chest. His chin found its place on your shoulder, his breath fanning over the curve of your neck, warm and steady. “I can see why,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant only for you. “It’s peaceful. Feels like it belongs to you.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over his where they rested on your stomach. “It used to make me feel small, in a good way. Like no matter how loud my thoughts got, this place would drown them out.”

Jeno was quiet for a moment, his thumb drawing slow circles against your side. “I came here a lot too,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, a thread of something heavier pulling at the edges of his tone. “When I was younger. My mom loved this spot. She’d pack sandwiches and drag me and my dad here for picnics.”

You tilted your head slightly, catching the distant look in his eyes as he gazed out at the water. “I didn’t know that.”

He nodded, a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She said the river reminded her of where she grew up. She’d sit here for hours, telling me stories about her hometown, about how she’d spend her summers by the water. My dad hated it, though. He’d always stay in the car or cut the trip short.”

The shift in his voice was subtle, but you felt it. The warmth that had been there moments ago cooled slightly, and his grip on your waist tightened, as if grounding himself. “She’d laugh it off,” Jeno continued, “say he didn’t know how to appreciate the simple things. But I think it hurt her more than she let on.”

You turned in his arms, your fingers brushing his jaw gently, urging him to look at you. “Jeno…”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes made your chest ache. “I didn’t get it back then,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Why she kept bringing us here when it was clear he didn’t want to be. But now… I think she was just trying to hold on to something that made her happy. Something that felt hers.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling between you. “She sounds so loving.” 

“She is.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening slightly. “She deserved more,” he said, his voice steady but distant, like the words weren’t entirely for you. His gaze lingered on the water, unmoving, the reflection of the city lights dancing in his eyes. “More than someone who only saw the inconvenience. More than someone who…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as his grip on the railing shifted, knuckles faintly paling under the strain.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was heavy, brimming with the things he wouldn’t say. You watched him, your chest tightening at the tension in his posture, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly like he was holding something in. His hand slid off the railing, falling to his side as he exhaled, the sound sharp and controlled.

It was denial, you realized—not overt, but there, laced in the way he kept his tone even, his words carefully measured, never fully opening the door to the weight he was carrying. He glanced at you then, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, and just as quickly, he turned his gaze back to the water. “She just… deserved more,” he repeated, quieter this time, as if saying it again would make it feel less personal. But you knew it was.

You turned slightly, the question forming in your mind, but he caught it before you could speak. His lips brushed yours, the kiss starting soft, tentative, as if testing the moment. Your breath hitched, your head still turned sideways, his lips fitting perfectly against yours. His hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. The world fell away, the only sound the faint rush of the river and the shared, uneven breaths that slipped between you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded and heavy with something unspoken. His breath mingled with yours, his lips brushing the faintest kiss against your temple before he leaned back just enough to meet your gaze. His hands slid under your skirt, warm and deliberate, gripping your ass through the thin fabric. His touch was firm, claiming, yet his gaze softened, as if the weight of his words could break the moment.

“It’s different with you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, the ache in your chest spreading, your heart beating a little too fast. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist as if anchoring himself. His jaw tensed, and he exhaled a shaky breath. “With Areum… I felt like I was always pretending. Like I had to keep up this version of myself to make everything seem fine. I was holding my breath, just waiting for it to fall apart.” He paused, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your skirt. 

“But with you…” His voice softened, his words barely above a whisper as his eyes locked onto yours, holding you in place. It wasn’t rushed, like he wanted the moment to stretch, to last. He hesitated, searching for words that could match the feeling that lingered between you. “It feels like breathing—natural, steady, something I don’t have to think about but can’t imagine living without.

His hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate, grounding him just as much as you. “I don’t have to try, I don’t have to hold anything together. You make it feel like there’s nothing to hold, nothing to fix. Just—this.” He let out a small, uneven exhale, his lips twitching into something like a smile, soft and barely there. “Just you. I’m so good with you.”

His gaze lingered, drinking you in as though the moment could slip away if he didn’t memorize it. The way he looked at you then felt heavy but sweet, like a secret being shared, something quiet but infinite, and it left your heart aching in the best way. Your fingers brushed over his cheek, and you felt the way he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment before opening again, darker, searching. He made it so easy to believe that this was enough, that what hung unsaid between you didn’t need to be spoken aloud. His faint smile faltered, as if he could sense your hesitation, the conflict you weren’t ready to confront.

“It’s a good thing,” he said lightly, but there was something fragile in the way he said it, a tentative weight to the words that left you feeling exposed.

You wanted to say something back—something deliberate, something that would tighten the threads already weaving so carefully between you. But your mind, always calculating, always weighing the risk, refused to let your heart take the lead. You measured the distance between his vulnerability and your restraint, gauging the consequences of saying too much, of letting him see too far into you. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t unravel the carefully constructed balance you’d built? That wouldn’t tip the scales and leave you exposed?

Your silence wasn’t hesitation—it was strategy. A moment to decide whether you could afford the cost of letting him in, of giving him more than fleeting intimacy cloaked in kisses and touches. But even as you hesitated, a flicker of something darker crept in: the quiet fear that you’d already given too much, that this was careening toward something neither of you could control. 

Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips capturing his in a way that said what you couldn’t. The kiss was soft at first, deliberate, but it deepened as your hands slid to his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his hoodie, the steady rhythm of his heart against your palms. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, as though he understood that this was all you could give.

Jeno wouldn’t notice, couldn’t notice, the precision of your decision. Not yet. To him, the kiss was only a kiss—soft, full of unspoken promises—but to you, it was a safeguard, a way to maintain the tenuous balance between want and surrender.

“I have something for you,” he said quietly, his voice low and warm, a stark contrast to the teasing edge it usually carried. The words caught you off guard, stealing the air from your lungs for a moment. You turned your head slightly, catching his intent expression and you smiled softly, knowing what was coming. 

He brought your wrist up—the one adorned with the charm bracelet—and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your face. The soft, lingering pecks made your chest tighten, the intimacy stealing your breath more effectively than anything else he’d done that evening. Silently, he unclasped his hand to reveal a small charm resting in his palm. It gleamed under the faint glow of the streetlights, and your breath hitched when you recognized what it was: a tiny, intricate wave, its curves and lines mimicking the rippling water below. Jeno didn’t say anything at first, his eyes locked onto yours as he watched for your reaction. His gaze was steady, his expression softer than you’d ever seen, like he was offering you something much deeper than just a piece of jewelry.

The tenderness in his actions sent a surge of warmth through you, and for a moment, you felt untethered. Slowly, you turned in his hold, facing him fully now, your hands resting lightly on his chest. “You don’t know how much these mean to me,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the depth of your emotions. “Every single one… I don’t take it lightly.”

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, a kiss that felt like a promise. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his hands slid to your waist, holding you steady. “Anything for my girl,” he said, the words so quiet they were barely audible, yet they rang louder in your chest than anything else.

That feeling came again, like a foreign weight pressing against your ribs, insistent and unfamiliar. You wanted to push it away, to bury it before it took root, but the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to ignore. Still, you didn’t let it show, didn’t let it escape into the open. You simply smiled, your fingers tracing the edges of the new charm, grounding yourself in the physicality of it. “Thank you,” you whispered, kissing him again, softer this time, as if trying to convey what you couldn’t yet put into words. Jeno’s arms tightened around you, and for a moment, the world faded, leaving only the two of you suspended in the quiet night.

The moment stretched, his eyes heavy-lidded and focused entirely on you. His hands held you still, one cradling your jaw while the other gripped your waist with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, his mouth working against yours like he wanted to memorize every detail, every soft gasp you let out against him. His lips dragged over yours, parting and meeting in a rhythm that sent heat coursing through your veins, his tongue teasing just enough to leave you trembling. He kept you like that, face-to-face, his lips trailing from your mouth to your cheek, then lower to your jaw, each kiss leaving a mark you felt in your bones. But then, with a deliberate slowness that felt like a tease, his hands slid to your hips, guiding you as he turned you around.

For a moment, you felt the cool night air brush against your face as the world blurred, but it all sharpened again with the heat of his chest pressing against your back, his arms wrapping securely around you. He adjusted you slightly, pulling you flush against him, and the full weight of him against you was enough to make your breath stutter. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. His actions told the story. His hands slid down your sides, tracing every curve like they belonged to him, pausing briefly at your hips before moving lower to grip the swell of your ass through your skirt. His hold was firm, possessive, and when his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh, he gave a slow, deliberate pull, guiding you back into him.

His lips found the side of your neck, warm and insistent, and as he kissed down to your shoulder, you felt his breath hitch against your skin. His movements weren’t rushed; they were reverent, like he was savoring the moment. His hands moved again, slipping upward to gather your hair, tying it loosely and exposing the delicate curve of your neck. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth, his lips brushing over the nape of your neck with a slow intensity that made your knees weaken.

He loved this—being behind you, the way your body fit against his like a puzzle only he had the answer to. He loved the way your neck arched so perfectly when he tilted your head back, the way your hips moved instinctively when he guided them. The way your ass pressed against him with every slight shift—it wasn’t just the physicality; it was the control, the trust, the unspoken connection that made it intoxicating.

His lips grazed your temple, lingering there for a moment before brushing down to the shell of your ear. The softness of the touch was a stark contrast to the growl in his voice when he spoke, low and teasing, “You keep leaning back into me like that, baby, and I’m not gonna care who’s watching.” His hands tightened on your waist, the pressure enough to make your breath hitch. “Do you want them all to see how good you look when you fall apart for me?”

A shiver rippled through you, and you inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself against the way his words made your pulse race. “You wouldn’t,” you whispered, but there was no strength in it—only the quiet tremor of a challenge you weren’t sure you wanted to win.

“Try me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear before trailing lower, pressing deliberate, burning kisses down the curve of your neck. Each touch was slow and purposeful, like he wanted to etch himself into your skin. His hands slipped under your sweater, his calloused fingers meeting bare skin, and you gasped at the sensation, your back arching slightly into his touch.

The railing pressed against your hips as he crowded closer, his body pinning you in place with an unyielding warmth that made it impossible to think. You turned your head to meet his mouth, and the kiss that followed was anything but gentle. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his teeth grazing your bottom lip and drawing a quiet, desperate whimper from you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, and he growled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you and sinking deep into your core. His hands traveled lower, gripping your thighs and pulling you back into him, every movement calculated, claiming. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with want.

Your heart pounded, every nerve alight as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes was unrelenting, burning through every ounce of composure you thought you had. “Jeno,” you managed to breathe, your voice shaking as his lips found yours again, his grip on your body a silent promise of what was to come.

The café was bathed in a golden haze, the early evening glow filtering through the wide windows, casting soft shadows across the wooden floors. The air was rich with the familiar warmth of roasted coffee beans and the sweet, buttery aroma of pastries. It was comforting—a safe haven that always grounded you—but tonight, it felt precarious, a fragile bubble straining to contain the undercurrent of anticipation coursing through you. Jeno’s party was hours away, and the thought of seeing him again sent your mind spiraling, your thoughts darting between memories of him and the lingering tension of your secret. You stood at the espresso machine, the rhythmic hiss of steam grounding you in the present. The familiarity of the task was a lifeline, but your hands moved on autopilot. Your mind betrayed you, replaying flashes of the night before: his lips on yours, the way his hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t let go, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. The memory of it sent a flutter racing through your chest, your breath hitching as your hand wavered, nearly spilling the foam you were carefully crafting.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Irene’s voice cut through the haze, warm and curious as she stepped up beside you. “What are your plans for after the shift?”

Startled, you blinked, setting the cup down and gripping the counter to steady yourself. “Oh,” you said, stalling for a second as you fumbled for the words. “Just a… party tonight.”

Irene raised a brow, her lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. “A party, huh? Sounds fun. Who’s hosting?”

Her tone was light, casual, but the glint in her eyes was anything but. You hesitated, your heart picking up speed as you tried to decide how much to share. “A friend,” you said, a touch too quickly. The word felt foreign and inadequate, and you could tell she caught it by the way her smile widened just slightly.

“Right,” she said, the word drawn out with quiet amusement. She picked up a glass from the counter and started wiping it, her movements unhurried. “Just a ‘friend’s’ party, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed under her gaze, and you busied yourself with the cup in front of you, determined not to give anything away. But Irene’s presence was steady, unrelenting in the way she could pull answers from you without even trying. It was the kind of warmth that made people spill their secrets, but you weren’t ready for that. Not yet.

“It’s nothing big,” you said, your voice steadier this time. “Just a casual thing.”

“Casual,” Irene repeated, her tone lilting, but she didn’t press further. She set the glass down and gave your shoulder a gentle pat. “Well, whoever this ‘friend’ is, I hope they know how lucky they are.”

Her words hung in the air, light and teasing, but they settled deep in your chest, stirring something you couldn’t quite name. You nodded, offering her a faint smile before turning back to the machine, your thoughts already drifting to Jeno and what the night might bring. You passed a cappuccino to a customer with a polite smile, the weight of Irene’s words hanging in the air. She moved closer, patting your shoulder gently, her touch grounding yet maternal. She began humming softly, the familiar lullaby she always fell back on when the café slowed into its evening rhythm. It was the kind of thing that made you feel both safe and seen, a quiet reminder that Irene had always been more than just your boss.

“You’re working so hard, dear,” she said after a moment, her tone soft and affectionate. “I keep telling you to take breaks.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I know, I know. You’re the best, Irene.”

Her smile turned wistful, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Someone’s gotta look after you.”

Her words hit deeper than you expected, settling into that hollow part of you that craved care, but before you could say anything, the sound of your friends’ laughter carried across the café. You turned toward the corner booth, where Donghyuck, Chenle, Yangyang, Shotaro, and Nahyun were waving you over. Their energy filled the space, light and infectious, their presence a welcome distraction.

“Y/N!” Donghyuck called dramatically, already halfway out of his seat to gesture at you. “We need our usual fix, please!”

Nahyun grinned, resting her chin on her hand. “Something strong. We’ve got a party to get hyped for.” The corners of your lips tugged upward. You felt the warmth of excitement ripple through you—your shift was nearly over, and soon you’d be free to join them. 

“Donghyuck wants a spiked caramel latte,” you muttered to Irene as you gathered ingredients, the clink of ice and the soft hum of the blender filling the air. “Chenle’s always rum-based, Yangyang goes for fruity vodka…”

“And Shotaro?” Irene prompted, her eyes twinkling.

You laughed. “A light soda with a little whiskey. I’ve got them all memorized.”

Irene chuckled, leaning against the counter as you worked. “You spoil them too much. They’re lucky to have you.”

As you poured the drinks, your thoughts veered away from the steady rhythm of the café and back to Jeno, the weight of his memory pulling you under like a tide. You didn’t mean to linger on that particular night, but the haze of it crept into your mind anyway, vivid and intoxicating. The way his grin turned sharp and boyish as he watched you mix drinks—his curiosity always piqued when you were in your element. You’d crafted your best cocktails that night, each sip drawing a deeper laugh from him, his cheeks flushed from the liquor and the heat between you.

Then came the smoke. The two of you sat sprawled on the worn leather couch in the dim light of the bar, passing a blunt back and forth, your giggles tangled with the low hum of music. You remembered how your head lolled back against the cushions, how you’d teased him about his inability to handle your “special mixes” while he playfully scolded you for making them too strong. When his fingers brushed yours, taking the blunt from your hand, the laughter faded into something heavier, slower. The air thickened with the weight of unspoken want, your bodies naturally gravitating closer, heat rising between you. His lips had found yours first, lazy and unhurried, his tongue tasting faintly of rum and smoke as his hand slid over your thigh, igniting something that left you both gasping.

The thought of his touch made your hands falter now, a splash of liquor spilling onto the counter as your grip slipped. You cursed softly under your breath, shaking your head as Irene, ever observant, raised an amused brow from across the counter. “Careful, dear. Don’t let your mind wander too far.”

By the time you carried the tray to the booth, their laughter had turned into an animated conversation about tonight’s party. You placed each drink in front of them, Donghyuck immediately raising his cup.

“Cheers to free booze later at Jeno’s party!” he declared, grinning.

“Can’t believe we’re partying two nights in a row,” Chenle added, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “My poor liver.”

Yangyang smirked. “I heard Jeno’s got some new playlist he’s dying to show off. The guy’s been hyping it up all week.”

Shotaro sat across from you, his usual playful energy dimmed, replaced by an unusual quiet. His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the edge of his drink, his gaze flicking between you and the rest of the group with a guarded hesitation that didn’t suit him. When his eyes finally met yours, there was something unspoken there—too knowing, too cautious, as though he was carrying the weight of what you’d told him earlier and couldn’t quite figure out what to do with it. You shot him a warning look, subtle but firm, the kind that said, don’t even think about it. His lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Something about the way he avoided holding your gaze for too long made your chest tighten, a ripple of unease threading through the moment.

It wasn’t until Irene’s voice cut through the chatter that your attention snapped back. “Where’s Mark?” she asked casually, her tone light but pointed. “He’s usually here with you all.”

You froze, the question hanging in the air, and then Irene smiled knowingly, her eyes locking on yours. “He’s with Areum, right?”

You blinked, startled by Irene’s words. “What?” 

She gave you one of her signature smiles, soft but knowing, the kind that always made you feel like she was a step ahead. “I’m his mother. I know everything.”

The chill her words sent through you was subtle but undeniable, creeping along your spine as her gaze lingered. It wasn’t the statement itself—it was the weight behind it. The way she said it like it was obvious, like she knew more than she let on, made your chest tighten. If Irene knew about Mark and Areum, what else might she suspect?

You nodded stiffly, grabbing the empty tray and retreating to the counter under the guise of wiping it down. Her words echoed in your head, mingling with the quiet hum of the café and the lively conversation at the booth. The thought crept in, unbidden: did she know about Jeno?

The possibility felt too confusing to entertain, so you forced yourself to focus on the group. They were still laughing, passing jokes back and forth, and for a moment, the tension eased. You carried the revelation with you, though, a quiet hum beneath your thoughts as you moved back to the booth and slid into the seat beside Shotaro.

You barely had time to settle into the booth before Nahyun pushed her chair back, the screech of metal against tile slicing through the café’s hum. She stood abruptly, slipping her bag over her shoulder. Her expression was pointed, sharp in a way that made your stomach twist.

“I’ll catch you all later,” she said curtly, her voice clipped. No goodbye, no lingering glance—just a straight shot to the door. The table went silent for a beat. You followed her with your eyes, your mouth opening as if to call her back, but nothing came out. You caught Shotaro’s gaze instead, and your chest tightened at what you saw there. He looked… lost. His eyes stayed fixed on Nahyun’s retreating figure, his expression hollow, like the weight of her absence had already settled into his chest.

Your instinct kicked in, gentle but firm. You reached out and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in a way that was meant to ground him. “Hey,” you said softly, leaning closer. “Don’t let her get to you, okay? You’re good.”

He gave you a small, unconvincing smile, his shoulders stiff. Chenle picked up on it immediately. “Yeah, Taro,” he chimed in, nudging his friend from across the table. “Forget about her. She’s just being her usual self.”

Yangyang joined in with an exaggerated laugh. “Exactly. Do you know how many times she’s stormed out like that? Just forget her, bro.”

Shotaro’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t enough to shake the weight you saw in his eyes. You tousled his hair again, this time more playfully. “See? We’ve got you,” you said, giving him a small smile. “Forget about her.”

For a moment, Shotaro seemed to loosen up, a small smile tugging at his lips as the table’s conversation pulled him from his thoughts. But the relief was fleeting. The café door opened again, and in walked Mia, Aisha, and Yiren—a swirl of high-pitched giggles and the sharp scent of floral perfume. Their laughter was bright, exaggerated, their movements deliberate as they swept inside, their presence cutting through the warm, inviting atmosphere like a blade.

Shotaro’s smile disappeared instantly. His eyes darted to the door, and you followed his gaze. That’s when you saw Nahyun standing with them, her laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle, casting quick glances toward your table, her gaze sharp and lingering. Your stomach twisted. It was as though she knew exactly where to aim her jabs without saying a word. The way she leaned in close to Mia, whispering something that made the others laugh harder, sent a spark of irritation through you. You didn’t know what she was saying, but you had a sinking feeling it wasn’t anything good.

Shotaro’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as his shoulders stiffened. The lost look in his eyes from earlier returned, deeper now, like a wound being prodded. You reached over and gently ran your hand through his hair, your voice soft as you tried to soothe him. “Don’t look, Taro,” you murmured, low enough for only him to hear. “She’s not worth it.”

He blinked at you, as if trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him, but his gaze kept drifting toward the door. You glanced back yourself, catching Nahyun’s smirk as she whispered something else to Mia, her eyes darting briefly in your direction. Your irritation bubbled higher, but you forced yourself to stay composed, your hand still resting on Shotaro’s shoulder as you tried to keep him grounded.

“Let it go,” you said, your tone firm but kind. For now, that was all you could do. 

You turned your head sharply toward Shotaro as the bitterness in his tone caught you off guard, something so foreign to his usually lighthearted demeanor. “I dump her, and she thinks she can make fun of me,” he muttered, his jaw clenched as his eyes stayed fixed on the door where Nahyun stood.

The table stilled, stunned into silence. “Wait—” Yangyang started, his brows furrowing, “You dumped her? Since when?”

Shotaro didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the table as his fingers fidgeted with his drink. It was such an unlike-him gesture, and your stomach twisted. He finally exhaled, shaking his head. “A while ago. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

The weight of his words hung in the air for a beat too long, but you quickly decided you weren’t going to let this moment define the rest of the night. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked. “Forget her,” you said softly, offering him a small smile. “You’ve got us, right?”

Yangyang caught on quickly, grinning as he leaned forward. “Yeah, Taro. Who needs her when you’ve got me? I’d make a way better partner anyway.”

“Better at what?” Chenle interjected with mock seriousness. “Breaking his heart? You’re terrible at commitment.”

“Okay, rude,” Yangyang shot back, his hand flying to his chest in exaggerated offense. The table erupted in laughter, the tension breaking as you all jumped into the teasing. Even Shotaro cracked a faint smile, and you kept threading your fingers through his hair, watching as his shoulders finally relaxed.

Chenle, ever the instigator, leaned closer to Shotaro. “What you really need is a makeover. New look, new you. I say we bleach your hair—completely platinum.”

Shotaro let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I think I’ll pass.”

As the laughter subsided, you all let out a collective sigh of relief when Mia, Aisha, Yiren, and Nahyun finally left the café. Their departure felt like a gust of fresh air, clearing the room of the tension they had brought in with them. You glanced at Shotaro, catching the faint flicker of ease returning to his expression, and you felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. But, of course, the peace was short-lived.

Chenle leaned back in his chair, shooting you a pointed look with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, guys,” he started, dragging out your name in a way that immediately set your nerves on edge. “Guess what rumor I heard today.” The playful tone in his voice sent a ripple of anticipation around the table, everyone leaning in slightly as you braced yourself for whatever was about to come. The distraction was en route, and you didn’t yet realize you were about to be the center of it.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along despite the flicker of anxiety in your chest. “Enlighten us.”

Yangyang’s grin widened. “They’re saying you’re hooking up with Jeno.”

You froze for a fraction of a second, but quickly recovered, forcing a laugh that sounded almost real. “Oh, come on,” you said, waving him off. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, seriously,” Chenle chimed in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Apparently, people think you’re sneaking around with him. Like, secretly dating or whatever.”

You laughed again, this time leaning into the absurdity. “Dating Jeno? Please. Do you even hear yourselves? I can’t stand the guy.”

“Exactly,” Yangyang said, smirking. “Which is why it’s so funny. It wouldn’t work. Total opposites.”

“Opposites attract,” Chenle sing-songed, earning a smack on the arm from you.

“Not in this case,” you shot back, rolling your eyes for effect. “Can we talk about something less ridiculous now?”

The jokes didn’t let up. “What if you’ve secretly had a crush on him this whole time?” Yangyang teased, his grin sharp. “Like, the classic enemies-to-lovers trope.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your seat. “Right, and in the next chapter, we’re married with kids,” you shot back dryly. The table erupted into laughter, the kind that was light and easy, and you played along as if you weren’t sitting on the exact truth they were joking about. But Shotaro wasn’t laughing. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands fidgeted in his lap.

Shotaro had been unusually fidgety all afternoon, his knee bouncing under the table, fingers twisting the hem of his sweater. At first, you chalked it up to the earlier situation with Nahyun—that bitter tone in his voice, so unlike him, had clearly unsettled him. But as the conversation spiraled into jokes about you and Jeno, you saw something shift in him. You knew him too well to miss it. It wasn’t Nahyun that had him unraveling; it was the secret he was barely keeping together. You threw him a lifeline, trying to redirect the jokes before they hit a nerve. “Right, Shotaro?” you said, nudging his arm with a forced smile. “Tell them how insane they sound.”

But instead of joining in with his usual laughter, he froze, his wide eyes darting between you and the others like a deer caught in headlights. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and then clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “Taro?” Yangyang asked, half-laughing, half-confused. “What’s wrong with you?”

Shotaro’s face flushed as he tried to hold it in, but the pressure was building, visible in the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. “You guys are—” he started, his voice too tight. He coughed, forcing a laugh that came out shaky. “You guys are ridiculous.”

It wasn’t convincing. At all. Chenle raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You okay, man? You look like you’re about to pass out.” Your stomach flipped. You could see it coming now, the inevitable crack in his composure. You shot him a warning glance, your foot nudging his under the table, silently pleading with him to hold it together. But Shotaro wasn’t looking at you anymore—his focus was entirely on the rest of the table. And then, like a dam breaking, it burst out.

“Because it’s true!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the café, startling everyone into silence. “Y/N is hooking up with Jeno!”

The table descended into an eerie silence, the kind that made the air feel heavy and stifling. Yangyang’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a sharp, unreadable stare. Chenle’s mouth fell open, his face frozen in wide-eyed disbelief. For a moment, all you could hear was the low hum of the café’s background noise—the quiet clatter of cups from Irene behind the counter and faint laughter from a distant table. But none of it mattered. The world seemed to tilt as Shotaro’s words settled over the group like a bomb.

Donghyuck’s head whipped toward you, his brows shooting up so high they almost touched his hairline. “Wait—what?” His tone was loud, incredulous, and laced with just enough amusement to make your stomach drop.

Chenle nearly choked on his drink, sputtering as he clutched the table for support. “No. No way. Are you kidding me?” Yangyang, however, stayed unnervingly calm, his sharp eyes narrowing as they flicked between you and Shotaro. His smirk was gone, replaced by a calculating expression that made your skin prickle. “Is this true?” he asked, his voice quiet but demanding, each word slicing through the tension like a blade.

Your mouth opened, but no sound followed at first, your thoughts momentarily tangled. It wasn’t that you didn’t have an excuse ready—you did. You could’ve easily lied, brushed off Shotaro’s outburst as a poorly timed joke. But a part of you hesitated, a part that didn’t mind your closest friends knowing. They were your constants, the ones who had seen every shade of you, from your worst days to your rare, unguarded moments. Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel the same urgency to hide this secret anymore. Maybe a part of you wanted the truth out in the open, at least with them. You trusted them, trusted that even in their shock and disbelief, they wouldn’t betray you. And maybe, selfishly, you wanted to share the weight of this, to stop carrying it alone.

However, beside you, Shotaro was spiraling, his guilt unraveling faster than he could catch it. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” he groaned, his voice muffled and cracking. “You were all sitting here joking about it, and I just… I couldn’t keep it in.” He finally looked up, and the regret in his wide eyes was so raw, so pitiful, that some of your anger softened despite yourself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding more like a child than the usually carefree Shotaro you knew.

Donghyuck, of course, was the first to recover, leaning back in his chair with a mix of disbelief and delight dancing across his face. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, pointing a finger between you and Shotaro. “You’re telling me you”—he paused, gesturing dramatically—“and Jeno? The guy you supposedly hate?”

“Donghyuck, shut up,” you snapped, your voice louder than intended, but your nerves were fraying.

“I’m just saying!” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “This is wild, even for you.”

Yangyang finally leaned back, his elbows resting on the table as his gaze drilled into you. “How long?” he asked, his voice low but cutting.

You hesitated, the weight of their stares pressing down on you like a physical force. You thought, briefly, about spinning the truth, about weaving a believable lie to salvage whatever was left of your dignity. But then you caught Shotaro’s guilty expression, and something shifted. You realized you couldn’t—didn’t want to—lie about any part of this anymore. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. A way to finally let go of the constant fear of being found out.

“Not long,” you said finally, your voice even but tinged with exhaustion. “But long enough.”

The admission sent the group into a new round of chaos. Chenle groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. This is insane. Jeno? Mark’s brother Jeno?”

“No, Chenle, the other Jeno I’ve been secretly hooking up with. Obviously, Mark’s brother Jeno.”

Chenle shot you an exasperated look, but your response earned a surprised snort from Yangyang, who had been quietly narrowing his eyes at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Oh, she’s still got jokes,” Yangyang muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Bold of you, considering what we just found out.”

Shotaro sat straighter, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted. His tone, softer but more at peace now, made you glance his way with suspicion. In his mind, the worst had already happened—there was no going back, no further secrets to guard. “What did Mark say when you told him?” he asked, his gaze sharper now, his voice quieter but no less pointed, like he was testing you.

The table fell silent, every pair of eyes turning to you. Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. You froze, the heaviness of the question pressing down on your chest. Shotaro’s calm facade cracked in an instant. “Wait—” His voice shot up, cracking with disbelief. “You haven’t told him?! Are you serious right now?” His shout made the others flinch.

Chenle was the first to recover, throwing his head back with a loud laugh that echoed through the café. “Oh my god, this is brilliant! You haven’t told Mark?” He leaned forward, his grin wide and incredulous. “You do know he’s gonna freak out when he finds out, right? Like, lose his mind freak out.”

At the mention of Mark, your stomach twisted painfully. “He’s not going to find out, not yet, I need to figure out how I’m gonna tell him,” you said quickly, your tone hardening. “Not unless one of you says something. And you’re not going to.”

Donghyuck let out a low whistle, his grin returning. “You think you can keep this from Mark? You really think he’s not going to figure it out?”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” you shot back, glaring at him. “This doesn’t leave this table. Do you understand me? None of you are saying anything.”

Chenle slumped in his chair, muttering under his breath, while Yangyang’s expression remained unreadable, his sharp eyes fixed on Shotaro. You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice but keeping it firm. “Taro,” you asked directly, cutting through the tension. “Can I trust you to keep it in this time?”

Shotaro groaned audibly, his head dropping back into his hands like the weight of the entire situation was crushing him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered again, his voice muffled and pitiful. “I didn’t mean to say it, I swear. I just—”

“Shotaro,” you interrupted softly but pointedly, trying to ground him. He peeked at you from between his fingers, the guilt in his wide eyes so raw it almost made you feel bad for him. Almost. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I will, I promise!” he blurted, sitting up straighter, his voice cracking with urgency. “I won’t say a word. I swear.”

Yangyang let out a dry laugh, but you ignored him, keeping your focus on Shotaro. “Good,” you said quietly, your gaze steady and unyielding. “Because if this gets back to Mark before I figure things out…”

Shotaro’s face crumpled further, but he nodded, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own mistake.

Chenle let out another dramatic sigh, throwing his head back. “My lips are sealed,” he said reluctantly. “But I want to be there when Mark finds out.” You shot him a glare and swore at him, but the tension in the air had eased just enough to let you breathe. It wasn’t perfect, but for now, it would have to be enough.

Jeno’s apartment had always felt like a chameleon, shifting effortlessly to fit the moment, the mood, the people inside it. You knew its every corner, every quiet creak and curve, like the back of your hand. Tonight, though, it felt unrecognizable, as if it had shed its usual restraint and dressed itself in reckless abandon. The once-serene living room, with its minimalist furniture and sleek, polished surfaces, was now a kaleidoscope of sound and color. Bass-heavy music throbbed against the walls, shaking the floor beneath your heels, while lights—red, blue, green—flashed and bled into one another, washing over the crowd like a fever dream.

This wasn’t just a party—it was indulgence laid bare. The apartment wore its chaos well, pulling you in with the kind of raw energy that demanded to be fed. Furniture that usually whispered elegance was shoved aside, creating space for grinding bodies and half-drunk laughter. The kitchen counter, once the epitome of spotless modernity, was now buried under bottles, mixers, and the occasional abandoned phone. Even the windows, typically pristine and reflective, were fogged with condensation, blurring the city skyline into streaks of muted light.

Your friends moved forward, merging seamlessly into the chaos, but you hesitated at the threshold, feeling the push and pull of the room. Your gaze swept over the crowd, catching flashes of movement—dancing, shouting, fleeting glances exchanged in dim corners. Despite the thrumming energy, you felt the apartment’s other personas lingering beneath the surface. You’d seen it as a sanctuary in quieter moments, a place of understated intimacy where laughter had been soft and kisses had tasted like secrets. Now, it was unrecognizable, its sleek edges drowned in decadence, as if trying to swallow you whole.

And then, there was Jeno.

He wasn’t loud or boisterous like the party raging around him; he didn’t need to be. The room seemed to shift subtly when he appeared, his presence a gravitational pull that even the chaos bent around. Dressed in black, his shirt clung to his body in a way that was both effortless and deliberate, the rolled-up sleeves revealing veins that drew your eye like a map. Jeno was smiling, the kind of effortless grin that somehow lit him up even under the dim, flashing lights. He navigated the crowd with ease, slipping between groups with a nod here, a laugh there, like he was made for moments like these. His confidence wasn’t loud or overbearing; it was woven into the way he moved, the way people naturally gravitated toward him without him having to try.

When his eyes found you, it felt like time slowed, the noise of the party fading into static. His stare was unrelenting, dark and heavy, dragging over your figure in a way that made your skin prickle. The straps of your top suddenly felt insubstantial, your mini skirt a little too short. Heat climbed up your neck, spreading across your cheeks, but you didn’t let yourself flinch. Instead, you held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than you should have before looking away, your pulse thrumming against your ribs.

His gaze lingered, deliberate and unhurried, dragging over you in a way that made your skin prickle with heat despite the crowded room. For a moment, the noise and chaos around you seemed to fade, your focus narrowing to the sharpness of his features and the weight of his attention. But then he was gone, swallowed up by the throng of people, leaving you standing there with a racing pulse and too many thoughts you couldn’t afford to entertain. Shaking off the haze, you forced yourself to look around, your eyes scanning the room until they landed on someone else entirely. Mark.

He was across the apartment, perched on the arm of a couch with his teammates clustered around him. His easy laughter carried faintly over the pounding bass, his smile bright as he sipped from a red cup. He looked so at ease, so perfectly at home in this chaos, that it made your chest tighten. You lifted a hand, offering him a small wave, but his eyes slid right past you, never once acknowledging your presence. The sting of it was sharper than you’d anticipated, cutting through the thin veil of calm you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard, trying to brush off the weight of his indifference, but it lingered, gnawing at the edges of your confidence.

You turned back to your friends, catching Yangyang’s eye as you did. He raised his cup in a silent question, and you gave him a tight smile in response. “Let’s grab a drink,” you murmured, pushing through the crowd toward the makeshift bar. Anything to distract yourself from the way Mark’s disregard had made you feel invisible in a room where you were already trying to stay hidden.

The music shifted to a faster beat, the crowd pulsating in unison under the swirling lights. The air was thick with sweat and spilled liquor, the scent of cologne and perfume mingling into something almost dizzying. You tossed back your first drink too quickly, the burn spreading warmth through your chest, and reached for another without hesitation. Anything to dull the jealousy clawing at your insides.

From across the room, you could see Jeno again. He was standing near a group of girls, one of whom was leaning far too close, her laugh high-pitched and artificial. Your grip on your cup tightened, the plastic bending slightly under your fingers. You hated this—hated how his attention on anyone else made your stomach twist. But you couldn’t blame him. You were the one who insisted on secrecy, on keeping this fragile thing between you hidden.

You looked away, swallowing hard, but the image burned behind your eyelids. And then you saw her—Areum. She was standing next to Jeno, her expression light and friendly as she said something that made him laugh. They looked comfortable together, familiar. Too familiar. Your fingers clenched around your cup, the sharp bend of the plastic grounding you for a moment. It shouldn’t have stung like this. You’d seen Areum countless times, knew her place in his past, but something about the way they stood there, unbothered and unguarded, twisted in your gut. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it shouldn’t matter. But no amount of logic could quiet the storm brewing under your skin.

He’s mine. The words repeated in your head, over and over, each one pounding like a drumbeat in time with the music. He’s mine, and they have no idea.

“Another?” Yangyang’s voice cut through the haze, his arm draping over your shoulder as he held out a shot glass.

You grabbed it without hesitation, tilting it back in one quick motion, the burn a fleeting distraction. “Keep them coming,” you muttered, your voice thick with determination, and Yangyang grinned before handing you another. The alcohol numbed the ache but heightened everything else—the music, the lights, the energy vibrating in the air.

The next shot came and went, and you felt your inhibitions slipping further away. The jealousy, the frustration, the secret tether between you and Jeno—they all dissolved into the beat of the music, into the rhythm that pulled at your body until you couldn’t resist anymore. Yangyang grabbed your hand, dragging you onto the makeshift dance floor, where bodies moved in wild, chaotic unison. You let the music take over, your hips swaying to the heavy bassline, your arms raised as you spun under the flashing lights. The room was a blur of colors and motion, and for the first time that night, you felt free.

You didn’t think about Jeno or Areum or the girls who flocked to him like moths to a flame. You didn’t think about Mark’s cold indifference or the weight of your secrets pressing down on your chest. You just let go, your movements uninhibited, your laughter spilling out as Yangyang spun you around before pulling Chenle into the fray.

You were reckless, untouchable, the center of your own little universe. For once, the storm in your chest quieted, replaced by the pounding bass and the intoxicating rush of losing control. The party had reached its breaking point—music pounding so loudly that the walls seemed to vibrate with it, bodies packed together in a crush of movement, laughter and shouting overlapping in a relentless buzz that filled your head. The apartment, once so pristine and controlled, felt like it was devouring you, every corner brimming with chaos and energy. Your breaths came shallow and quick, the air thick with the cloying mix of sweat, alcohol, and the low burn of something darker curling in your chest: jealousy.

Jeno. His name was a mantra in your head, a loop that wouldn’t quiet. Every time you caught sight of him, his easy charm radiating like a beacon, it was a fresh wound. He moved effortlessly through the crowd, laughing at something someone said, his dark shirt clinging in ways that made it impossible to look away. And then there were the girls—three of them, orbiting him, their giggles loud and syrupy as they leaned in, their hands brushing his arm or shoulder.

It was suffocating. You needed air, space—anything to escape the sight of him surrounded like that, untouchable and yet so close. You shoved through the crowd, the press of bodies grating against your nerves. Your friends’ voices faded behind you as you wove your way down a narrow hallway, the din of the party dulling to a murmur. Here, the air was cooler, the lights dimmer, casting flickering shadows that felt like a reprieve from the chaos. Leaning back against the wall, you closed your eyes, letting the cool surface ground you. Your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breaths, but it wasn’t enough. The jealousy was a gnawing thing, twisting in your gut, impossible to swallow down. The frustration of wanting him so openly, so badly, but knowing you couldn’t have him—not like this—was unbearable. You needed to calm down. You couldn’t let this spiral.

But as you tried to collect yourself, the sound of low voices reached your ears, pulling you out of your thoughts. A drunken laugh, the unmistakable smack of lips meeting—someone was kissing, tucked into the shadows just ahead of you. Your body tensed instinctively, the intimacy of it grating against your already raw nerves. You stepped back into the shadows, instinctively pressing yourself against the wall, your body tensing as the voices grew closer. Then, unmistakably, you heard Mark’s laugh—low and familiar, cutting through the muffled noise of the party.

You shifted carefully, moving further into the darkened hallway, your heart quickening—not out of fear or jealousy, but to avoid being seen. Peeking around the corner, your gaze locked onto him. Mark stood with Areum, her body angled toward his, her hand resting lightly on his chest. She said something, her voice soft but teasing, and it made him grin—lopsided, easy, unguarded. It wasn’t envy that tightened your chest but the sharp awareness of how out of place you felt. Like you were intruding on a moment that didn’t belong to you, a dynamic you weren’t a part of. You watched as they slipped into a nearby room, their laughter trailing behind them, and you exhaled softly, forcing yourself to relax. You pressed your back harder against the wall, biting the inside of your cheek. The weight of their presence faded, but the feeling lingered—displacement, a quiet, gnawing reminder of everything you were working so hard to ignore.

The hallway was silent again, the faint hum of the party fading into the background as you stood rooted in place, staring at the spot where Mark and Areum had disappeared. Your phone slipped into your hand, the screen lighting up as you prepared to text Jeno, telling him where to meet you.

“Hey.”

The sudden voice jolted you, your head snapping up. Nahyun stood a few feet away, her figure partially obscured by shadows. Her presence was so unexpected, so jarring in this quiet space, that you immediately tensed.

“Nahyun?” you said sharply, your voice edged with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer right away, her eyes darting toward the floor before flicking back up to meet yours. Her expression was unreadable, but her tone was anything but subtle. “I saw Mark and Areum.”

Your stomach twisted, your eyes narrowing. “And?”

“I followed him into the corridor,” she said, her voice dipping slightly as if to soften the blow of her next words. “I thought maybe I’d get a moment alone with him, you know, finally make a move. But then she came in, all fake laughs and clingy little touches. Honestly, what does she even have?”

Your breath caught for a moment, your fingers tightening around your phone. “You’re serious?” you choked, blinking in disbelief.

Nahyun scoffed, her lips curling in disdain. “She’s nothing special. All that caked-on makeup, those fake extensions, and that ridiculous laugh—it’s like she’s trying too hard. And Mark? He’s just sitting there, lapping it up like an idiot. It’s pathetic, honestly.” Her tone was sharp, cutting, but there was something raw buried beneath it, a bitterness she didn’t bother to hide.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, your patience rapidly unraveling. “Nahyun,” you said, your tone icy, “you didn’t see anything. Understand?”

Her brows furrowed, and she let out a humorless laugh. “What are you talking about? Everyone’s going to see them soon enough. Why does it matter if I—”

“You didn’t see anything,” you interrupted, stepping closer, your voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And if you even think about opening your mouth about what you think you saw, it won’t end well for you.”

Nahyun blinked, startled by your tone, but then her lips curved into a defiant smirk. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?”

You tilted your head, your smile razor-thin. “Remind everyone about the night you fucked Coach Suh in the supply closet? Or how you begged him not to tell anyone after? Shall I remind you about that, Nahyun?”

Her smirk dropped instantly, her mouth falling open as the blood drained from her face. “You wouldn’t,” she breathed, her voice shaking slightly.

Your gaze didn’t waver, your voice cold and unrelenting. “Try me.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Nahyun’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her earlier bravado dissolving into something much smaller, much weaker.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice low, defeated. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Good,” you said sharply, your eyes narrowing as you took a step back. “Let’s keep it that way.”

But instead of leaving, Nahyun lingered, her shoulders tense as her gaze darted to the side. Then, after a beat, she crossed her arms and looked back at you, her chin jutting forward with a mix of defiance and hesitation. “Do you think he’d ever go for me?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“Mark,” she clarified, her voice laced with bitterness, her gaze flicking to the floor before meeting yours. “Do you think he’d ever drop Areum for me?”

The question struck you like a slap, your stomach twisting at the sheer audacity. You blinked, caught between disbelief and annoyance. “What did I just say?” you asked sharply, your voice carrying a bite that even surprised you.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone rising in frustration, her jaw tightening. “Just tell me. You know him better than anyone. Would he ever… look at me like that?”

You folded your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes at her. “You really want the truth?” you asked, your words cutting through the air like a blade.

“Yes,” she snapped, the defiance in her voice almost masking the vulnerability underneath.

“Fine,” you said flatly, your patience fraying. “No. Mark wouldn’t go for you.”

Her lips parted, the words hitting her with visible force. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice rising in disbelief, indignation flashing across her face.

“You asked,” you said with a shrug, your tone devoid of apology. “Areum’s more his type. Always has been.”

Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “You don’t know that,” she bit back, her voice tight and defensive. “People change.”

“And some don’t,” you countered smoothly, your voice calm but edged with finality. “Mark’s not about shallow games or fleeting attention. He values stability, loyalty— all things you never gave Shotaro so I doubt you’d be able to give Mark what he wants.”

Nahyun scoffed, shaking her head, her laugh sharp and humorless. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “You act like you know everything about him, like you’re so much better than everyone else.”

“Maybe I do,” you replied coolly, your gaze unwavering.

Her lips twisted into a mocking smile, her tone sharpening. “You’re so weird, you know that? Always looking at everyone like you’re two steps ahead, like you have everything figured out. You think you’re untouchable, but you’re not. I know you’re hiding something.”

Her words cut through the tension like a spark to dry kindling, but you didn’t flinch. You tilted your head slightly, your expression calm but your eyes sharp. “Go ahead,” you said evenly, the weight of your words landing with precision. “Figure it out. See how far it gets you.”

Nahyun’s nostrils flared, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She glared at you for a moment longer, the tension between you taut as a wire, before she finally turned on her heel and stormed off, her movements stiff with fury. You exhaled slowly, the encounter leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. As you watched her retreating figure disappear down the hallway, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease. Whatever she thought she knew, whatever games she was planning, you’d just added fuel to a fire you weren’t sure you could put out.

You hiss through your teeth, the anger curling hot and sharp in your chest. That entire interaction left you shaken, a lingering unease burrowing under your skin, coiling tighter with every passing second. You don’t know why it’s affecting you so much, but your hands tremble as you reach for your phone, already dialing Jeno’s number. Your thumb hovers over the call button, but the string of messages on your screen freezes you in place.

jeno — go to my room, baby jeno — i’ll be there in a few minutes. jeno — don’t be late.

Relief floods you, easing some of the tension in your chest but doing nothing to quiet the storm beneath your skin. You shove the phone into your pocket and march toward his room, your steps quick and purposeful, the frustration bubbling hot and erratic. Once inside, the silence feels oppressive, wrapping around you and amplifying every thrum of impatience in your body. You pace, glancing at the door, your anger simmering into something more volatile. He said he’d be here in minutes, but each second stretches unbearably long, your mind spiraling, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

You’re so worked up, so wound tight, that tears prick at your eyes without warning. You blink them away, biting the inside of your cheek, but the raw emotion doesn’t budge. You don’t even know why you feel this way—why the frustration burns so hot, why the need to see him is so desperate it makes your chest ache. All you know is you need him now. The heat between your legs intensifies, fed by a mix of anger and need. Your body aches for him, the restless buzz of it too loud to ignore. With a bitten-off groan, your hand moves beneath your skirt, fingers finding slick heat as you press against yourself. The touch pulls a sharp moan from your lips, your head falling back against the wall as you circle your clit, trying to ease the tension clawing at you.

You barely register the sound of the door opening. Jeno steps inside, and before he can say a word, you’re on him. You grab his shirt, yanking him forward with enough force to make him stumble. The door slams shut behind him as your mouth crashes against his, your kiss rough and unrelenting. Your kiss is rough, messy, and demanding, swallowing the startled groan that rumbles in his chest. He reacts instinctively, his hands finding your waist to steady you, but you don’t let him set the pace. Your teeth graze his lower lip, tugging just hard enough to make him hiss, and you press closer, grinding against him as if you could sink into his skin.

“Lock the door,” you pant against his mouth, your voice shaking with urgency.

He fumbles for the lock, his eyes never leaving yours. The sharp click is barely audible over the sound of your heavy breaths, and before he can say anything, you grab him again, pulling him into another bruising kiss.

“Slow down—” he starts, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze narrows, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the damp lashes, the wild edge in your eyes. His brow furrows. “Have you been crying?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you yank him closer, crashing your mouth against his in a silent plea. His concern lingers, his movements slower now, as if he’s unsure whether to keep going but he pulls back just as quickly as your lips find his. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours. But you don’t have the words—only the raw, burning need to feel him, to let him tear you apart and put you back together all at once.

“Just—don’t stop,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as you grind against his hand. His gaze flickers between your face and his fingers working you, his jaw tight, his breath coming heavier now.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice a rough blend of heat and care. The words are barely more than a breath, his lips brushing against your temple with a gentleness that contradicts the tension radiating from your bodies. His hand slides higher beneath your shirt, fingers grazing the underside of your breast as his thumb sweeps deliberate circles over the curve. The tenderness of his touch feels almost unbearable, like he’s trying to soothe something raw and unspoken inside you, and it only makes the ache in your chest tighten. You don’t know whether to cry harder or beg for more.

His thumb drags over the thin fabric of your bra, the pressure firm but teasing, and your breath catches. When he finally slips his fingers beneath the material, the heat of his skin against yours sends a jolt through you. He doesn’t rush; his movements are measured, the rough pads of his fingertips tracing circles around your nipple before pinching it between his fingers. You gasp, your back arching into his touch, the sharp pleasure shooting straight through you. His eyes stay on your face, watching every reaction, every flicker of need that crosses your features.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his tone laced with something dark and intoxicating. His thumb flicks over your nipple again, the slow, deliberate motion designed to pull every sound from you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he groans low in his throat, leaning in to press his mouth to your jaw. His lips skim down the column of your throat, nipping at the skin, and the combination of his touch and his mouth has you trembling against him.

His hand slides lower, down your stomach, before disappearing beneath your skirt. His fingers trace the edge of your underwear, toying with the elastic, and you let out a choked whimper. The teasing only lasts a moment before he pushes the fabric aside, his fingers slipping through your folds. “So wet,” he mutters again, his voice low and rough, and the way his words curl around you sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. His thumb circles your clit, slow at first, almost unbearably light, and you can feel his breath against your cheek as you shudder. He presses harder, the pressure building, and you gasp, your hips jerking into his hand, chasing the friction you’ve been desperate for.

He shifts slightly, angling himself to slide his fingers deeper, and the stretch has your head falling back against the wall. His free hand finds your waist, steadying you as his thumb continues its torturous circles. Every stroke is calculated, precise, and his gaze stays locked on you, like he’s memorizing the way your body reacts to him. “Does this feel good?” he asks, his voice a low growl against your ear, and all you can do is nod, your breathless whimpers answering for you. He curls his fingers just right, the motion sending a shock of pleasure through you, and you cling to him, your body trembling as you lose yourself in the haze of his touch.

“Did you deal tonight?” Your voice comes out flushed, breathless, and trembling with the raw edge of desperation that clings to every syllable. The words spill out so frantically they’re barely coherent, your body trembling against his, your head spinning.

Jeno blinks, his brows pulling together in a deep frown. “What?” His confusion is palpable, his tone tinged with disbelief. “I don’t deal—what are you even talking about?” His hands flex against your waist, grounding you, but his narrowed gaze makes it clear he’s thrown by your question. “You know I don’t. I just know where to get stuff from.”

You’re not listening, not really. The rest of his words barely register, drowned out by the thrumming chaos in your head. “Do you have anything?” you press, the desperation in your tone sharpening into something raw and insistent. Your eyes search his face, wild and pleading, your grip on his shirt tightening as if you’re afraid he’ll leave without answering.

He hesitates for a moment, his concern warring with something else, but then he nods. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small bundle of baggies and pills. Tiny clear packets with crystalline powders, a couple of pills pressed into the shape of hearts, and even a sleek metal tin that holds a pre-rolled joint. You don’t give him time to explain, your shaking hands already snatching one of the baggies. The motion is frantic, reckless, and your fingers tremble as you tear it open. You don’t think—you barely breathe—as you dip your finger inside and press the powder to your nose, snorting sharply. The burn is instant, sharp and electric, sending a jolt through your body as your head tilts back against the wall.

“Baby…” Jeno starts, his voice low and uncertain, his brows furrowing as he watches you. He looks like he wants to stop you, but his words catch in his throat when you grab one of the pills. A small, pink heart-shaped tab rests on your palm, and you waste no time pressing it to your tongue.

“Here,” you murmur, your voice low, thick with need, the edges of your words slurred by the pulse pounding in your ears. Tilting your chin up, you let your tongue dart out slightly, the pill balanced delicately on it, a silent invitation hanging in the charged air between you.

Jeno freezes for a moment, his jaw clenching as his dark eyes flit between your face and the small heart-shaped tab on your tongue. Concern flashes across his features, a flicker of hesitation that doesn’t match the way his hands grip your waist, firm and grounding. “Baby, slow down,” he says softly, the rasp in his voice betraying the mix of unease and desire coursing through him. You don’t give him the chance to argue further. Your hands twist tighter into his shirt as you pull him down, your lips crashing into his with reckless urgency. The pill transfers between your mouths, your tongue tangling with his as his breath catches. His groan vibrates against you, low and unsteady, as he lets himself be swept into the frantic heat of your kiss.

The bitter tang of the pill lingers as the kiss deepens, consuming and frantic, each movement fueled by the energy crackling in the air. Your fingers clutch at him, desperate, almost clawing, as if anchoring yourself to the solid warmth of his body could steady the chaos swirling in your head. He doesn’t push you away, but there’s a tension in his movements—a cautious slowness to the way his hands slide up your back, as though he’s holding himself back. “Slow down,” he murmurs again, the words a broken whisper against your lips. But this time, his resolve falters, his grip on your waist tightening as his tongue brushes yours, the kiss growing hungrier. You can feel him give in, the groan that rumbles deep in his chest spilling over into the way his hands hold you.

The effects of the pill are slow at first, just a faint hum under your skin, but it builds steadily, weaving itself through your veins with an intoxicating heat. Your breaths come faster, shallower, the edges of the room blurring as your focus narrows to nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, the weight of his body pressing into yours. Jeno’s hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you deeper, slower now, like he’s trying to pace himself despite the heady haze beginning to settle over him. You feel the shudder in his breath when he pulls back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze flickers across your face, searching for something he can’t quite put into words. “You good?” he asks, his voice low, rough, and tinged with worry.

You nod quickly, too quickly, the sharp motion making your head spin. “I’m fine,” you whisper, though your voice doesn’t sound entirely convincing, even to yourself.

His eyes narrow slightly, studying you for a beat longer before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another pill. This one is blue, stamped with a tiny smiley face, and he holds it up between his fingers. “Last one,” he says, watching your reaction carefully.

You take it without hesitation, holding it to your lips before motioning for him again. He doesn’t hesitate this time, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. The kiss is slower, deeper, as if he’s trying to temper the frantic energy that’s been driving you. The pill dissolves between you, the faint bitterness mixing with the lingering taste of him. His hands roam your body, not in a heated rush, but with an almost protective urgency. One settles on your hip, grounding you as the other cups the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Baby, you’ve gotta take it easy,” he murmurs again, softer now, his forehead pressing to yours.

“I’m fine,” you insist, though the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes threaten to betray you.

Jeno exhales deeply, his hand slipping down to rest on your thigh, squeezing lightly as if to anchor you. “I’ve got you,” he says quietly, the reassurance in his tone steady and warm. “Tonight, I’ve got you. Don’t worry about anything.”

The promise in his words settles over you, a quiet comfort that steadies the chaos in your chest just enough to breathe. You nod, leaning into him, letting the weight of his hands and the steady beat of his heart against your chest pull you back from the edge. Even as the high begins to take hold, threading through your senses and making the room spin in soft, colorful waves, you feel the solid, grounding presence of him. He’s not just watching you—he’s taking care of you, his touch firm yet careful, his gaze never leaving you for too long. You don’t have to say a word to know he means it. Tonight, he won’t let you fall.

The air between you was taut, crackling with an intensity that made Jeno’s pulse hammer in his chest. He stood there, silent, watching you, taking in every sharp edge of your expression and the vulnerability you tried to mask beneath your defiance. It was so you—even like this, raw and unsteady, you clung to control with a ferocity that made it impossible for him to look away. His gaze flicked briefly to the desk, where the remnants of his stash lay scattered: crystalline powders shimmering faintly in the dim light, the edges of the baggies catching his attention like a warning. He knew it was dangerous, the way your eyes kept darting to it—restless, almost absent-minded. It wasn’t just about the drugs; it was the tension in you, the storm barely held together, and he hated that he couldn’t fix it outright. But he could feel it in his bones—tonight, you wouldn’t let him try.

“Eat me out,” you said, the words sharp and breathless, cutting through the silence with a weight that made his throat tighten.

His lips parted, but no sound came, the air between you thickening as his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He hesitated for half a second, not because he didn’t want to but because the desperation in your tone was unlike anything he’d heard before. But then your eyes met his, unwavering and wild, daring him to refuse you. He nodded, a slow and deliberate motion, his jaw clenching as he fought to steady himself.

It wasn’t enough for you. You stepped closer, your hands reaching for his wrists and guiding them with purpose. You placed them on your ass, your touch firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Eat my ass out,” you repeated, your voice softer now but filled with the same unrelenting command, the words dripping with heat.

The restraint he’d been clinging to snapped. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer with a force that made your breath hitch. His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss rough and consuming, all teeth and tongue and frustration. He groaned low in his chest, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that was almost punishing, like he needed you to feel just how far you’d pushed him. The kiss deepened, his hands sliding down to grip the back of your thighs. With effortless strength, he lifted you, his fingers digging into your skin as he maneuvered you toward the bed. The room blurred as he moved, the only thing grounding you the searing heat of his mouth and the unyielding hold of his hands.

You gasped into his mouth as he pushed you forward, the mattress dipping under your knees as he bent you over with little resistance. His hands were rough but steady, sliding over your ass and thighs as he positioned you exactly how he wanted, his body pressing against yours for a moment as though to remind you who held you in place. Your palms flattened against the sheets, your back arching instinctively, and you could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady. He was behind you now, his breath warm against the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing your skin with a possessive hunger that made your chest tighten.

Jeno’s hands were rough but sure, sliding up your thighs and over the curve of your ass as he adjusted your position. His fingers spread you wider, holding you steady as his breath ghosted over the back of your neck. “Say it again,” he rasped, his voice low and wrecked, the gravel in his tone making you shiver.

You didn’t hesitate. “Eat me out,” you said, the command in your voice clear, though it trembled at the edges. You pushed back against his hold, daring him even as you gave yourself to him.

Jeno clasps the vial in his hand, his fingers tightening around it as his jaw ticks. The tension in his body is visible—shoulders taut, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His eyes are glued to you, his gaze dark and heavy as it roams over the arch of your back, taking in the way you’re poised, waiting—your body practically begging for his attention, even if you’d never outright admit it.

“Pour it,” you say, your voice steady, firm, and laced with a heat that leaves no room for hesitation. “Along my back. Slowly.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering from your face to the vial in his hand. There’s a moment where his pride surfaces, a fleeting spark of defiance that’s quickly extinguished by the way you’re looking at him. His lips twitch into something close to a smirk as he murmurs, “You don’t need to tell me what to do.”

You roll your eyes, the motion quick and deliberate, but there’s a flicker of amusement in the way your lips curve. “I shouldn’t have to, but here we are,” you shoot back, your voice carrying just enough edge to make his jaw tighten. The teasing lilt that follows, though, is impossible for him to ignore. “What’s the matter? Need me to draw you a map, pretty boy?”

The words land like a spark to dry kindling, igniting something raw in him. His eyes drag down to the smooth expanse of your back, lingering on the way your skin glows faintly in the dim light, stretched taut with the soft arch of your body. The air between you feels heavier, hotter, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Jeno’s movements are unhurried, but there’s a palpable tension in the way his fingers grip the vial, knuckles white as though it’s the only thing grounding him. Tilting it carefully, he lets a fine stream of crystalline powder spill out, the particles catching the light as they cascade down your spine. The powder lands in a delicate line, highlighting the curve of your body as it trails lower, settling in the dip of your lower back before spilling onto the soft swell of your ass.

A low, guttural groan escapes him, raw and unrestrained, vibrating through the charged silence. He can’t help it—watching the way the powder clings to your skin, accentuating every dip and rise of your body, is intoxicating. His breath comes quicker now, uneven, and his hands twitch at his sides, his grip tightening around the vial like it’s the only thing keeping him from touching you. The sight of you, your body perfectly arched and waiting, is a torment he can barely withstand. His teeth graze his lower lip, his jaw flexing as he tries to control the ache building inside him. The heat pooling in his stomach is relentless, made worse by the way you shift slightly, the subtle movement drawing his attention to how effortlessly you hold his focus. You’re beautiful like this—devastating, deliberate, and utterly out of reach until he’s earned you.

“Keep going,” you murmur, glancing back over your shoulder, your voice low and dripping with command. “And don’t make me repeat myself.”

The sharpness in your tone sends another groan tumbling from his lips, his body reacting faster than his mind. He tips the vial again, the powder cascading down in another thin, deliberate line. His free hand continues to flex at his side, his fingers itching to touch you, but he doesn’t dare move without your permission.

“Good boy,” you purr, your lips curling into a smirk as you feel his breath hitch at the praise. The tension radiating from him is palpable now, his restraint fraying with every second. You shift slightly, the movement drawing his attention to the way the powder clings to your skin, accentuating every curve and dip.

“Now, clean it up,” you say, your voice soft but sharp, the command cutting through the tension like a blade. “And don’t waste a single bit.”

Jeno doesn’t hesitate—he can’t. The moment the vial is set aside, his focus narrows entirely to you, the curve of your back, the powder glinting faintly on your skin. His breath is heavy, uneven, as he leans in, his nose brushing along the line of powder that traces your spine. He inhales sharply, the crystalline powder disappearing as he snorts it clean, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his chest. The sound is raw, desperate, like he’s already drunk on the moment, and it vibrates against your skin, making your body jolt slightly beneath him.

He pulls back just long enough to take another line, his hands gripping your hips roughly, as if grounding himself in your body while he chases the high. The sharp inhale is followed by another groan, more wrecked this time, his lips brushing your skin as he exhales, hot and heavy. The powder is nearly gone now, but his lips and tongue take over, wet and rough as he drags his mouth along the faint trail that remains. His teeth graze the dip of your spine, biting down just hard enough to leave a sting before his tongue soothes the spot, his breath scorching as it fans over your skin.

By the time he reaches the small of your back, he’s practically trembling, the restraint in his body barely holding together. His nose presses against the powder that lingers there, snorting sharply, his groan spilling over into a growl as his fingers tighten their hold on your hips, pulling you closer to him. The sound of his breathing—harsh, animalistic—fills the room, each exhale brushing hot against your skin, each groan sending shivers racing down your spine.

When he finally snorts the last of it, his hands spread you wide, and his lips crash against the curve of your ass with a hunger that feels unrestrained. His tongue darts out immediately, rough and desperate, licking at your skin as if he’s trying to claim every inch of you. He groans louder now, the vibrations reverberating through your body as his mouth grows more frantic. He sucks at the soft flesh, his teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt, his lips pressing hard, like he’s trying to devour you.

He doesn’t stop to catch his breath—he can’t. His tongue moves lower, tracing the curve of your ass with an urgency that borders on reckless. His hands spread you wider, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh with bruising intensity, and his mouth follows, licking and sucking with wild abandon. When he reaches the sensitive skin just above your asshole, he pauses, his breath hot and ragged against you, and the anticipation makes your body tense.

“Good boy,” you purr, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction, the words cutting through the haze like a match to gasoline.

His groan is instant, guttural and wrecked, as if your praise alone has undone whatever shred of control he had left. Then he dives in, his tongue pressing flat against the tight ring of muscle before dragging upward in a long, rough stroke. He groans so deeply it feels like it shakes the air around you, his lips sealing over the spot as he sucks hard, the pressure making your breath hitch. He’s relentless, his tongue swirling, dipping, licking, sucking—you can feel the raw hunger in every movement, the desperation in the way his fingers dig into your skin, pulling you open even wider so he can bury himself deeper.

Jeno is completely lost in it now, the taste of you, the heat of you, the way your body trembles beneath him. His groans grow more guttural, more unhinged, as he works his tongue harder, his lips pressing wet and firm against you, his teeth grazing just enough to leave you gasping. He laps at you like a man starved, his hands rough as they grip and knead your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth, as though he can’t get enough.

“You taste so good,” he mutters, his voice thick and wrecked, the words trembling with a raw, unfiltered hunger as he presses deeper, harder, his breath ragged against your skin. Your body jolts as his tongue drags again, rougher now, his lips sealing over you in a way that feels possessive, desperate, his groans muffled but constant. He’s not just licking or teasing—he’s taking you, every movement filled with a hunger so raw it sends heat pooling in your stomach. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin, and when you gasp, he soothes it with another long, deep lick, his groan low and primal.

He pulls back just long enough to catch his breath, his hands spreading you even wider as his lips press against you again, wetter, rougher, hungrier. “Can’t get enough of you,” he growls, his voice thick with desperation and then his tongue is back on you, working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. Every stroke, every groan, every desperate press of his lips feels like it’s unraveling you, dragging you deeper into the haze of him, until all you can feel is the heat of his mouth and the rough, unrelenting way he worships you.

Your body trembles violently, the relentless pressure of his tongue pushing you over the edge. It’s sharp and overwhelming, a blinding heat that shoots through every nerve as your muscles tighten, your back arching instinctively. Your moans spill out in broken gasps, your fingers clawing at the sheets, barely able to ground yourself as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you raw and breathless.

Jeno doesn’t slow down, his mouth still locked on you, drawing out every last ounce of your release until your thighs quake and your body sags forward, boneless and trembling. His groans vibrate against your skin, his tongue sweeping one final time before he pulls back, his breath hot and heavy against you.

As the haze of your climax fades, you turn toward him, sitting back slightly on your heels. The sight of him steals what little breath you’ve managed to recover—his face is flushed, his lips swollen and slick, his pupils blown wide, a glassy, dazed look clouding his gaze. The high has fully claimed him now, written across every inch of his expression, but it’s the unrestrained hunger still burning in his eyes that makes your stomach twist with heat.

Reaching down, you tangle your fingers into his damp hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan softly as you guide him closer. His breath ghosts over your skin, his mouth brushing lightly against you as your voice cuts through the heated silence. “There’s more,” you murmur, your voice dripping with a dark, teasing edge as you tilt your head, reaching for the vial again. This time, you tip it with deliberate slowness, the fine powder cascading down the curve of your chest, settling perfectly between your breasts before trailing along the flat plane of your stomach. “You see that?” you taunt, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling his face just close enough to feel your warmth but not touch. “You want it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he groans, his voice raw and unsteady, thick with desperation as his gaze locks on the powder shimmering on your skin.

“Then take it,” you command, leaning back slightly, arching your chest forward just enough to push his restraint to its breaking point. “But don’t make me regret letting you.” You lower yourself to the floor, the cool surface pressing against your skin in sharp contrast to the heat coursing through your body. You slide down slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact with Jeno as you settle back on your heels. The light sheen of sweat glistening on your body catches the dim glow of the room, accentuating every curve as you shift.

You lean back against the cool tile floor, your weight supported by your hands before you let your arms relax, fully surrendering to the sensation as your head rests against the hard surface. Jeno shifts, his knees sliding between your legs until his body presses against your thighs, straddling them with a deliberate closeness that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. Your hand tugs sharply at his hair, guiding him lower, his movements grow bolder, hungrier, his mouth pressing into your skin with a heat that sends a shiver through you.

He leans forward, his breath heavy against your skin as his tongue traces the fine, glittering trail of powder down the curve of your chest. The first swipe is tentative, reverent almost, like he’s savoring every granule. He lingers at the valley between your breasts, his tongue pressing deeper as his lips graze your skin.

When he pauses, his hands trembling against your sides, you tighten your grip in his hair, pulling just enough to tilt his head up. “Suck,” you command, your voice steady and low, the authority in it leaving no room for hesitation.

His lips close over your nipple immediately, the heat of his mouth sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. A gasp escapes your lips, but you don’t let it distract you. Instead, you guide him, your fingers curling tighter in his hair. “Good boy,” you murmur, the words dripping with satisfaction as his tongue flicks against the sensitive peak. “Just like that. Suck harder—make me feel it.”

His groan vibrates against your skin, raw and desperate, as he obeys. His lips tug harder, his tongue swirling with more intent, like he’s desperate to please you, to hear you say more. You lean back, the cool tile pressing against your back as your head rests against the floor. The contrast between the cold beneath you and the heat of his mouth on your chest sends a shiver down your spine. You arch into him slightly, feeling the way his mouth works, his focus absolute.

“Use your tongue more,” you instruct, your voice soft but firm, as your grip in his hair tightens just enough to guide him. “That’s it—don’t miss a single spot.”

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin, laced with a trembling edge that feels rare, almost fragile. His lips linger, brushing lightly over you as his hands remain steady, strong, yet hesitant. “I just want to make you feel good,” he adds, the words thick with need, his breath warm against your body.

Jeno rarely questions himself—his confidence is effortless, his touch always sure. But tonight, it’s different. The need to make you feel good isn’t just a desire; it’s something deeper, something that drives every movement, every kiss, every glance. He’s hyper-focused, completely in tune with you, watching the way your body shifts, the way your breath hitches, like he’s memorizing the map of your pleasure.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to watch him, his lips glistening as he moves from one breast to the other, his tongue teasing the powder away. “You’re doing just fine, pretty boy,” you praise, letting the words slip out like silk, sending another groan from deep in his throat.

But when his hand starts to wander, his fingers brushing dangerously close to the heat between your legs, you tug sharply at his hair, pulling his head back just enough to meet his gaze. “Keep your hands where they are,” you warn, your tone sharp, your eyes narrowing as his chest heaves. “You don’t get to touch unless I say so.”

“Yes,” he breathes, his voice breaking slightly as his hands retreat back to your sides. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”

“Good boy,” you purr, tugging his head back down toward your chest. “Keep sucking. Maybe, if you’re good enough, I’ll suck your cock.”

His groan is guttural, his lips latching onto your nipple again with renewed desperation, his tongue working harder, swirling and flicking as his lips tug with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

You hum softly, arching into the heat of his mouth, your nails digging lightly into his scalp. His lips latch onto your nipple again, tugging harder this time, and the sharp pull of pleasure forces a low gasp from your lips. His hands tighten against your sides, trembling slightly as he fights the urge to move them lower, every touch filled with a desperation he can’t control.

His tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, dragging and circling before sucking deeply, and your head tips back against the tile, a quiet moan slipping free before you can stop it. “Fuck, Jeno,” you murmur, the sharp edge of approval in your voice only spurring him on.

But when his teeth graze you, a little too rough in his eagerness, you tug sharply at his hair, pulling his face back just enough to make him look at you. His lips are swollen, glistening, his pupils blown wide with need. “Not so hard,” you warn, your tone firm but low, almost a purr. His breathing stutters, his nod quick and obedient as he adjusts, leaning back in with more care.

“That’s it,” you murmur, your fingers threading through his hair again, guiding him back to your chest. His lips close over you, sucking slower now, each drag of his tongue deliberate, and a satisfied hum escapes you. “Good boy. Just like that—don’t stop.”

He groans softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, and you feel the tremor in his hands as they flex against your waist. His mouth works tirelessly, shifting from one breast to the other, his tongue circling and flicking in perfect rhythm, each movement driving you higher.

“Please,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled and raw, a tremor in his tone as his lips move to the swell of your other breast. “You taste so good… I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

Your smirk deepens, your body arching slightly as his tongue lingers too long, his groan muffled as he loses himself in the moment. “You’ve been so good for me tonight,” you murmur, tilting his head just enough to meet your gaze. 

His hips jerk slightly at your words, a ragged groan spilling from his lips as he nods, his tongue swirling harder now, his lips tugging in just the right way to make your breath catch. His hands dig into your waist, his restraint fraying as he presses closer, desperate for more. Your grip tightens in his hair, pulling him back slightly, his lips parting as he pants softly, his gaze flickering with a mix of frustration and need. “Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, your voice sharp but laced with amusement, watching as his brows furrow, his pride flaring in response.

The challenge ignites something in him, and he leans back in without hesitation, his tongue flicking faster, more intentional, his lips pressing harder, drawing a sharp gasp from you. “That’s more like it,” you murmur, your nails grazing his scalp as he moans against your skin, the sound low and desperate, his every movement filled with a need to please.

“Good boy,” you purr, your voice softer now as you feel the tremble in his hands, his body completely at your mercy. He groans again, his lips and tongue working tirelessly, worshiping every inch of your chest like he’s never wanted anything more, and you let him—because tonight, he’s entirely yours.

“Did you get it all?” you ask, your voice dripping with a teasing sharpness as you tilt your hips, the curve of your body brushing firmly against his lips. The motion pulls a groan from deep in his chest, raw and muffled as his tongue falters for a moment before resuming. His mouth moves with urgency, sucking harder now, the wet heat of his tongue dragging over your skin like he’s trying to leave nothing behind. “I don’t like waste, Jeno. Make sure every bit of it’s gone.”

“Yes,” he murmurs finally, his voice wrecked and uneven, each word trembling as though it’s been dragged out of him. “I got it all.”

“Good,” you say, your tone firm but taunting, your smirk deepening as you straighten, pulling yourself back. His lips leave your skin reluctantly, his breath heavy, uneven, his hands twitching at his sides like he’s desperate to touch you. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you reach down, gripping his jaw with just enough force to keep his eyes on yours as you tilt his face up.

Jeno’s gaze softens as he looks up at you, his lips still lingering against your skin, the heat of his breath brushing over you. Even after everything, the traces of stress, the weight of your lingering emotions, haven’t fully melted away. He knows you too well, every flicker of tension etched into your features despite the haze of satisfaction clouding your eyes.

He shifts slightly, his thumb brushing against your hip, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. There’s one last idea forming in his mind, something he knows might break through the last remnants of your mood. Leaning back just enough to meet your eyes fully, he tilts his head, his voice low but teasing as he asks, “Did Jihyo still give you the keys to her bar?”

Your brows furrow for a moment, but the corner of your lips betrays you, twitching upward as you bite back a grin. “Why?” you ask, the hint of amusement creeping into your voice. “You said you wouldn’t go.”

“I changed my mind,” he replies, his chuckle warm and low, tinged with the satisfaction of watching your spirits lift. He can see the shift in your expression, the tension easing slightly as curiosity takes over.

“Seriously?” you laugh, shaking your head. “How are you gonna go now? You’re just gonna leave the party you’re throwing?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice dripping with smug confidence, the grin spreading across his face as he watches your amusement bubble over. It’s easy for him—effortless—to turn the weight of your emotions into something lighter, something brighter. And in this moment, he’d do anything to see you smile again.

The emptiness of Jihyo’s bar was striking. It had been stripped of its usual vitality, the space felt hollow, the quiet amplifying every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. The neon signs scattered across the room flickered weakly, their glow casting fragmented, saturated light on the walls. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely silent, interrupted only by the faint hum of electricity, the muted bassline of music from the far end of the bar, and the distant clink of ice settling in abandoned glasses. Jeno moved through the space like he owned it. His presence carried a kind of mischievous intensity tonight—an undercurrent of heat that buzzed between you every time he looked your way, his heavy-lidded eyes darkened with something playful yet dangerous. When he stopped in front of a small alcove off to one side, you hesitated. Jeno tilted his head, flashing you a grin as he gestured to the small, private “tattoo” station tucked away like a secret. “Come on,” he said, his voice low, inviting, and impossible to resist.

You stepped forward, the sound of your heartbeat growing louder in your ears. The station had a reclined bench that looked sturdy, supplies were scattered across the small counter beside it: gloves, ink pots, and sheets of paper with half-finished designs. The angle of his jaw caught the light, sharp and precise, as he picked up the tattoo machine. You shifted with uncertainty, lowering yourself onto the bench. The leather creaked under your weight, cool against your skin as you leaned back. Your eyes flicked to him, heart pounding in your chest as his gaze locked on you. “Jeno,” you started, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and something far more dangerous—arousal. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” he countered without missing a beat, his grin widening, dangerous and playful in equal measure.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped at his tone. “I can’t believe you don’t have a tattoo,” he continued, his words teasing as he leaned closer.

“I do have one—” you began to protest.

But he cut you off, voice dipping low as he murmured, “Baby, I’ve seen every inch of your body.” His words sent a shiver racing through you, the heat of his gaze almost unbearable. “Trust me,” he added, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk, “I’d know if you had a tattoo.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you shift on the bench, reluctantly turning to reveal the faded smiley-face tattoo just below the curve of your ass on your thigh. It’s small, old, barely noticeable, but it feels like a spotlight is shining on it under his gaze. The second his eyes catch it, his snort breaks the silence, low and teasing. “That’s such a lame tattoo,” he says, the humor in his tone biting but not cruel.

You bristle, warmth creeping up your neck as you move to turn away, your body shifting defensively. “Shut up,” you grumble, trying to pull your leg out of his view. The embarrassment prickles under your skin, but before you can get far, his hand shoots out, firm but not forceful, gripping your thigh and keeping you exactly where you are.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, tinged with something heavier that makes your stomach flip. The possessiveness in his gaze as his fingers press into your skin is almost enough to wipe away your embarrassment. Almost. “Relax,” he says, his grip steady as he leans forward slightly, his other hand finding your lower back and pressing there with just enough pressure to make you stay still. His touch burns, firm and deliberate, and the weight of it sends heat pooling low in your belly. “I know where I want to give you a real one.”

“You’re so—” you start, your words trailing off as his thumb brushes over your lower back, tracing small circles that make your breath hitch. Your body betrays you, leaning into his touch even as your mind tells you to play it cool.

“I’m what?” he asks, his smirk widening, the teasing edge in his tone almost unbearable. He tilts his head, his eyes flicking between your face and the tattoo, still visible just beneath the hem of your shorts. “Come on, baby, say it.” You don’t answer, can’t answer, the ache between your thighs making it impossible to think straight. He lets the silence hang, his grip on you unyielding, and you know that as much as you might pretend to resist, you’re already his to unravel.

Your pulse pounds, loud in your ears, as his gloved fingers skim the curve of your lower back, testing the spot with deliberate precision. Goosebumps rise across your skin, every slight shift in his touch sending sparks up your spine. You can feel his breath, warm and unsteady, fanning over you in shallow bursts. The reality of what’s about to happen—letting Jeno mark you, permanently—is both terrifying and thrilling. The permanence of it, the faint hum of the tattoo machine, the undeniable heat building between you—it’s a heady cocktail of fear, desire, and reckless surrender. “You’re shaking,” Jeno murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a softness to it that grounds you despite the tension tightening in your chest.

“Maybe because this is insane,” you manage to say, your voice trembling as much from nerves as from the heat of his hand pressing into your skin. “What if I regret it?”

“You won’t,” he replies simply, his grin tilting into something playful but dangerous, his confidence unwavering. “I know you. You’ll love it.”

Your heart stutters at his words, at the unspoken truth threading between them: he does know you. Better than anyone, better than you even want to admit to yourself. And that’s why this moment feels so heavy, so charged. It’s not just about the tattoo—it’s about the control he exerts over you, the way he knows exactly how to push you to your limits and make you crave it.

His fingers trace slow circles against your lower back, right where the tattoo will go, and your mind flashes to a memory so visceral it makes your breath hitch. “You literally had me on the floor eating your ass out and doing lines from your ass,” he says, blunt and completely unapologetic, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. He doesn’t even try to soften it—doesn’t have to. Instead, he wiggles his eyebrows with a playful cockiness that only he could pull off.

“Something I’d definitely do again,” he adds casually, the words dripping with a teasing confidence that makes your stomach flip. “But that’s not the point.” His gaze sharpens as he leans closer, his voice dipping lower, laced with intent. “The point is, I should get to tattoo you now.”

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the burn of your cheeks as you perch on the edge of the reclined bench, your back half-bare, your top pulled up just enough to expose the curve of your lower back. “Will you at least tell me what you’re going to tattoo on me?” you ask, your voice breaking slightly as you try to cling to some semblance of control.

Jeno hums, leaning closer until his breath tickles your ear, his tone smooth and maddeningly calm. “No. Just trust me,” he says softly, his lips just grazing the edge of your jaw as he pulls back. “You’ll love it.”

Your mind reels, caught between the exhilaration of what you’re about to do and the weight of knowing this is forever. But it’s Jeno. The one person who’s always known exactly how to push you, how to coax you into giving him every part of yourself without regret. The fear morphs into something else entirely, a reckless acceptance that tightens your chest as you nod, biting your lip to keep the growing smile at bay. “You’re gonna owe me for this,” you say, trying for defiance, but the tremble in your voice betrays your excitement.

Jeno’s grin sharpens, his hand pressing more firmly against your back as he tilts your chin with his other hand, forcing you to look at him. “Baby,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into something dark and honeyed, “if anything, this is me doing you a favor.”

His touch slows at the base of your back, where the curve begins just above your ass. He pauses, fingers pressing lightly, testing the spot. You glance over your shoulder, catching a flicker of concentration in his expression, his brow furrowed slightly as he leans in. His hands are steady, the lines of his forearms taut and flexing as he adjusts the angle. The sharp buzz of the machine cuts through the air, startling you. You flinch instinctively as the vibration jolts through your body, sending your nerves into overdrive. Your breath catches, chest tight, as your heart slams against your ribs. The anticipation feels overwhelming—too sharp, too much—and panic begins to bubble beneath the surface.

But then Jeno’s voice breaks through, low and steady, the softness of it grounding you instantly. “Hey,” he murmurs, leaning closer so you can feel his breath brush against your temple. “I got you, baby. Try to relax.” His words are a balm, warm and intimate, and you find yourself exhaling shakily, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. His hand moves from the machine to your lower back, gloved fingers brushing lightly over your skin, the touch firm yet gentle as though anchoring you. “Breathe for me,” he whispers, his tone impossibly delicate, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, gripping the edges of the bench with white-knuckled intensity, trying to steady yourself. The hum of the machine vibrates against your ears as the needle tip presses to your lower back, and you can’t stop the sharp intake of breath as the first sting bites into your skin. “Shhh,” Jeno soothes, his free hand sliding up to rest just above your hip, a steadying presence. His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles, a silent reassurance that you’re not alone. “It’ll only hurt for a second,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that it feels like a secret meant just for you. 

The sting deepens as he begins to work, the vibration traveling through your body in waves, strange and intimate in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Each press of the needle blurs the line between pain and pleasure, sending sparks of heat low into your belly that make it impossible to focus on anything but him. You try to steady your breathing, but every sensation feels heightened: the sharp pinch of the needle, the hum of the machine that seems to echo through your bones, and the occasional swipe of his gloved hand to clear away excess ink. His touch lingers just a second too long, firm and possessive in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

Your breathing hitches, and Jeno notices instantly, leaning closer again. “You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing lightly against your ear as he speaks. His voice is calm, soothing, the teasing edge from earlier entirely replaced by something softer.

“Nearly done,” he whispers, his tone low and steady, the vibration of the machine cutting through the air. The sound mixes with the distant thrum of music from the bar, but it’s his presence—his touch, his voice—that keeps you tethered. Even as the sting deepens, the intimacy of the moment is what consumes you, leaving you breathless and raw, utterly captivated by him.

The machine falls silent as he switches it off, the sudden quiet amplifying the pounding of your heart. He sets the device aside with practiced ease, his movements deliberate, before picking up a cloth to wipe away the excess ink. His touch is careful, almost reverent, but the slight drag of the cloth over your sensitive skin makes you shiver. The sting is sharper now, the fresh ink throbbing against your skin, but it’s overshadowed by the heat of Jeno’s presence. He leans in, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the spot just above the bandage. The tenderness of the gesture sends a jolt through you, and your entire body reacts—goosebumps rising, your breath hitching.

You twist around to face him, still perched on the edge of the seat. He reaches for his phone, the movement slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. He angles the screen toward you, showing you the photo he just snapped of the fresh tattoo. The lighting is dim, streaked with the flickering red and blue neon, but the ‘23’ on your lower back is unmistakable. Jeno’s jersey number—his mark—is now etched into your skin. It’s bold yet elegant, perfectly sized, with sharp, clean lines that follow the curve of your spine. The ink sits right above the dip of your ass, a brand that’s both subtle and impossible to ignore, claiming you in a way that feels intimate and irreversible.

You stare at the image, your breath catching in your throat as your chest tightens. The realization of what you’ve done—what Jeno has done to you—hits all at once. Your lips part in a gasp, but no words come out, the weight of the moment rendering you completely still. It’s more than just a tattoo. It’s his tattoo, his number, a mark that ties you to him forever. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, the significance of it sinking in with a dizzying mix of shock and arousal.

Jeno’s gaze never leaves you. He’s attuned to every flicker of emotion that crosses your face, the subtle changes in your expression, the way your breathing quickens. For a split second, his grip on your waist tightens, his voice soft but edged with curiosity. “What is it?” he asks, his tone quieter now, laced with a tenderness that catches you off guard.

But then you smile—soft, girlish, so radiant it makes his chest tighten. The tension in the air shifts as the corners of your lips curve into a grin that feels impossibly sweet, and for a moment, Jeno forgets to breathe. The contentment that washes over him is visible in the way his shoulders relax, his eyes softening as he watches you.

“You like it,” he states, his voice low and confident, though there’s a hint of vulnerability beneath his words.

“I love it,” you whisper, your fingers brushing lightly against the fresh ink.

He leans in, pressing his lips softly to yours, the kiss unhurried but laced with meaning. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I know your birthday’s on the 23rd,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, “but this tattoo isn’t for your birthday.”

“It’s for me,” he says, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk that’s equal parts teasing and serious. His chuckle is soft, almost indulgent, as he adds, “But hey, it can mean your birthday too, if that makes you feel better. The real reason?” His fingers press into your waist, his grin widening. “I think it’s hot. I want my jersey number on you. Permanently.”

The raw honesty in his voice sends a thrill through you, your stomach flipping as the heat between you spikes. You exhale shakily, your hands slipping to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “I can’t believe I just got your number on my body,” you murmur, your voice trembling but edged with excitement.

“Believe it,” he says, his tone thick with satisfaction, his fingers tightening against your skin. His lips brush yours again, but this time, there’s an unspoken promise in the way he kisses you, slow and deliberate. When he pulls back just slightly, his eyes lock on yours, the intensity in his gaze leaving you breathless. “You’re mine,” he adds, his voice low and wrecked.

A low, broken moan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, as his words strike deep, igniting something primal and consuming in your chest. The heat between you surges, impossible to ignore, and your hand fists in his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that’s all hunger and desperation. His mouth crashes against yours, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, the kiss messy and rough as the weight of everything you’ve done vibrates between you. The sting of the fresh tattoo sharpens against your back, but it only fuels the feverish intensity, the ache blurring into pleasure as Jeno’s hands grip your waist with bruising force. His body presses against yours, heat radiating from him as his lips move with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. You bite at his bottom lip, a soft growl rumbling from his chest in response, his hands sliding lower, gripping harder as though he’s anchoring himself to you.

The neon lights overhead strobe against your skin, streaking you in flashes of red and blue, but the world beyond this bubble feels inconsequential. The only thing that matters is the way Jeno moves against you, rough and possessive, as if he’s branding you all over again, this time with his touch. The weight of his presence is suffocating in the best way, tethering you to him in a way that feels wild, reckless, and completely right. The air around you thickens, electric and heavy, every breath shared between you charged with an unspoken promise. His lips trail down to your jaw, nipping sharply before finding your neck, the scrape of his teeth followed by the searing heat of his tongue. You gasp, your back arching into him despite the sting, your nails dragging along his scalp as if to pull him closer still.

Adrenaline and desire swirl together, making your head spin, every nerve in your body buzzing with the need for more. The thought of leaving crosses your mind—a quieter place where you could rip each other apart without restraint—but even now, tangled together in this dark, neon-drenched corner, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Jeno’s mark isn’t just a tattoo—it’s a declaration, a claim that courses through you with every rough kiss, every desperate touch, binding you to him in a way that feels raw and unshakable. The permanence of it sinks in with every beat of your heart, and all you can think about is the promise etched into your skin, the unrelenting need for everything he’s willing to give you.

When the hum finally dies away, the world around you sharpens, shifting with surreal clarity. The bar like a dreamscape, unnervingly quiet but buzzing with an undercurrent of electricity that made every step feel significant. The usual chaos—the clink of glasses, bursts of laughter, the pulse of bodies moving together—was replaced with a surreal stillness. Neon lights flickered across the empty dance floor, their saturated glow reflecting off polished surfaces, painting the space in streaks of red, blue, and green. The ambient hum of electricity filled the air, soft but present, the faint bassline of a low, pulsing beat vibrating through the floor. You made a mental note to thank Jihyo endlessly for letting you have this place tonight—it felt like the entire world had been handed to you on a platter, a lawless playground meant only for you and Jeno.

“Come on,” you said, tugging Jeno by the hand, he settled on a plush lounge couch positioned just off the stage, leaning back with an ease that only amplified the heat between you. His legs spread slightly, his posture exuding a mix of dominance and unbothered confidence. He lit a cigarette—or maybe it was a joint, you couldn’t quite tell—and the curl of smoke around his lips made your stomach flip. His eyes, heavy-lidded and glinting with that feral edge you knew too well. 

You didn’t hesitate as you climbed onto his lap, straddling one of his thighs. The fabric of his pants was coarse against your bare skin, the warmth radiating from his body making you shiver. Kneeling on the couch, your knees dug into the cushions as you adjusted yourself, pressing your core firmly against the thick muscle of his leg. Jeno’s free hand rested on your thigh, his fingers curling slightly, possessive, as his touch burned into you. His other hand still held the cigarette, its ember glowing faintly, but his focus was entirely on you now. The way his chest rose and fell in deliberate breaths told you just how much restraint he was clinging to.

Slowly, you began to move, your hips grinding against his thigh with a deliberate rhythm. The friction was immediate, sharp and tantalizing, as you found just the right angle to send jolts of heat spreading through your core. Jeno’s hand on your thigh tightened, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. He leaned forward slightly, his breath ghosting over your jaw as his lips brushed close but never touched.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. “So desperate, baby.”

The words made you whimper, a sound you hadn’t meant to let slip, and you buried your face in his neck to hide the flush creeping up your chest. But the sensation of his thigh flexing beneath you, firm and unyielding as you rode him, was overwhelming. The sting of the tattoo on your lower back pulsed with every movement, a reminder of the mark he’d left on you, of how much further you’d let him in. Your hands found their way to him, one bracing against his shoulder while the other slipped lower, pressing firmly against his crotch. The heat of him was undeniable, even through the fabric, and the way he twitched beneath your palm sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing over you. You squeezed him lightly, savoring the way his breath hitched against your ear.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained now, the earlier amusement in his tone replaced by raw need. “Keep going.”

You didn’t need the encouragement; you were already lost in the sensation of him, the rough texture of his pants dragging against your slickness, each grind of your hips sending sharp pulses of pleasure through you. Your hand on his cock worked in time with your movements, your fingers curling to press just enough to make him groan. His free hand trailed up your side, gliding over the curve of your waist before settling on your lower back, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of your fresh tattoo.

“You’re so fucking needy,” he whispered, though his voice cracked slightly, betraying just how much you were unraveling him. His lips finally found your jaw, grazing your skin with his teeth before he kissed the corner of your mouth, sloppy and demanding. “Always need me to ruin you, huh?”

You didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Your hips rolled harder, chasing the friction, your movements growing more erratic as the tension in your body coiled tighter. The slickness between your legs soaked through the fabric of his pants, and the faint wet sound of it only spurred you on. The bar felt far away now, the distant hum of music and the occasional crackle of the neon signs blending into the background noise of your shared breaths and low, guttural sounds.

Jeno’s cigarette had been abandoned somewhere, forgotten as his hands grabbed at you with more urgency. He hooked an arm firmly around your waist, his strength steadying you as you ground against him with increasing desperation. His other hand covered yours where it worked over his cock, his fingers pressing yours down harder, guiding you to grip him tighter. His gaze burned into yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide as he rasped, “You don’t even know how good you look right now, do you?”

His words sent a shockwave through you, and you whimpered again, pressing your forehead to his as your hand worked him faster, feeling him grow impossibly harder beneath your palm. Your movements became erratic, your breaths coming in sharp pants as the friction against his thigh sent sparks shooting up your spine. The edges of your vision blurred, your body trembling as the heat between you reached a fever pitch.

“Jeno,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your voice breaking with need.

He groaned in response, his fingers digging into your waist as his lips found yours again, desperate and consuming. The kiss was messy, full of teeth and tongue, your breaths mingling as the tension between you threatened to snap. His hand slid back to your ass, guiding your movements with a rough possessiveness that only made you push harder against him. A soft, breathy moan escaped your lips as your forehead pressed to his, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a vice. The tension in your body was unbearable, trembling under the weight of it all. “I can’t get enough,” you whispered, your voice breaking with desperation as you clung to him. “I want you everywhere.”

Jeno groaned low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist, anchoring you against him as though he feared you might slip away. “Needy girl,” he murmured, his teasing tone softened by the unsteady edge in his voice. His restraint was unraveling, a thin thread barely holding him together as he matched your fervor.

But you didn’t let him finish whatever thought was brewing behind his dark, hooded eyes. Your hand moved with purpose, pressing firmly against his crotch, feeling the heat of him through the rough fabric of his pants. He twitched beneath your touch, the hardness there growing impossibly firmer as you applied more pressure. “Jen, please,” you half-whined, half-commanded, the words spilling out with such raw need that even you were startled by them.

His thigh flexed beneath you in response, the motion deliberate and firm, sending a jolt straight to your core. You ground against him harder, each roll of your hips dragging delicious friction that made your stomach tighten with the promise of release. Jeno’s smirk faltered, his jaw tightening, his gaze darkening to something almost primal. The tension in his body was palpable, his fingers gripping your waist with enough force to leave an imprint. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breaths uneven as though grounding himself in your shared closeness.

Above you, the faint crackle of a neon sign cast fleeting glimmers of color across your skin, the flickering light giving the moment an electric, almost surreal quality. It felt like the universe itself was conspiring to amplify the charge between you. Your hand shifted, brushing against his as you reached for the cigarette he still held. The ember glowed faintly in the dim room, and you took it from him with a boldness that made his lips twitch into a faint, approving smirk.

Your fingers brushed his, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary as you brought the cigarette to your lips. Inhaling slowly, the burn of the smoke filled your lungs, sharp and intoxicating, before you exhaled, letting the haze curl between you. Your breath mingled with his as you leaned in, catching his lips in a kiss that was messy and unrestrained. It was the kind of kiss that demanded everything—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, breaths stolen in the heat of it all.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, your voice trembling with unfiltered want. “I want you on every table here,” you panted, your words almost breaking under the weight of your need. “Every chair, every surface—it’s ours tonight.”

Jeno’s response was a groan that felt more like a growl, his grip on your waist tightening as his gaze flickered briefly to the tattoo on your back. His smirk returned, sharper this time, dripping with pride and something darker, something possessive. “Then let’s do it, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with confidence, each word laced with the promise of unrestrained chaos.

The promise sent a feral surge through you, your movements growing more erratic, more desperate. You rolled your hips against his thigh harder, chasing the friction that had your breath catching with every pass. The slickness between your legs spread, soaking through the fabric of his pants, and the wet heat of it all made his jaw clench, a guttural groan slipping past his lips.

His hands roamed over your body, rough and demanding, like he couldn’t get enough of you. They slid up your sides, over the curve of your ass, pulling you tighter against him as his lips brushed along your jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. Each touch, each shift of his body beneath you, only drove you further into the haze, your mind consumed by the singular need to feel more of him.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of your words struck like a thunderclap. “About you. About us. Everywhere, Jeno.”

His reaction was instant. He groaned again, the sound low and wrecked, as his hands gripped you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself against the storm of emotions swirling between you. Your head tipped back, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you felt the full intensity of his need mirrored in your own.

For a fleeting moment, logic tried to break through the haze. A small voice in the back of your mind wondered, Did you lock the door? What were the chances of anyone walking in? But it was quickly drowned out by the all-consuming heat. At 4 a.m., the bar felt like another world entirely, its emptiness amplifying the intimacy, the lawlessness of what you were doing. Who would possibly walk in?

Jeno’s lips found your ear, his breath hot and uneven as his voice rumbled low. “Don’t stop,” he said, the words soft but loaded with unspoken promises. “I want to see you lose yourself, baby.”

And you did. The world outside the dimly lit bar faded into nothing, the tension building to something unstoppable as your bodies tangled together. Every sound, every touch, every shared breath was magnified, the raw need between you swallowing everything else. Nothing else mattered—not the past, not the future—only the unrelenting desire to take and be taken.

Jeno’s kiss faltered suddenly, a harsh cough breaking through the heavy, lust-drenched air. His hands tightened instinctively on your waist as his body stiffened beneath you, every muscle locking up. The change in him sent an immediate jolt through you, a shock that severed the intimate haze clouding your mind.

“Jeno?” you asked softly, breathless, your chest still heaving as you tried to read his expression. But his focus wasn’t on you anymore—his eyes were fixed on something just past your shoulder, wide and dark, the kind of look you’d rarely ever seen on him. Alarm.

The air in the room shifted, thickened, no longer humming with the raw heat of moments ago but now tense and brittle. You turned slowly, your pulse hammering against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to prepare for something you didn’t yet understand.

That’s when you saw her. Karina.

She was standing in the open doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Her frame was slouched, her weight shifted unevenly from one foot to the other. Disheveled, dazed, and glassy-eyed, she looked like she’d barely managed to stumble in. The edges of her mascara smudged down her cheeks, her hair tangled and damp as if she’d walked through rain—or worse.

You froze completely, your breath caught in your throat. The once-closed door stood ajar behind her, and a chill from the night air began to creep in, mingling with the charged warmth still radiating from your body. “Karina?” The word came out shaky, more a question than an address. The stark vulnerability in your voice felt foreign, wrong, in contrast to the reckless, heated energy of just moments ago.

Jeno exhaled sharply, still beneath you, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “What the hell?” He blinked once, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced she was real, his concern flashing to the surface in that split-second. “Are you—are you okay?”

Karina didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t lash out, didn’t seem angry—her wide, unfocused gaze barely acknowledged the intimate chaos she’d walked in on. Her eyes darted over your half-dressed state, Jeno’s hands still loosely on your waist, the faint sheen of sweat glinting in the dim light. But she didn’t react, not in any way that you expected. Instead, she stepped further into the room, her movements awkward, as if each step might send her sprawling to the floor. She didn’t stop until she reached the couch beside you, her knees buckling slightly as she dropped into the seat with a graceless thud. Her hand reached out, and with a surprising steadiness, she plucked the joint from where Jeno had abandoned it, bringing it to her lips and inhaling deeply. She exhaled slowly, her breath trembling but her expression distant, detached, as though she were entirely alone in the room.

Your heart was pounding now, confusion and guilt twisting in your stomach. A moment ago, you were drowning in Jeno’s touch, devouring every part of him like the rest of the world didn’t exist. And now, the world was slamming back into focus—messy, complicated, and filled with questions you weren’t ready to answer. You scrambled to cover yourself, grabbing Jeno’s jacket from the floor and tugging it over your exposed shoulders. The oversized fabric hung heavy against your flushed skin, the cool leather a jarring contrast to the warmth still coursing through your body.

Jeno’s hand slipped from your waist, his body shifting upright with a fluid ease as his focus turned entirely to Karina. You stayed still, perched awkwardly on his thigh, unsure whether to move or stay put. His attention on her felt natural, instinctive, and it left you feeling suddenly out of place. The tension in his jaw was subtle, but it gave away more than his otherwise calm exterior. He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, his gaze locked on her as though trying to piece together the fragments of her disheveled appearance.

“Karina,” he said, his voice low but firm, carrying a mix of familiarity and concern that made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach. “What’s going on? You alright?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Her head tilted back against the couch, the joint balanced between her fingers as she took a slow drag. You watched the smoke curl around her face, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. She didn’t even glance your way, her entire focus seemingly pinned on the ceiling. 

You stayed quiet, unsure of your place in this unfolding scene. You didn’t know her—not really. You only knew of her in passing, from things Jeno had mentioned here and there. They were close, you knew that much, and it showed in the way his concern for her seemed effortless, instinctive.

“What happened?” he pressed, his tone softening, but there was an edge of insistence beneath it. His body leaned closer to hers, his elbows digging into his knees as he searched her face. You stayed frozen, observing. She hadn’t acknowledged you, and you didn’t know what to say even if she did. The dynamic between her and Jeno was palpable, a natural rhythm you could only watch from the outside.

Her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the joint for another inhale, her gaze still fixed somewhere far away. When she finally exhaled, her voice broke through the haze, quiet and uneven. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The admission hit like a shift in the atmosphere, a weight settling over the room that made your chest tighten. Jeno’s brows pulled together, his expression flickering between confusion and worry as he straightened slightly. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

You glanced at him, watching the way his focus remained locked on her, his voice careful but persistent. He knew how to handle her, how to coax answers out of her without pressuring too hard. Your gaze drifted to her again, taking in the smudged makeup, the tear-streaked cheeks, the glassy look in her eyes. She was a mess, and yet she didn’t seem fragile—just lost. You wondered how many times Jeno had seen her like this, how many times he’d been the one she’d run to.

The thought sent a strange pang through you, not quite jealousy but something adjacent to it. The ease between them was undeniable, a closeness you couldn’t ignore, and it made you hyper-aware of how out of place you felt now.

“Can I just… stay here for a bit?” she murmured finally, her voice trembling as she slumped further into the couch.

Jeno nodded immediately, his tone low but firm. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

A flicker of irritation sparked in your chest at his easy response. Of course? You wanted to ask why he didn’t hesitate, why he didn’t at least glance at you before offering her this space—your space. The intimacy you had claimed just moments ago now felt intruded upon, and the weight of her presence gnawed at your already frayed nerves. You stayed silent, forcing yourself to watch as he sat back slightly, his shoulders easing in a way that made your stomach twist. He reached out and plucked the joint from her fingers, setting it aside with a casual familiarity that only stoked your unease.

A bigger question loomed in your mind, cutting through the swirl of emotions. How did she even find this place? The bar was closed, locked—except for the door you’d carelessly left ajar. But what were the odds that she’d stumble across it, that she’d walk in at this exact hour, interrupting this exact moment?

Your eyes flicked between Jeno and Karina, your confusion sharpening with every breath. She didn’t even seem aware of the implications, slumping deeper into the couch like she belonged there. You tried to suppress the sting of annoyance at how comfortable she seemed, the way Jeno’s focus on her was so natural, so immediate. You crossed your arms, trying to ground yourself against the growing tension. The bar felt smaller now, its once-lawless allure replaced with a suffocating unease. You didn’t want her here. You didn’t want her tears, her drama, or the way Jeno leaned into it with such ease, cutting through the fragile bubble you had built tonight.

Jeno glanced at you fully this time, his gaze heavy with unspoken words. His eyes softened, his brow furrowing slightly in a silent plea, as if to say, Don’t get jealous. Just… understand. The shadow of his concern was etched into every line of his face, and despite the irritation bubbling in your chest, you found yourself wavering.

You and Jeno exchanged quick, uncertain glances as Karina brought the joint to her lips again, her hands steady despite the glassy sheen in her eyes. Her movements were detached, almost robotic, as though she were trying to keep herself together but was moments away from unraveling completely. The tension in the air was unbearable, a tangled mix of leftover arousal, pity, and something uncomfortably close to shame.

Karina let out a heavy sigh, noticing your restless fidgeting and Jeno’s furrowed brow. Her lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “If you want to keep fucking around, just do it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and taking another drag. “Don’t stop because I’m here.”

Jeno’s tone was soft but steady, his concern evident as he leaned toward her. “Maybe we should get you home.”

Karina let out a bitter laugh, her voice breaking at the edges. “I have no home right now… or no one waiting.” She hesitated, her lip trembling, her voice growing quieter. “I—I don’t care.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, twisting the energy between the three of you into something neither of you knew how to address. Your earlier irritation shifted, the jealousy fading into the background as concern crept in, but it was far from clear-cut. Karina’s casual acceptance of your intimacy—her flippant suggestion that you should keep going as if she weren’t even there—sparked something darker, something you couldn’t quite name.

You could see the way her eyes flicked between you and Jeno, glassy and tired but undeniably curious, as though she couldn’t decide if she was appalled or… intrigued. The way her teeth caught on her lower lip for the briefest second didn’t escape you. And as much as you hated to admit it, the realization sent a sharp, heated jolt through you, adding another layer to the tangled mess of emotions swirling in your chest.

You shifted slightly, your thigh brushing against Jeno’s, and the simple contact sent your pulse racing again, the earlier tension refusing to fully dissipate. His hand moved instinctively to your waist, a grounding gesture that reminded you of what you’d been doing not minutes ago. The ghost of his touch lingered on your skin, the memory of his lips, his hands, still burning in the back of your mind.

The conflict was sharp, visceral. The logical part of you knew you should step back, insist on figuring out what Karina needed, but there was another part—a reckless, impulsive part—that couldn’t ignore the way the room felt charged. The leftover arousal mixed with Karina’s raw vulnerability and her strange, almost detached curiosity, creating an unsteady cocktail of emotions that left you reeling.

Karina slumped back into the couch, her head tipping against the cushions as she exhaled another long trail of smoke. Her presence felt like both an intrusion and an invitation, and you hated how the line between the two was beginning to blur.

Jeno’s hand on your waist tightened slightly, a small, grounding squeeze that sent your thoughts spiraling even further. When you glanced at him, his expression mirrored your own—conflicted, uncertain, but undeniably charged. For the briefest moment, his eyes flicked toward Karina, then back to you, and the unspoken tension between the three of you became impossible to ignore.

The shift in your mind was sudden, impulsive, and laced with a recklessness you couldn’t fully name. You didn’t want her here—at least, that’s what you’d told yourself—but some twisted part of you couldn’t ignore how the dynamic had shifted. The air between the three of you was suffocating, electric, and charged with something you couldn’t place, and as you watched her squirm, her thighs pressing together like she was trying to stave off some internal battle, the jealousy that once burned in your chest morphed into something else entirely. She wasn’t a threat, wasn’t competition—she was raw, broken, and undeniably dangerous in a way that made the moment feel even more precarious.

The air in the room was suffocating, thick with the haze of smoke and the weight of unspoken desires. Neon light spilled across the three of you in erratic, uneven flashes, painting the scene in streaks of red and blue, as though the room itself couldn’t decide if it wanted to warn you or indulge you. Karina sat slouched in her corner of the couch, the joint burning low between her fingers, her glassy eyes flitting between you and Jeno, her lips trembling with an unspoken need that felt like a scream trapped in her throat.

Jeno’s arm was still around your waist, anchoring you to him, the heat of his touch an undeniable tether to the moment you’d been lost in only minutes ago. His gaze flicked to you, then to Karina, and back again, a silent conversation in the lines of his expression that you couldn’t fully read. But you didn’t need to—everything was written in the tension crackling between the three of you like a live wire.

Jeno glanced at you again, his expression dark and searching, and for a moment, everything else melted away. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as his lips found yours. The kiss was feral, his tongue sweeping past your lips, wet and hungry, a performance for her as much as it was for the both of you. You moaned softly into his mouth, your body pressing harder against him, and when you broke away, gasping for air, you caught the way Karina’s gaze snapped to your lips, her breath hitching audibly.

Her reaction jolted you—a sharp, electric pulse of adrenaline tangled with something darker, something you didn’t want to name. It was in the tremble of her parted lips, in the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. Jeno’s eyes followed yours, his lips curling into the faintest smirk as he caught the same flicker of desperation, the same unraveling that held you transfixed.

“You want this?” you whispered, the words raw and daring, slipping out before you could stop them. They weren’t for Jeno, not entirely—they weren’t even fully for Karina. They were for the moment itself, a challenge to the fragile balance holding it all together.

The silence between you stretched, unbearably taut. Karina’s gaze darted between you and Jeno, her hesitation palpable, trembling on the edge of collapse. But then, she leaned forward, her lips parting further, the subtle invitation enough to send the entire room spiraling into chaos.

You moved first, closing the distance between you and her, the kiss tentative at first, testing the waters. Her lips were soft but uncertain, tasting of smoke and salt, the bitterness of whatever had broken her lingering beneath the surface. But when she whimpered softly, the sound a mixture of surrender and need, the kiss deepened. Her hand fumbled against your arm, unsure but seeking, as if she didn’t fully trust her own body.

Behind you, Jeno groaned, the sound guttural, raw, and it vibrated through you like a second heartbeat. His hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him as the other drifted toward Karina, brushing her leg in a way that made her gasp. The tension thickened to the point of suffocation, every movement, every sound, every flicker of touch pushing you further into a frenzy you couldn’t claw your way out of.

You pulled back from Karina, your breath hitching, and turned to Jeno. His gaze was molten, dark and consuming, and when your lips met his, the kiss was hard, possessive, his teeth catching your bottom lip as his grip on you tightened. The taste of Karina lingered faintly on your tongue, and when you felt her hand brush against your thigh, tentative but growing bolder, it sent a new surge of heat through you.

Without thinking, you broke away from Jeno and turned back to Karina. Her eyes glistened, her expression caught between hesitation and hunger, and you leaned in again, your lips brushing hers with more confidence now. Her response was shaky but eager, her fingers curling against your shoulder as if trying to steady herself. Jeno’s hands roamed between you both, firm and commanding, the weight of his touch grounding you even as it stoked the fire burning wildly out of control.

The three of you moved together as though bound by an invisible thread, instinct pulling you closer. Jeno’s mouth found yours again, then hers, the rhythm chaotic and feverish. His hands were everywhere—on your hips, Karina’s thigh, gripping and guiding with a possessiveness that made your breath catch.

Logic tried to claw its way to the surface, a faint voice in the back of your mind whispering about the unlocked door, about how easily this could shatter. But it was drowned beneath the tidal wave of sensation—the heat pooling low in your belly, the raw, primal energy of the moment, the unrelenting pull of mouths and hands and desperation.

“Don’t stop,” Karina murmured, her voice trembling, her eyes wide and glassy, wet with something that wasn’t quite tears. You didn’t. The three of you tangled together on the couch, every boundary blurred, every movement an act of reckless surrender. Jeno’s grip on your hip tightened, his thumb pressing into your skin as his gaze flickered between you and Karina, his lips curling into something halfway between a smirk and a gasp.

Your pulse thundered like war drums in a fogged-out world, each throb magnified by the dizzy blur of substances coursing through your veins. Jeno’s silhouette still consumed your periphery—dark, beckoning, perilous—and now another presence, Karina, lingered just behind him, a third figure equally ensnared in this vortex of flickering neon and whispered sin. every breath tasted of smoke and heady abandon, as though the bar itself pulsed with a collective hunger. In that swirling haze of illusions, where inhibitions melted into the pounding bass of blood and bassline, you found yourself standing on the threshold of something unthinkably carnal. The night seemed to recoil in hush, conspiratorial and electric, acknowledging the triad of bodies trembling in shared heat. Jeno’s gaze darted between you both, wild and ravenous, a silent dare passing among the three of you. It was a moment steeped in raw, pulsing want: unsteady laughter, sweaty palms, tongues stained with lust. You could feel the current draw you together, the beating of your heart syncing with theirs, forging an unholy connection that promised ecstasy or oblivion—or both.

When Jeno finally moved, it was like a catalyst igniting every dormant desire in that cramped, neon-lit space. The sticky floors and flickering sign overhead rendered inconsequential by the warmth of colliding bodies and clashing breaths. One taste became two, became a frenzy of desperate hands and open mouths, each caress weighed down by the delirium of chemicals and longing. You sensed the line dissolve between fear and euphoria, realizing with a heady rush that you’d passed the point of no return. Whatever boundaries once existed had been swallowed whole by the thrum of three hearts beating in reckless unison.

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

[dangermousie]

Is he gently bossy or bossily gentle? You decide.

AAAAAA!

I am a sucker for practical demonstrations of caring.

I love this! And it's a different statement from his earlier "I know everything about you" - that statement is wrong but his current one is not.

The way it sounds as if he would expose her but he doesn't and lets her hide her being 406, pretending (oh so transparently) that he has no idea.

And in fact, he prevents her from coming clean because...

Seriously, I live for the gentle bossiness.

That little teeny grin.

the dom/sub vibes are NOT subtle

[xtra7s]

LOVE your g!p!renee/regina smut

i can’t stop thinking abt a g!p!renee dom x sub reader where the reader gets high and used by renee w lots of praise & oral fixation ,, i think you would kill it 🫢

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 ─── 𝘙𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘱 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Renee gets Y/N high and they have a little fun.

Content: Renee Rapp x gn!reader, Dom!Renee, Sub!reader, Cunnilingus, Oral Fixation, Breeding, Substances, R is high as fuck, Praise

Word Count: 2.7k

a/n: Loved this request, hope i did it justice baby

masterlist

The pulsating beat of the music reverberated through the crowded room as Reneé Rapp and Y/N navigated their way through the lively party. The air was filled with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation.

Reneé, with her infectious energy and captivating presence, led Y/N to a more secluded corner of the room where the bass was a bit less overwhelming. They exchanged playful glances, their connection palpable even in the dim lighting of the party.

"So, what do you think of this place?" Reneé asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N grinned, feeling the warmth of the evening and the buzz of the party. "It's wild. Definitely not what I expected, but I like it."

Reneé smirked, reaching into her clutch and pulling out a small bag. "Speaking of wild, ever tried one of these?" She dangled a brownie edible in front of Y/N.

Y/N's eyes widened with curiosity. "What is it?"

Reneé chuckled, "Just a little something to spice up the night. Trust me, you'll love it."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then decided to go with the flow. "Alright, let's do it."

Reneé handed her the edible, their fingers brushing against each other. The air was charged with a mix of nerves and excitement as Y/N took bites of the brownie, finishing it off. They continued to enjoy the party, dancing and chatting, the subtle allure of the edible slowly taking effect.

As the night progressed, Y/N felt a pleasant warmth spreading through her body. The room seemed to warp and twist in a delightful haze. Reneé, always the life of the party, leaned in closer, her lips dangerously close to Y/N's ear.

"You feeling alright there?" she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Y/N grinned the edges of her reality softening. "Yeah, I'm feeling… really good."

Reneé chuckled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on Y/N's arm. "Glad to hear it, babe."

The effects of the edible continued to weave a dreamy haze around Y/N as they found themselves on a cozy couch surrounded by a few other people. The room was filled with laughter and the mellow beats of music, creating a laid-back atmosphere. Reneé, always attuned to the vibe of the moment, produced a rolled blunt from her pocket with a sly grin.

"Care for a little more adventure?" she asked, holding the blunt delicately between her fingers.

Y/N chuckled, feeling the warmth of the edible enhancing the easygoing mood. "Why not? It's that kind of night."

Reneé's smile widened as she sparked the blunt, the flame casting a warm glow on her features. She took a leisurely puff before passing it to Y/N. The fragrant smoke curled into the air as Y/N brought the blunt to their lips, inhaling deeply.

The room seemed to shift and sway with each exhale, the atmosphere becoming even more intoxicating. The group on the couch shared stories, laughter, and the occasional passing of the blunt, creating a sense of camaraderie. Y/N found themselves drawn into the conversation, feeling a deeper connection with Reneé and the others in the circle.

"wanna get out of here?" Renee murmured, her thighs pressed tightly against Y/N's as they sat on the couch, her leaning in to whisper in Y/N's ear.

Y/N nodded, and they navigated through the party, finding a more secluded room. The atmosphere was intimate, and the laughter from the party dulled to a distant hum. Reneé and Y/N shared a comfortable silence, the unspoken tension between them growing more palpable.

Reneé leaned in, her lips brushing against Y/N's earlobe. "You know," she whispered, "I like you. A lot."

Y/N's heart raced, the words sending shivers down her spine. "I like you too, Reneé."

With that admission, the gap between them closed, and their lips met in a heated kiss.

The room spun gently as Y/N found themselves lying on a bed, the effects of the edible and the blunt intensifying the sensation of weightlessness. Reneé, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and desire, hovered above Y/N. The dim glow of the room added to the dreamlike quality of the moment.

Reneé's lips met Y/N's in a slow, languid kiss, the taste of the lingering smoke and the sweetness of the edible blending into an intoxicating combination. Y/N's senses were heightened, and every touch, every movement, sent shivers through their body.

Unable to move much, Y/N surrendered to the experience, sinking deeper into the softness of the bed. Reneé's fingers traced patterns on Y/N's skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. The world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of them entangled in a haze of desire and euphoria.

Reneé pulled back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You doing okay there?"

Y/N managed a lazy smile, their limbs feeling heavy but content. "I feel.. heavy."

Reneé chuckled, her fingers gently playing with Y/N's hair. "Just relax, enjoy the moment."

Y/N's mind swirled with a mix of emotions, the high amplifying the intensity of each touch and caress.

Reneé leaned in once more, her lips brushing against Y/N's ear. "You know, you're even more beautiful when you're like this."

Y/N's cheeks flushed with a combination of warmth and the realization of the genuine connection between them. The world outside the room ceased to exist as Y/N and Reneé lost themselves in the shared bliss of the moment.

The room pulsed with a rhythmic beat that seemed to synchronize with the pounding of Y/N's heart. As Y/N lay on the bed, a euphoric haze enveloping them, Reneé couldn't resist the magnetic pull drawing her towards Y/N's lips. The air was charged with an intoxicating mixture of desire and the lingering effects of the substances they had indulged in.

Reneé's lips grazed Y/N's neck, leaving a trail of delicate kisses that sent shivers down their spine. Y/N's senses were heightened, each touch a symphony of pleasure that echoed through their body. The room seemed to blur at the edges as Reneé's lips found Y/N's, the kiss deepening into a passionate exchange.

Unable to resist the allure of Y/N's skin, Reneé planted soft kisses along their jawline, gradually making her way to the sensitive spot on their neck. Each kiss left a mark, a visible testament to the intensity of the moment. Reneé couldn't help but revel in the intoxicating mixture of the high and the electric connection between them.

Y/N let out a soft sigh, their fingers lightly tracing patterns on Reneé's back. The room spun with a heady combination of desire and bliss. Reneé continued her exploration, leaving a trail of hickeys that marked the passage of their shared ecstasy.

Reneé pulled back, her eyes locking with Y/N's, a fire burning within. "You're driving me crazy," she confessed, her voice husky.

Y/N's lips curved into a hazy smile, their words slurred with the effects of the substances. "Good kind of crazy, I hope."

Reneé chuckled, a playful glint in her eyes. "The best kind." She leaned in once more, their lips meeting in a searing kiss that left no room for anything but the intoxicating connection between them.

Renee's eyes were full of desire as she hovered over Y/N on the bed. Her hand traced down their body, stopping at the waistband of their pants. "You're so beautiful," she murmured, her voice thick with lust. "I've been thinking about this moment for days."

Y/N swallowed hard, heart pounding in anticipation. They trusted Renee implicitly, but this was a new experience for them nonetheless. As they gazed at the ceiling, patterns formed and dissolved in the textured surface, creating a captivating kaleidoscope. The music from the party outside seemed to echo through the walls, each beat resonating with the rhythm of Y/N's heartbeat.

Reneé's voice, soft and melodic, reached Y/N's ears, drawing them into a world of warmth and comfort. Every giggle and whispered word carried a playful echo, and the air seemed to shimmer with a pleasant energy. The mere thought of having Renee's mouth on them sent shivers down their spine.

Renee's fingers deftly unfastened Y/N's pants, sliding them down along with their underwear until they lay exposed before her. She pulled off the rest of Y/N's clothes, and Renee's eyes widened at the sight, her gaze lingering on every inch of flesh revealed. "You're so wet," she whispered, leaning in to lick a slow trail up Y/N's inner thigh.

Y/N gasped, arching into the touch. Her back arched off the mattress, offering herself fully to Renee's expert mouth. Their fingers threaded through Renee's hair, guiding her closer to their core. "Please," they slurred, moving their hands as much as they could to hold Renee's waist.

Renee pushed Y/N's hand off of her, "No touching, love." She spoke with a murmur, leaving hickeys on the inside of Y/N's thighs.

Y/N pleaded, their voice shaky with need. "Please, Renee."

Renee grinned wickedly, licking her lips in anticipation. She positioned herself deeper between Y/N's legs, taking a deep breath before diving in. Her tongue flicked against their clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through Y/N's body. Their hips bucked involuntarily, pushing against her mouth.

Renee didn't hesitate, sucking Y/N's sensitive nub into her mouth and sucking gently. Her tongue darted out, teasing every crevice and fold, sending them into a frenzy of pleasure. "Oh god," Y/N moaned, grabbing onto the sheets for support.

When Y/N closed their eyes, a tapestry of vibrant colors unfolded behind their eyelids, a visual symphony that danced to the rhythm of their thoughts. The boundary between imagination and reality blurred, and Y/N found themselves lost in a dreamscape of swirling emotions and sensations.

Their body trembled under Renee's expert touch, each stroke bringing them closer to the edge. Sweat dripped down their forehead, mingling with the saliva from Renee's lips. Their breaths came in short gasps, each one punctuated by cries of delight.

Renee knew she had to be careful; she wanted this to last as long as possible. But the sight of Y/N's pleasure-drenched face was almost too much to bear. She increased the intensity of her licks, wrapping her hand around their cock and stroking it in tandem with her mouth. The dual stimulation had Y/N writhing beneath her, their moans growing louder with each passing second.

Renee could feel Y/N's orgasm building, just within reach. She wanted to be the one to push them over the edge, to make them scream her name in ecstasy. Her tongue darted out one last time, flicking their clit with lightning-like speed.

Y/N cried out, arching off the bed as her orgasm hit like a freight train. Her pussy clenched around Renee's mouth, milking every last drop of pleasure from her. Renee lapped up every drop, savoring the taste of Y/N's release before reluctantly pulling away.

Renee's eyes locked with Y/N's, her heart pounding with anticipation. She had never been with anyone high before, but this situation excited her. She positioned herself between Y/N's legs, her cock poised at the entrance of their pussy.

"Are you ready?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Y/N nodded, their eyes heavy-lidded from the high. "I'm ready," they slurred, their body trembling with anticipation.

With one powerful thrust, Renee entered Y/N, burying herself to the base. Their eyes widened in surprise, but it was quickly replaced by a look of pure pleasure. "Oh god," Y/N gasped, their voice hoarse with need. Renee started to move, setting a steady rhythm that matched their breathing. Their hips ground together, creating friction that sent sparks flying between them as sweat dripped down their bodies.

Y/N's moans echoed through the room, a mix of pleasure and disbelief at how good it felt. "You feel amazing," Renee panted, her voice thick with desire. "I could fuck you all night."

Y/N blinked, her eyes hazy with lust. "Please, don't stop" she managed to say between breaths.

Y/N moaned, a blissful smile playing on their lips. The room, filled with the scent of lingering smoke and the soft glow of dim lights, became a sanctuary of euphoria.

Renee increased the pace, thrusting harder and faster into Y/N's welcoming core. Their moans filled the room, mixed with the slapping sounds of flesh against flesh. Their breaths came out in ragged gasps, each one punctuated by cries of delight.

She reached down, cupping Y/N's jaw and neck in her hands. "Look at me," she commanded softly. "Look into my eyes while I fuck you."

Y/N complied, their gaze hazily locked with Renee's. The intensity of the connection only heightened their pleasure, making every thrust feel more intense. "fuck you feel so good baby" Renee murmured, lost in the moment.

She didn't break stride, continuing to thrust into Y/N as she spoke again. "You're taking my dick so good" she hummed out.

Y/N moaned loudly, her orgasm exploding like a firework within her as she came again. Her pussy clenched around Renee's cock, milking every inch of her as she came. Renee rode out the waves with her, their lips locked in a fierce kiss that tasted of sweat and desire.

As Y/N's orgasm subsided, Renee followed suit, her own release drawing near. She thrust harder and faster, their bodies slapping together in a rhythm that would never end. "I'm going to cum," she panted, her voice strained with need.

Y/N gripped Renee's hips, urging her onward. "Come for me," she begged, her voice hoarse with desire. "I want to feel it."

Renee shuddered, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave. Renee shuddered, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she spilled her essence inside Y/N. Their cries mingled together, filling the room with the raw intensity of their passion.

When it was all over, they collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily and clutching each other tight. Their bodies glistened with sweat and cum, a testament to the intensity of their union. Renee leaned in, pressing soft kisses against Y/N's forehead.

The room slowly settled into a serene calm as Y/N and Reneé lay on the bed, their breaths intermingling with the remnants of the euphoria that had enveloped them. The once vibrant colors and swirling patterns now softened, giving way to a tranquil atmosphere.

Y/N's limbs felt like they were made of cotton, a gentle heaviness replacing the weightless sensation that had characterized the peak of their high. As they came down from the intoxicating cloud, the world around them seemed to regain a semblance of clarity.

Reneé, lying beside Y/N, traced lazy patterns on their skin, her fingers creating a soothing rhythm that echoed the soft rise and fall of their breaths. The room was filled with a languid energy, and the air was charged with a quiet intimacy.

Reneé's lips found their way to Y/N's neck, leaving a trail of tender kisses that contrasted with the earlier fervor. Each touch was a gentle reminder of the shared journey they had embarked on throughout the night. Y/N sighed, the sensation of Reneé's lips against their skin sending shivers down their spine.

"I like this," Reneé whispered, her voice a soft murmur against Y/N's neck. "Just lying here, feeling each other's breaths."

Y/N nodded, a contented smile playing on their lips. The residual warmth from the high mixed with the delicate touch of Reneé's kisses created a cocoon of comfort and connection.

As the room bathed in the gentle glow of subdued lights, the two exchanged quiet words, sharing thoughts and emotions in the stillness of the moment. The outside world seemed distant, leaving only the hushed sounds of their breaths and the tender exchange of affections.

Reneé lifted her head to meet Y/N's gaze, her eyes reflecting a shared understanding. "You okay?"

Y/N nodded, a lingering smile on their face. "Yeah, more than okay."

The room held them in a tranquil embrace as they lay there, their breaths gradually syncing in a rhythm of shared calm. In the quiet aftermath of the night, Y/N and Reneé found solace in the simple beauty of being together, their connection deepening with each passing breath.

[motherismotheringggg]

I see all the nose conversations and I raise a request of teaching him the right way to eat it… I’m talking submissive NAC nose play

sunday warmth

summary: see the request above, thanks to this lovely anon <3 (also inspired by this post)

type: dom! female reader x sub! nicholas chavez

tags/warnings: 18+, oral f! receiving, nose play, face sitting, face riding

author’s note: literally so sorry it took me so long!!!! i’m so excited to use this picture of him lmaoo ever since i saw it i KNEW it gave “sit on my face” vibes teehee!! also im loving all the sub! stuff, its so fun to write — anywhooo - enjoy <3

word count: 2556

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The soft glow of Sunday morning filtered through the curtains, casting golden patches across the bedspread and illuminating the quiet intimacy of your time together. Nicholas lay beside you in a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, the casualness of the outfit somehow making him even more magnetic. The fabric clung to his thighs just enough to highlight his muscular build, leaving little to the imagination. Meanwhile, your pink silk nightgown draped softly over your body, the delicate material catching the light with every subtle movement. The smooth texture hugged your curves, accentuating your form with an effortless elegance that Nicholas couldn’t stop stealing glances at.

Nicholas held you close, arms wrapped around you as if anchoring himself to this moment, the world outside fading with each steady heartbeat pressed to yours. The warmth of last night lingered, sweet and drowsy, settling into your bones. His gaze, still hazy with sleep, held that same starry-eyed, adoring look that sent a thrill through your chest—a look full of quiet awe and devotion.

As you stroked a gentle hand down his back, he shivered, leaning into your touch with a soft sigh. He nestled closer, nose finding the familiar curve of your neck, breathing you in like something he needed. You felt his chest rise and fall, each breath syncing with yours in an unspoken rhythm. His voice came out low and drowsy, “God… I’m so happy right now. This just feels right.”

His hands traced light patterns along your spine, trailing down as if to memorize every inch. His lips brushed your shoulder in a featherlight kiss, lingering just long enough to send a ripple of warmth through you. He entwined his fingers with yours, squeezing gently, as if wanting to make this feeling last—just the two of you cocooned in the glow of morning.

You laughed quietly, the sound melting into the stillness as you ran your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered closed, shivering slightly at your touch. “Is that right?” you teased, placing a soft kiss on his forehead, then another on his cheek, lingering just a bit longer.

He tilted his head, eyes still hazy from sleep but shining with raw adoration that made your heart swell. For a moment, he seemed lost in your gaze, every kiss and gentle stroke pulling him further under a spell he didn’t want to break. His fingers drifted along your arm, almost shy, as he murmured, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.” His words, spoken so softly, lingered between you, settling like warmth against your skin.

You brushed your hand against his cheek, letting your thumb trail over the faint flush that bloomed there. His features, so boyishly handsome, softened under your touch. The light curve of his smile was irresistible, endearing in its gentleness, but it was his nose that truly caught your attention. It had a subtle upturn at the tip, a perfect balance of sharp and soft, giving him an air of youthful charm. When he smiled like that, his nose crinkled just slightly, and you couldn’t help but let your fingers trace its bridge, marveling at the small imperfections that made it so uniquely his. You swore you could get lost in the way his expressions shifted with every tender moment you shared.

Unable to resist him any longer, you leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss. It started slow, light, and teasing, but the passion between you ignited quickly, the connection growing more heated with every passing second. Nicholas sighed into your mouth, his hand sliding down your back to pull your leg over him, his fingers pressing into your thigh as he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that sent sparks through you, trailing over your legs and settling on your ass, squeezing as he pressed his hips up against you.

The way he responded to you was intoxicating, and when you bit his lip just hard enough to make him wince, a shiver of satisfaction coursed through you. He whimpered softly, the sound so vulnerable yet so eager that it only spurred you on. Taking the lead as you loved to do, you kissed your way down his neck, your lips grazing his skin with deliberate intent. Each bite and kiss drew a soft gasp from him, his breath hitching with every movement. The feeling of his rapid heartbeat beneath your lips was a thrill you’d never get tired of.

You could feel him hardening against you, the heat of him impossible to ignore. With a sly grin, you let your hand trail down his body, fingers grazing over his stomach before moving lower to grasp at his growing arousal. But just as you began to tease him, Nicholas pulled back from the kiss, his forehead pressing against yours as his chest rose and fell in quick breaths.

“I love it when you take control,” he murmured, his voice trembling with honesty. “You always make me feel so good, but… I want to make you feel good, too.”

His words caught you off guard, and you raised an eyebrow, your expression shifting to a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “Oh?” you asked, your voice low and teasing, but he hesitated, his cheeks flushing deeper as he worked up the courage to clarify.

“I—” he began, his voice faltering slightly before he steadied himself. “I want you to sit on my face.”

The nervousness in his tone made your heart flutter, but there was also a determination in his gaze, as if he’d been holding onto the thought for a while, working up the courage to ask. You feigned a small smile, equal parts touched and intrigued. It was endearing to see your boyfriend so eager to please, his inexperience making his request all the sweeter. But you also felt a flicker of excitement buzz through you—this was new territory, and you loved the idea of teaching him, guiding him to explore something that left him vulnerable yet so eager.

“I know I’m… not exactly experienced,” he admitted, his words rushing out now, almost tripping over themselves in his nervousness. “But if you tell me what to do… I promise I’ll make you cum.” His voice was both shaky and firm, a mix of innocence and raw determination that made your heart race.

You didn’t respond with words, not immediately. Instead, you leaned down, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss that was deep and unrelenting. Your tongue swept against his, the wet heat of the kiss making his soft whimper vibrate between you. When you finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, his breath coming in shallow pants as he looked up at you with wide, expectant eyes.

Without a word, you shifted to your knees, moving into position. Nicholas adjusted instinctively, sliding down on the bed to give you more space, his movements a little tentative but completely obedient. He watched you with a mix of awe and anticipation as you placed a knee on either side of his head, bracing your hands against the headboard.

Pausing momentarily, you glanced down at him, your lips curving into a smirk as you asked, “Ready?”

His answer came as a fervent nod, his hands already moving to rest on your thighs, fingers curling against your skin as though anchoring himself for what was to come. With a slow exhale, you shifted your weight, lowering yourself down. His hands tightened slightly, his breath hitching in anticipation as his lips met you, and the world seemed to melt away.

As you lowered yourself onto him, Nicholas let out a shaky breath, the warm air fanning against you and sending a spark of anticipation down your spine. His lips brushed tentatively at first, soft and careful, but when you gave a subtle buck of your hips out of pleasure, he took it as encouragement. His tongue darted out, the wet heat of it drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. You pressed down just a little more, shifting to guide him, and his hands gripped your thighs tighter, his touch equal parts grounding and desperate.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice low but commanding, and you felt the way he responded instantly, his body tensing under you like he’d been waiting to hear those words. His nose bumped against your clit as he adjusted, and you grinned, biting your lip at the delicious friction it caused.

You leaned into it, tilting your hips so that his nose pressed against you more firmly, dragging along sensitive skin in a way that made you shudder. “Mmm, just like that,” you breathed, one hand sliding down to grab his hair, tugging lightly. Nicholas whimpered at the motion, his eyes fluttering closed as his tongue moved with more confidence, following your lead, letting you set the rhythm and pace with each deliberate motion.

His nose brushed you again, and this time you couldn’t help the soft, breathy laugh that escaped you. “Oh, fuck baby you don’t even know how good that feels,” you teased, looking down at him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips glistening as he worked, his expression a mix of concentration and adoration. When his gaze flicked up to yours, his eyes dark and pleading, you could have sworn you felt a rush of heat straight to your core.

“Look at you,” you cooed, tightening your grip on his hair just enough to make him groan, the sound muffled against you. “So eager to please, aren’t you? You love this, don’t you?” His response was immediate—another desperate sound vibrating against you as he nodded, the motion making his nose rub against you even more.

“Use it,” you instructed your tone firm but teasing, your hips grinding down to emphasize the point. He hesitated only for a moment before leaning into the pressure, the bridge of his nose pressing and dragging just right, sending sparks through your body. Your free hand braced against the headboard as you rode the rhythm he was building, his tongue and nose working together in a way that made your breath hitch and your legs tremble.

“You’re doing so good,” you praised, your voice breathier now as your control started to slip, but the satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced up at you kept you grounded. His hands slid higher, gripping your hips like he was trying to hold you in place, desperate to keep you exactly where you were, exactly how you liked it.

“Don’t stop,” you commanded, tugging his hair again, and he whimpered, his tongue circling with more urgency, his nose brushing insistently as if he were savoring every moment, every reaction. The friction was intoxicating, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body tightening as you lost yourself in the way he worshiped you, utterly and completely.

“You’re such a good boy,” you grunted, grinding yourself harder against Nicholas’ eager mouth. Your hands moved without thought, grasping at your breasts, squeezing and teasing your nipples in pursuit of that electric high surging through you.

Nicholas barely pulled away, just enough to speak, his lips swollen and glistening. “I want to taste you when you finish,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Use me... please, just keep going until you cum.” The sheer desperation in his tone, the way he begged for your pleasure, sent another rush of heat through you.

The more you moaned, the more he hummed in agreement, the vibrations from his lips and nose against your sensitive core driving you wild. For Nicholas, being completely at your mercy wasn’t just about submission—it was about worship. He loved the way your power over him made him feel. The weight of your body on him, the way you dictated every movement, every breath he took; grounded him, filled him with purpose. The sounds you made, the look of ecstasy on your face—all of it told him he was doing exactly what you needed, and it drove him to want to give more. He craved the dynamic, that raw, unfiltered connection that came from surrendering completely to you.

Your breath grew heavier, the mounting pressure inside you building with every moment. Your moans filled the room, blending with the soft, pleased sounds Nicholas made beneath you. As you arched your back, gripping the headboard tightly with both hands, your thighs trembled against his face. Sensing your impending climax, Nicholas gripped your thighs firmly, anchoring you down against him, determined to take you over the edge.

The wave of pleasure that hit you was overwhelming, crashing through your body and leaving you gasping as you cried out his name. Your back arched further, your grip on the headboard was unrelenting as you rode out your high. Nicholas didn’t let up, his mouth and nose continuing to drive you through the aftershocks.

When your body finally stilled, he shifted beneath you, placing soft, reverent kisses along your sensitive womanhood, savoring every moment. His hands remained on your thighs, grounding you, his gentle actions a stark contrast to the intensity of the pleasure he’d just given you. "So perfect," he murmured against your skin, his voice tender and full of admiration.

As your breathing slowed and the tremors in your thighs began to fade, you shifted off of Nicholas, still kneeling on the bed. He looked up at you, lips flushed and glistening, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Bending down, you captured his mouth in a kiss, tasting yourself on him. The kiss was fervent, eager—every bit of his passion poured into it. All he wanted was to make you cum, and he had. Thoroughly.

When you finally pulled back, your fingers grazed his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his doe eyes wide and shimmering with affection. A soft, satisfied smile spread across his face as if he’d just conquered the world. You could see the anticipation there, the way he craved your approval, your words.

“You’re my good boy,” you murmured, and his face lit up, the praise washing over him like sunlight. His lips parted, and you could almost hear his heart racing. That spark of pride and excitement quickly overtook him, and before you could say another word, he shifted with surprising strength, using just one arm to ease you down onto the bed. His body hovered over yours, his lips crashing onto yours with a heated kiss that made you gasp and giggle against him.

“Nick!” you shrieked playfully, your laughter mingling with his as he buried his face in your neck, peppering kisses along your skin. His weight pressed against you just enough to remind you of the intimacy you’d shared, yet not overwhelming. His hands roamed your sides, your legs tangling together as you held him close, neither of you wanting the moment to end.

The rest of the Sunday blurred into one long, uninterrupted wave of warmth and bliss. You stayed wrapped up in each other, sharing soft kisses, whispered praises, and tender touches. Time seemed to stretch in that golden morning light, the world outside fading entirely as you indulged in each other’s presence. Nicholas was yours, utterly and completely, and as he held you close, you knew there was nowhere else either of you would rather be.

[changbunnies]

Desire (18+)

♡ Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Bang Chan x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader x Wolf Hybrid!Changbin

♡ Genre: little red riding hood au, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot, sequel to scent of you, past dubcon from part 1 is discussed

♡ Word Count: 10.9k (i have got to stop doing this, my god)

♡ Summary: In which the bunny hybrid “little red” has been unable to forget her past encounter with the wolves of the forest, and goes to seek them out for more fun while also being in the throes of her heat. 

♡ Warnings: same as before; uses the little red riding hood fairytale as a base for inspiration, words like "alpha" and other omegaverse terms aren't used but the vibes are There

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): reader is in heat so... yeah, pet names (though mostly as a title- bunny, little red, and sweetheart), more use of the word slut + gendered language, dom/sub dynamics (dom!chan, sub!reader, switch!changbin), scent stuff again lol, lots of kissing, size difference, size kink, outdoor sex :'), manhandling, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, orgasm control + denial, subtle mxm may not actually be all that subtle + more of the rivalry between binchan as well as jealous bin lol, mates / mating, biting, nipple play, overstim, multiple orgasms, choking kinda? reader just gets held by the neck lol, handjob, cum eating, multiple creampies

♡ Notes: this is a sequel to scent of you, which you can read here! so i fully intended to still be on a small break and this was not supposed to be a series but i literally could not stop thinking about what would happen next for them and i had to write it :’) i hope you enjoy <3 

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

A frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you stare up at your barren ceiling, sweat dripping from your brow as your limbs grow tired and ache with exertion. How long had it been since the night you got lost deep in the woods, only to be found by Chan and Changbin?

Two wolves who you would still think you imagined were it not for the note they left behind, clear evidence that everything you experienced with them was real. It wasn’t something your psyche conjured while lost and alone in the dark woods, the pleasure wasn’t a vivid dream made in an attempt to cope with the reality that you were lost– everything about them, about that night, was entirely real.

You can still remember how you tucked your note away into a pocket of your dress before you opened the cottage door, your grandmother scrambling up to her feet when she heard you enter, rushing off her bed and out of her room as fast as her weak legs could carry her. You met her halfway, catching her as she stumbled, her arms squeezing you tight as relief washed over her.

You knew she must’ve been beside herself with worry, but actually experiencing it made guilt strike your heart like lightning; and when you opened your mouth to speak, she simply shushed you, requiring no explanation. Your grandmother wasn’t stupid, she knew a predator had caught you– your cape was torn in several places and you positively reeked of wolf, but rather than comment on it, she was simply grateful you were back home in one piece.

There were very few things a rabbit could do to ensure their survival against a wolf, and she was wise enough not to pick at the fresh wound you may very well harbor for having done the unspeakable in exchange for your life. She let the topic of wolves die right then and there before it could even be spoken, simply dedicating herself to stitching your cape back together, doing her best to make it appear as if it had never torn at all.

And not being forced to discuss what happened that night was certainly a relief, but not for the reasons your grandmother might expect. Because how would you explain to her that you actually liked the wolves that had found you in the deep, dark woods that night?

It’s utterly shameful how even now you still think of them, how their touch still feels engraved in your skin even as each season comes and goes. Shameful, how you look at that note they left behind as a sign that they’d want you back in their arms, that perhaps they think of you as much as you think of them. And they knew where you lived, they could easily seek you out whenever they pleased, but they never had. 

You assume it to be for the same reason they likely left you outside instead of carrying you to the front door of your cottage, or opening the door to bring you inside your home– because you lived with your grandmother, and what would that poor, frail woman do if she was confronted with the sight of two massive wolves holding her precious granddaughter? But despite the logical reasonings, there was a part of you that still felt.. rejected, somehow? 

It was fucking dumb, you knew this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling that way. You just wanted to see them again so badly, to look at them and touch them and let them touch you, to bask in the warmth of their skin, to lay yourself against their massive bodies and revel in how feeling small was good in their presence.

Safety, protection– the complete opposite of what you should feel from them, the complete opposite of what you felt when you first laid eyes on Chan and then on Changbin, but somehow by the end of the night, that had all changed. 

To further complicate matters, your heats have since made the disgraceful yearning you feel exponentially worse, your mind flooded by the memory of them, your body aching to feel them again, every nerve inside you practically screaming for their touch. You are typically quite prepared for your heats, often stocking up on the herbs needed to brew natural remedies meant to make your symptoms more bearable so that you can be an effective caretaker for your ill grandmother, and they usually did well enough for you. 

Of course, it’s not a magic cure-all, nor does it completely alleviate any of the discomfort you feel, but it’s enough. You still need to make yourself cum a couple times before the night is over, but you can at least go about your day with little issue until the remedies effect begins to wane.

This week, and tonight specifically, was supposed to be more of the same– prepare dinner, get grandmother comfortably into bed, and then take care of yourself in the privacy of your room. If all went as expected, you’d feel satisfied enough to get some sleep, the next day you’d start your morning by brewing and drinking your homemade tea to calm your nerves, bring down your heightened temperature, and ease any aches you may experience.

You’d carry on through any remaining discomfort as best you could as you spent another day taking care of your responsibilities until night came, rinse and repeat for essentially a week until your heat eventually recedes and you can go back to your daily tasks as normal. Why had it become so different after meeting Chan and Changbin?

While going through a heat without a partner is never a comfortable experience, what you experienced now was downright unbearable; nothing you did to calm yourself or your body ever seemed good enough, none of your orgasms satisfying enough to dull the incessant need for something more, your only relief coming from driving yourself to utter exhaustion, when your body would be forced to give itself to sleep.

It didn’t make sense– it’s not like you were a virgin before you met them; you had your fair share of fun experiences with a few trusted friends of yours before you moved in with your grandmother to care for her. So certainly, while you weren’t exactly super promiscuous in your personal life, you were no stranger to sex, and you never fixated on your past partners during your heats the way you do now with Chan and Changbin. 

If you had to guess, it must be because of how different they were. Nothing about them was familiar, and that brought a unique sort of excitement you’d yet to feel again since that night had come to an end. Could that feeling be replicated with another rabbit?

You weren’t sure– and even if it could be done, would you want them over the two wolves? That was another thing you’d found yourself stuck on lately; was it them specifically that you wanted, or just a similar experience, in which anyone would do as long as they successfully replicated the sensations? 

Either way, you spent yet another night in unsatisfied yearning, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. And your poor grandmother would suffer for it, as your scorching fever and addled mind made your ability to care for her deteriorate.

Compounding on that even further, your longing for them was becoming increasingly heightened as you became more and more desperate for relief– a desperation that would drive you to make foolish decisions you wouldn’t otherwise make. You look again at the note the two wolves left behind, clutching it tightly in your hand as you consider what you should do next.

If you go see them again, grandmother will know– their scent will be all over you when you return, and what will you say? Will you admit you liked them and sought them out on purpose? Or will you make up some stupid excuse, blaming your every decision solely on your heat, chalking your choices up to a lapse in judgment brought on by your need for relief? 

But the simple truth is that it isn’t just your heat that makes you want to see them again, and even if you did place all of the blame there, it wouldn’t change what you have come to realize about yourself. The shameful reality is that you’re attracted to wolves– those two wolves in particular, and no one but them will be able to grant you the specific relief you seek. 

And you know how dangerous it is to leave your home when you’re in heat– your scent could attract far more than just Chan and Changbin, and truthfully speaking, there is no guarantee that you will find them before someone else finds you first. You’d be walking blindly, mirroring what you’d done the first time you were lost in the woods at night, though this time with the explicit hope that you’d be found by them. 

It’s dangerous, it’s foolish, you absolutely should not go into the woods at night looking for a fucking wolf– but that’s exactly what you do. Not even bothering to change out of your nightgown and into proper outdoor attire, you opt for tying on your cape and pulling up the hood, knowing they will instantly recognize you if you’re wearing it (as if they need more than just your scent to identify you in the first place.)

Just in case, you hastily write a note for your grandmother in the event that you aren’t back before morning, apologizing as you explain in the briefest of terms that you needed to soothe your growing ache. She’ll understand, you hope– she was young herself once, and surely she remembered what this feeling was like. And foolish though your choice may be, you hope she’ll sympathize and scold you lovingly instead of harshly upon your return. 

The night air feels impossibly cold on your fevered skin, but it’s hardly a deterrent– in fact, you welcome the way the wind chills your sweat, a small, but much appreciated form of relief before you hopefully experience what you truly wish to.

Honestly speaking, you have absolutely no fucking clue where you are going; there is no path to follow to their den, no landmark for you to use in an attempt to guide yourself to your destination. You simply wander in the direction you hope is correct, praying the one (or ideally both) of the two wolves you so wish to find stumbles upon you. 

You glance up at the sky, the waning moon and countless stars shining back at you; a full moon is coming, and you wonder if they even have time to play with you at all. You don’t know all that much about wolves outside of what is required for self preservation, but you do know that the full moon is important to them; will they even entertain you right now?

Maybe this truly is a fool’s errand, maybe you’re making a mistake and getting yourself lost for nothing, maybe–

Suddenly you’re being grabbed, body being forcibly turned around and back shoved harshly against a thick tree you’d passed just moments prior. Your breath hitches, and your nose recognizes who it is before your eyes do–Changbin. He's caging you in and looking down at you with a clenched jaw, his claws digging into the bark of the tree he has you pressed against, clearly trying very hard to control himself. 

“Y/N-” he breathes, voice strained as he uses your given name for the first time, and hearing it from him makes a new, fresh wave of heat crawl over your body. “What are you doing walking around out here smelling like that? Are you insane?” 

Unable to control yourself now that he’s close, you immediately grab at his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands as you look up at him with pleading, glassy eyes. “B-Binnie, I– I was looking for you, needed to find you,” you explain, your voice embarrassingly weak with desperation, “need you and Channie to help me, please.” 

His grip tightens, you realize– the sound of wood cracking and splitting audible just behind your head. “Please? I’ll be a good bunny for you again, I promise, please help me,” you continue to plead, shamelessly pawing at him, begging for him to accept your advances. 

Holy shit, are you seriously doing this to him right now? Begging him to take care of you? Him? A wolf? A rabbit begging a wolf for something like this is completely unheard of, only occurring within his wild fantasies.

To be quite frank, he was aware that the first time with you was coercion– he and his elder saw a meek, defenseless rabbit, and they took their chances. He had his fun, and while you did too when things really got going, he fully expected that to be it, though he hoped otherwise. 

And God, he can’t even believe how reckless you’re being; what if it was one of the other wolves patrolling this area tonight that found you instead of him? He can only imagine how the younger wolves in the pack would react to your scent right now– he’s barely keeping himself in control as it, and he has much more experience with these matters than them.

He clenches his teeth as his gaze trails away from your eyes and down your body, where your nightgown leaves very little unexposed, where you are very clearly pressing your thighs together as you stare up at thim, expectant and hopeful. Fuck. You really want this, don’t you?

“Fuck, yeah, okay, just–” Changbin says as he picks you up, tossing all his responsibilities aside as you’re lifted from the ground and cradled in his arms, “just hang on, we’ll go find him, okay? We’ll help you.” And he’s trying, he’s really fucking trying to control himself and not just throw you down on the ground right here and have you all to himself, but you’re making it increasingly harder to maintain focus on the task at hand as he winds his way through the forest. 

Chan’s scent is barely discernible over the way yours intensely fills his nostrils, and even when he does manage to pick up on his elder’s location, he can hardly even focus in on it. And your hands wont stop roaming over his skin, you press your body to his as much as you can manage, absolutely desperate for contact.

He can hear you panting despite the fact that all he’s doing is holding you, can feel your body tremble in his arms, can smell the slick that steadily leaks from your core. And to put it simply, Changbin is a weak man, and your desperation is utterly infectious. But still, he holds strong; that is, until you start pressing kisses to any patch of his skin you can reach.

When your breath hits his neck before your lips latch on to it, he feels completely done for. This is it. Fuck it. Chan can have his turn with you later– Changbin is the one that found you, it’s only fair that he has fun with you first, right? And besides, you’re acting positively insatiable right now– how is he supposed to hold off or say no? That’s quite literally asking him for the impossible. 

So he falls to his knees, your bodies tangled together on the grass in a matter of seconds, your clothes being thrown off in a flurry. Changbin rotates to his back, pulling you on top of him, deciding that he should still be a gentleman even when his composure is at its limits and not let your bare skin touch the dirty forest floor.

He grabs your face, pulling you in to kiss him before you’re even fully settled on his lap; it’s a bit awkward, given the size difference between you, but he makes it work, curving and twisting his body however necessary to keep his lips on yours as you adjust your positioning. 

Your slick drips and pools, coating him entirely with no effort expended on either of your parts. He’s even bigger than you remember, and that feeling of pure adrenaline inducing excitement that you’ve missed so much finally returns to you. This is what you needed all this time, what you’ve been craving.

You grab the base of Changbin’s cock with one of your hands and do your best to line it up with your hole– and again, it’s awkward due to the difference in size between you, but you’re determined to see this through. “Wait, fuck, sweetheart–” Changbin gasps as you begin to sink down on him.

He fully intended to get you prepped first, was going to pull you up after he got his fill of kisses and have you sit on his face, make you cum and loosen you up enough to take him, but apparently you felt that you’d waited long enough to have him inside you again. And you’re so fucking wet that the slide down is relatively easy; benefits to being in heat, you suppose– it makes your fervent desperation for cock come with far less sting.

And no doubt, there is still a sting– after all, your body isn’t made to take a size so disproportionate to your own; but all it does is further ignite the fire in your gut, the excitement swelling as you take more and more of him inside. Changbin uses one hand to bear his weight and keep himself propped up while the other holds your face in place, his tongue shoved in your mouth. 

He hardly lets you pull away for a breath before you’re dragged back to his lips, a moan coming from deep in his chest when you meet his tongue with enthusiasm. Your palms are pressed firmly on his chest, your nails digging into the surprisingly soft flesh, your every moan and whine swallowed by his open mouth until your hips finally become flush with his.

You know you should feel the utmost shame, desperate as you are for a wolf, stark naked and exposed in the open forest where anyone could stumble upon you, but all you feel is relief. True, delightful relief, finally– Changbin gives you everything you need just as easily as you’d hoped he would.

You mentally compared him to a puppy during your first meeting– desperate, easily excitable, cute in a way that juxtaposes his rough exterior. And you knew, just knew he’d never deny you if you offered yourself to him, because it’s simply not within him to do so. A desperate puppy with his equally desperate bunny– what better pairing could there be? 

And truly, you feel like heaven– your body, so small in comparison to his, makes you feel impossibly tight, your wet warmth utterly perfect and beyond compare; he could die right now, and feel that his life was entirely fulfilled. “Be a good girl, and show me how good bunnies can bounce,” Changbin breathes as he lets go of your face, now supporting himself with both arms as he leans himself back to watch you. He huffs out a small laugh when he feels you clench, pleased to find that words still have a profound effect on you. 

Changbin expected you to start slow, but maybe expecting a desperate little thing like you in the middle of her heat to show restraint wasn’t his brightest moment– because you’re bouncing fast, and fuck, he knew rabbits had strong legs and were notoriously skilled at bouncing, but what the fuck?

You’re riding him like your life depends on it, which from your perspective may very well be true– you’ve been so pent up and unsatisfied that truthfully you couldn’t act any differently than this even if you wanted to. All you can think about, all that drives you, is your need to cum on Changbin’s cock– nothing else matters. 

Despite the fact that Changbin is using his arms and hands for the explicit purpose of keeping himself upright to watch you, you all but demand he brings them to you. It’s a pitiful attempt really, trying your best to learn forward enough to grab his hands without losing your balance on his lap and falling straight onto his chest, but thankfully he realizes what you’re going for and offers them to you before you can fully fall against him. 

His back once again touches the cool grass, with you intertwing your fingers as soon as his hands come to your own. His hands are much bigger than your own, fingers thicker, and you have to completely spread out your own fingers to even get them between his, but he squeezes your hands once you succeed. You use the additional support of his hands in yours as leverage for your bouncing, his arms strong and firm enough to help keep you upright and steady as you slide up and down his length. 

You can hear his tail thumping against the ground, a display of excitement and pleasure that he’ll never be able to disguise. Your nails dig into his knuckles, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth as you try to contain the noises that leave you, not wanting to alert the entire forest that you’re fucking right now (as if yours and Changbin’s combined scent doesn’t already give that truth away.) 

But there’s still something missing– something that a desperate puppy and bunny really needs; and that is someone to keep them in line. That’s where Chan comes in, tsking at the scene in front of him as he steps closer, having evidently caught your scent and came straight to where you are now, sitting on Changbin’s dick in the middle of the forest without a single ounce of shame between the two of you. 

“What’s this? Having fun without me?” he asks with a frown that feigns disappointment, though the slight swish of his tail and subtle spark in his eyes relays that he doesn’t actually mind very much. If anything, it gives him a chance for even greater fun, opens up a world of opportunity to tease and demand whatever he wishes.

And his sudden presence and voice doesn’t cause you to slow down in the slightest– rather, it excites you further, causing you to bounce with renewed eagerness as you turn your head in the direction you heard him, looking him squarely in the face even as you continue your motions atop Changbin.

“That’s not very nice, I thought you liked me,” Chan pouts as he squats down next to the two of you, though his obviously fake pout breaks into a smile when you whine and affirm you do like him and want to have fun with him too.

“We tried, fuck– we tried to find you, I swear, but she– she just–” Changbin is doing his best to talk, though you’re making it extremely difficult for him to be coherent, not letting up your pace in the slightest; and truth be told he’s never been much of a multitasker. “She– she’s fucking– God, I can’t–”

There’s also a pang of jealousy in the pit of Changbin’s stomach over how obviously excited the addition of Chan made you, how his presence and voice caused you to bounce on his dick with renewed vigor; and really, he should probably be happy that you’re putting so much effort into riding his cock thanks to Chan, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he squeezes your hands harder, almost instinctively, a gesture that he doesn’t even fully comprehend as possessive. “Oh, look at what you’ve done to poor Binnie. He’s a mess because of you, slutty girl,” Chan coos and your stomach twists as you divert your gaze back to Changbin. 

He’s sweating, panting hard, his stomach rapidly clenching and unclenching– and you feel it, the throb and twitch that alerts you to how close he is. And you’re close too, you have been for ages. Days worth of terrible, unfulfilling orgasms make the pleasure of this moment positively euphoric– but you were doing your best to hold out for Changbin. You know that once you came you won't have the strength to ride him anymore, and you want to be good and do what he asked of you to the best of your ability. 

And Chan can clearly see the signs on both of you; he’s shared with Changbin enough times to recognize his tells, and in your case, well.. It doesn’t take a genius to realize you’re about 3 seconds from gushing and creaming all over Changbin’s cock and lap.

But you started the fun without him! And he isn’t sure you deserve to cum so easily after leaving him out– so just as your volume picks up, your pace finally faltering as your taut line is about to snap, Chan grabs your hips and forces you down, bringing you to a complete stop. 

You whine loudly, wiggling your hips as you vainly try to lift yourself up again, but it’s impossible– Chan is much, much stronger than you after all. Changbin, who was close himself, curses and whines nearly as loudly as you, his brows knitting together as he tries to calm himself down. 

“Hyung, what the fuck–” he complains, though he doesn’t dare make a move to make Chan stop holding you down– he knows better than that. You look at Chan, bottom lip quivering and eyes glassy with fresh tears as babbles of “why” and “please” and “need to cum” leave you. 

“But weren’t you a bad bunny? Having fun with just Changbin, weren’t even thinking of me at all..” Chan says with another false pout. He is nowhere near as jealous and unconsciously possessive as Changbin, as he knows very well he can have whatever he wants, but this dynamic is where he has the most fun– exuding control is the greatest pleasure he knows. Changbin’s denied orgasm is just collateral.

“And poor Binnie, you dragged him down with you because you just couldn’t wait,” he continues, grabbing your face with one hand and making you look back at the wolf beneath you, “I think you should tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you’re sorry for being a slut who can’t wait and getting him into trouble with you.” 

You whine again, watching as Changbin swallows and bites his lip, clearly eager to hear the apology you’re about to grant him at Chan’s command. “I.. ‘m sorry, Binnie, ‘m really sorry,” you mumble, and Chan tsks again, very clearly unsatisfied with the meek apology.

“C’mon little red, you can do better than that, can’t you? Try again, we’re waiting.” You glance at Chan and then back at Changbin, swallowing as both of them stare at you and wait; the ball is in your court, and you have no choice but to deliver. 

“I’m sorry f-for being a slut, and ‘m sorry for being a bad bunny, sorry for getting Binnie in trouble, ‘m really sorry, I promise ‘m so sorry,” you try again, to which Chan smirks, taking his hand away from your face to give you a pat on the head. “That’s better,” he says as he finally removes his other hand from your hip. You take that as all the permission you need to start moving again, wasting no time in lifting your hips and slamming them back down onto Changbin’s lap. 

Changbin’s surprised gasp transitions into a moan, his hands once again squeezing yours while also trying to be careful not to pierce your skin with his claws. Eventually, begrudgingly, he lets go of your hands to dig his claws into the earth instead, finding that better than risking cutting into your precious skin.

Chan watches patiently, waits until you’re both close again before he brings you to another stop with his strong hands, frustrated whines leaving you both as you plant your feet firmly on the ground and try to fight against Chan’s natural strength.

“I didn’t tell you that you could move,” he explains as he watches tears fall from the corners of your eyes, “couldn’t even wait for my permission, and look at you now, in trouble again– dragging Binnie down with you, again.” 

You pout and cry, babbling apologies to both wolves, shame ever a foreign concept in the face of desperation– all you know is you want to cum, but if Chan needs you to be good, to ask first and follow his rules, then you will; you’ll always be as good for him as you possibly can be. 

When Chan removes his hands from your hips this time, you ask for permission as he wants you to. “Can I move, please? Please, I’ll be good from now on, I promise, just need to cum so bad,” you beg and he smiles as he coos, once again giving you a sweet stroke to your head.

“Of course, good bunnies can have whatever they want. Make Binnie cum too, he’s so good to you, he deserves it, doesn’t he?” Chan chuckles as you nod quickly, eagerly resuming the motions on Changbin’s cock as if Chan had never stopped you at all. “Tell him,” he says, moving his hand down your head, over your back and to your tail, tugging it ever so slightly, “he’ll get so excited. Go on, talk to him.” 

“B-Binnie, you’re so– so good to me, make me feel so good, want you to cum, d-deseve to cum– cum in me,” you stutter out between harsh breaths and Chan has to suppress the laugh in his throat when Changbin’s tail fucking whacks against the ground in an impossibly loud, excited thump. So predictable, he always is– can’t hide a damn thing he thinks or feels.

Changbin is the one grabbing your hips this time, helping you along as he starts to fuck up into your from below. You squeak and nearly fall forward onto his chest, but somehow manage to keep your balance and stay mostly upright, your hands gripping desperately at his biceps.

And in all the times they have shared someone, Chan is met with a sight he doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Changbin’s eyes are rolling back as bites his lip and chases his high from below, using all of his strength to move you however he wants. Clearly, being denied orgasms did something profound to him– he’s almost feral, relentless in the way he fucks into you.

When he feels the build up again, he tries to hold back, almost afraid that Chan will rip it all away from him at the last moment again– but then you’re squeezing him hard, he can feel more slick gush and coat his length as you cry out, and he loses it entirely, cumming in long, drawn out spurts, giving you all he has to give.

You’re entirely collapsed on Changbin’s chest now, seemingly spent from all the effort you exuded and the intensity of your orgasm, eyes closed as you try to collect your breath. Changbin is equally breathless, brain lagging as he processes the fact that he’s cum the hardest he thinks he ever has, and on top of that it was in the middle of the fucking woods with Chan controlling when you were both allowed to cum. Maybe he’s due for some self discovery after this..?

Changbin, whose senses are finally returning to him and recalls he was unable to kiss you at all once you really got going and was sorely missing it, lifts your face and pulls you into a kiss. One kiss turns into two, then to three, then to four, until you’re essentially making out, with Changbin effectively stealing away all the breath you’d just regained.

Chan watches for a time, lets Changbin indulge in what is one of his favorite intimate acts, but he can’t let you two be the only ones having fun for much longer. It’s Chan’s turn now, and he’s been patient enough.

He’s good at putting up a front, makes his control seem effortless, what with his boundless charisma and intimidating presence, but fuck, the minute he caught the scent of your heat in the air, he about lost it. Just as Changbin surely felt, he needs to fuck you before he risks going insane.

The younger wolf whines when you’re pulled off of him, a mess left behind on his lap where you once were. What a selfish pup he is– maybe one of these days Chan needs to remind him what it means to share. “Go home, Bin. And tell everyone still there to get the fuck out, so I can bring her back home with me.”

Changbin blinks for a moment as he processes, and then he’s scrambling to his feet, getting his clothes back on in a rush. Changbin wanted to bring you home too, but he knew he couldn’t– if he just walked in with you in his arms, it would’ve been chaos; the younger wolves with much less practice in self restraint would’ve lost their fucking minds. Even Chan and Changbin themselves had barely been keeping it together, still heavily effected by your heat despite how experienced they were. 

“Uh, when I do, can I.. y’know..?” Changbin asks before he starts to leave and Chan rolls his eyes before he lets out a small laugh. “Yes, Bin, you can join us again.” Changbin smiles, tail swishing cutely before he runs off and once again you have to suppress a giggle at the surprisingly adorable display. You wonder if he’d take offense to the fact that you view him as a puppy; he just screams “I need constant affection and attention or I’ll die” and it’s oddly endearing. 

Chan doesn’t let your thoughts linger exclusively on Changbin for long however; he’s grabbing your face again, diverting your attention back to him, making you look straight up at him. He captures your lips in a kiss, one that is far more impassioned than you would’ve expected based on his cool exterior.

He holds you tightly, pressing your body firmly against his own, leaving no space between you. You in turn wrap your arms around his neck, sighing into the kiss as you are met with more of the sweet relief you’ve desperately needed. His hands travel over your body, refamiliarizing himself with the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers, refreshing the memory, letting it become engraved once more.

When he pulls back, he is looking at you carefully, doing his best to continue to suppress his carnal need to have you long enough to ask you something that’s been mulling around in his mind, “Tell me honestly, little red. Did you want us to find you tonight, or was it an accident?” He needs to know if it was simply spur of the moment with Changbin, if anyone would’ve done if they’d approached you, or if it was them you specifically needed to get you through your heat. 

“You, I wanted you,” you answer easily, truthfully, a slight blush crawling over your face as you admit how you truly feel; your mind may be foggy from your heat, but you're not immune to the nerves that come with an honest confession, “I told Binnie too, that I.. I wanted you both.”

Chan smiles at your answer, a smile that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pretty he is when he smiles at you. “Good. Then my next question before I keep you for the rest of the night– do you want to be ours?” 

“B-Be yours..?” you ask, blinking up at him as your mind goes over what that could mean. “Mhm, mine and Changbin’s. Our sweet, little bunny that we’d take good care of. Our mate, essentially.. Do you want that?” Your breath hitches, the blush on your face growing as the words swirl around in your head.

Their mate. Chan’s. Changbin’s. Both of them.. Their mate. “A-Are you serious? I mean– I’m a rabbit, and you’re.. not.” From what you've heard, wolves take having a mate very seriously.. and he wants that special someone to be you? And to share that special someone with someone else? Is that really okay?

“I’m completely serious. And you don’t have to be if you don’t want to, but I hope you know it’s not something I offer easily,” he says, stroking your cheek, offering you the softest smile you’ve ever seen him hold. “And you feel it, don’t you? The inexplicit desire, how nothing since having each other has felt complete, satisfying.. enough?”

You swallow as you nod, knowing that much is true– ever since you met them, every night without them felt.. wrong somehow. Like you weren’t where you were supposed to be. And God, how unbearable your heats had become, going far past the usual discomfort into completely uncharted, agonizing territory. 

“I do, I really do,” you answer, unable to lie about such a thing even if you wanted to. And there’s still so much about your life you’d have to figure out, but you know you’d regret it if you said you didn’t want to be theirs, you’d live in agony if you didn’t have them. He smiles again before he kisses you, hands traveling down to your legs, over your thighs and hips, until he’s cupping your ass, lifting you up and bringing you closer.

You leak onto his lap, but he doesn’t mind, can’t even process it, really– his mind is full of you. Of your scent, of your touch on his skin, of his on yours. And just how you’d done with Changbin, you insatiably run your hands over whatever patch of his skin is within your reach. And if his senses weren’t in overdrive from your scent, he’d admonish you for being so insatiable, tease you for being a slut and make your face burn red from filthy, whispered words.

But he has to admit the desperate, needy side of you he’s witness to is a treat, and it works at the rope that is his composure in record time, steadily tearing at it until all that keeps it together is a thin thread. He’s no better than Changbin, is he?

Really, if this is how you’ve been from the start, it’s clear the younger wolf never had a chance; but Chan is the superior here, and he has to set an example– what good will it do if he can’t stay in control long enough to get you back to his den? He has something to prove– to himself, to Changbin, and to you; that he doesn’t break and give in so quickly and easily.

So he quickly rises to his feet with you in his arms, carefully leaning to where your clothes were discarded and picking them up, covering you in your cape like it’s a blanket. “Just in case there’s some stragglers still at home,” he explains; when you’re officially his mate, no one will touch you, but until then, he’ll take every precaution necessary to protect you from other wolves that may want you– barring Changbin, naturally. 

It takes you no more than a few minutes to get to their den thanks to his speed, and just as before you closed your eyes and clung to him tightly as he wove through the trees to get there. Thankfully, it seemed Changbin did a good job at relaying that the leader wants everyone gone until morning, as the only sight you are met with inside is him sweetly and excitedly waving as Chan approaches with you in his arms. 

Just like the first time, Changbin trails close behind on the way to Chan’s room, locking the door for security when you’re all inside. You’re set down on the bed, with Chan putting your discarded clothing on his nearby armchair before he’s sitting next to you. Changbin also wastes no time getting his clothes off again, to which Chan stares at him incredulously until Changbin replies with a simple “what?”, causing Chan to scoff in disbelief and you to giggle. 

Changbin sits on your other side, his hands in his lap as he waits for whatever it is Chan is going to do next; and he may be jealous, but he won’t interfere with whatever his elder wants to do with you, even if it means all he gets to do for the remainder of the night is watch.

Chan reaches out, pushing your hair behind your shoulders and exposing your neck, to which Changbin instinctively swallows. He resisted last time, only scraping your skin with his teeth, but he wanted to bite you so bad that night. 

It was a bit strange, considering he’d never had such an urge with previous partners; he liked them, of course, they were pretty, sexy, fun.. But he almost felt the natural instinct for a wolf to bite was either a myth or something he wasn’t meant to experience until he had you.

And maybe that’s why he felt so jealous when Chan captured your attention; Changbin has always been a jealous person, but it never felt this.. real, almost? Serious, and not entirely playful and fun-aligned as it usually was. 

Changbin watches as Chan trails his fingers over your neck, the both of you instinctively holding your breath. He watches as Chan replaces his fingers with his lips, watches as he trails kisses over your skin, watches as his hands travel to your thighs and squeezes them. His jealousy mixes with excitement, softened cock beginning to harden once more, his fingers twitching and aching to touch you some more, but not acting on the desire; it’s Chan’s turn, he has to remind himself repeatedly.

Chan chuckles a bit when he pulls away and sees Changbin very clearly internally struggling; he’s so simple when it comes to things like this, incredibly easy to read. Once more, Chan grabs your face, but he does something new this time– he makes you tilt to the side, exposing the entirety of the right side of your neck to Changbin.

He licks his lips and swallows before tearing his gaze away from your neck to look at Chan, unsure of why exactly he’s exposing your neck to him like this. “Bite her. I know you want to,” Chan says much too casually for Changbin’s poor brain, his eyes widening in surprise as he practically gawks at his elder. 

“W-What? But– I can’t, she’s–” he stutters out, and you’re surprised to hear him so flustered; you guess the rumors are true– wolves take mating and bites very seriously. It’s not something he’ll do on a whim, even if he desperately wants to.

“She wants you to. Wants both of us to,” Chan continues with a smile as he watches the gears turn in Changbins mind, “isn’t that right? Tell him, sweetheart.” 

“’s true, I wanna be yours. Both of yours,” you tell him and Changbin groans, though you can’t tell if it’s from disbelief, pleasure, or a mix of both. He takes one of your hands in his, squeezing once more as he leans down to your neck, inhaling your scent as he presses open mouthed kisses to your skin.

“You’re sure..? This isn’t something you can take back,” Changbin asks between his hot kisses, and you affirm eagerly, that yes, you absolutely want this. “Together then?” he asks as he pulls away, looking at Chan with utmost seriousness.

Chan hums his agreement before he’s tilting your head backwards, your entire neck exposed to both of them. And though this is something you want, you can’t help but be nervous as they take their places on either side of your neck, their breath tickling your skin and causing you to squirm. “Relax, sweetheart,” Chan whispers soothingly, his hand coming down to find the one Changbin isn’t holding. 

You let out a breath, doing your best to will you heart and nerves to calm; this will change your life forever, but it’s a change you accept wholeheartedly. Once the initial pain subsides, you know they’ll take the utmost care of you, they’ll make it all worth it. You feel their teeth start to prick your skin, their positions on your neck a true mirror of one another– the same placement on either side, marks that will show to the entire world that you have not just one mate, but two.

Chan’s fangs pierce your skin first, causing you to gasp and squeeze at their hands, crying out when Changbin’s own fangs follow shortly behind. It stings, but that initial pain dulls rather quickly, and you’re soon left with only the pleasurable feeling of belonging, of.. love?

Or maybe that's not entirely accurate given how this all came to be, but whatever it is transcends anything you've ever known or experienced in your life thus far. It’s unique, special, new– a fitting description for your newfound relationship, and all the emotions it conjures within you.

Changbin is the first to kiss you when they seperate from your neck– and it's to be expected, he just can't help himself. But possessive though he can be, intentional or otherwise, he pulls away rather quickly, giving Chan his opportunity to kiss you too– because it’s not just him you belong to, and he wants to make it clear that even when he’s clingy, or jealous, or pouty, he’ll never do a single thing to jeopardize what the three of you have together.

He simply hugs you as Chan kisses you, his lips ghosting over the mark he left behind, soothing a sting that no longer exists. You wondered, when you were back at home in your cottage in the clearing, if it was okay to miss them. Was it foolish, did it even make sense to want to see them again?

But you feel you’ve found your answer– you were meant to miss them, were supposed to feel a tug in their direction, were supposed to find them irresistible in every aspect, to desire them with all that you are. They are meant for you, and you for them, and maybe everything up to this point happened the exact way it was supposed to; and now you were truly where you belong.

Though Changbin should keep his hands and lips to himself given that it’s Chan’s turn to have his fun with you, he really can’t help himself. You’re sure Chan notices, as he notices everything when it comes to the both of you, but he doesn’t scold, tease, or pull you away.

As fun as it would be to make you both whine and pout, this is a moment that will never be replicated– to bite someone like this is an act that you hopefully only do once in your lifetime. For the first night of belonging to each other at least, he’ll loosen the reins of his control just a bit for Changbin’s sake.

Chan guides you, and in turn Changbin, to lay back. Changbin's back hits the wall, while yours rests against his chest, where he cups and grabs your breasts from behind, squeezing and playing with them to his heart’s content while Chan continues to kiss you. His tongue slides in your mouth when Changbin’s rolling and pinches of your nipples causes your mouth to open with a moan, Chan’s own hand traveling between your legs, his fingers becoming quickly coated in your slick. 

Your body jolts when he rubs your clit, instinctively squirming and avoiding his direct touch– because even though it’s the first time either of them are touching it tonight, you’ve been abusing it all week whilst chasing your (unsuccessful) orgasms. It’s tender, sensitive– and you say so, a tremble in your voice as you try to make Chan understand that the feeling is just too much right now.

“It’s too much?” he questions, and you’d think his tone was one of genuine concern were it not for his smirk giving away that he doesn’t very much care if the feeling is overwhelming you, “but you’re making such pretty sounds for us. And I thought you needed to cum? Isn’t that what you told me?” 

“Y-Yes, but–” you start but Chan quickly shushes you, another roll of his fingers making your eyes roll back as you continue to squirm. Your hands instinctively go to his wrists, simply holding them as you know you’d never actually be able to push him away.

“But what? I’m giving you what you wanted, silly girl,” he says with a smile that you’d view as sweet if you didn’t know any better, “you should be thanking me. Go on, tell me ‘thank you’, nice and sweet, ‘kay?” Oh, he’s so mean– and Changbin is no better, because he feels it fair to remind you that apparent cuteness and loss of composure aside, he’s just as much a menace as his elder.

“Yeah, yeah, do it, pretty. We wanna hear it,” he says, close enough to your ear that it makes you shiver and squirm some more, whining in equal parts embarrassment and pleasure. Because even if it is overwhelming, it does still feel good– so good, you can’t help but cry.

“Th-Thank you, thank you,” you say between moans and gasping breaths, your nails digging into Changbin’s thighs now that you’ve released Chan’s wrists from your grasp. “Hmm, are you sure that’s all you wanna say? I think Channie-hyung expects more from you,” Changbin says with a grin you can’t see but can certainly hear.

He’s right, of course, but you have no idea how you’re supposed to string together a coherent sentence with the way they’re coordinating their touches to your body and talking to you. But you have no choice but to do your best, because the alternative is disappointing them, and you would never.

“Thank you– thank you for making me feel s-so good, thank you Channie, Binnie, th-thank you.” Choppy and hardly coherent through your whimpery moans your words may be, they seem satisfactory enough; Chan hums approvingly, and you can feel Changbin’s cock twitch against your back.

“That’s my good girl,” he smiles, increasing the speed of his fingers before he corrects himself, “our good girl.” You squeeze your eyes shut, legs twitching, entire body trembling, though you no longer instinctively squirm away from his fingers– your body has finally accepted it, you suppose. Apart from the tremble and shake in your legs, your body is otherwise limp, accepting of every bit of stimulation they bring you.

You’re close, they both know, but given the circumstances, Chan decides to be kind this time– he can make you beg and cry some more later, for now he should give his good bunny what she needs. “Gonna cum aren’t you, pretty bunny? Go ahead and let go, let us hear it,” Chan says, doing his best to apply more pressure with the pads of his fingers, though how sloppy you are from slick doesn’t make the task entirely effortless– not that he minds, of course; he likes the mess you’ve made between your legs. 

You cry as you nod, head falling back against Changbin’s shoulder when his tugs and pinches to your nipples become harsher. You try to warn them before it happens, but you can’t– it hits you so hard that you can’t even utter any further noise, your mouth hanging open in silent cries as your eyes roll back and body tenses and untenses rapidly, gushing and making a further mess of Chan’s fingers and the mattress beneath you. 

They both whisper praises in your ears, sweet encouragements and dirty words that further drag out the euphoria you feel. You’re not sure how much time has passed before you open your eyes again, feeling Changbin’s hands rubbing your hips and thighs while Chan strokes your cheeks, smiling sweetly at you, actually sweetly, as your senses return to you.

“There’s our girl,” he says after giving you a quick peck on the lips, “did such a good job, sweetheart.” He strokes your head as Changbin presses sweet kisses to your neck and shoulders, moving his hands from your thighs to wrap his arms around you in a soft hug.

“Channie, fuck me now?” you ask, because as breathless and nearing exhaustion as you are, you’re still eager to feel him inside you, and you won't be truly satisfied until you get another load of cum inside you– his specifically. His smile turns to a grin, his hands coming down to your hips, prepared to move you into whatever position he desires, “Course sweetheart, nights not over until I’m done with you.” 

He flips you around effortlessly, Changbin catching you before you fall completely against him. He holds you upright while Chan adjusts the position of your hips, aligning his cock with your hole once he has you how he wants you. Changbin kisses you as Chan slides his way inside your heat slowly, swallowing every little noise that escapes you.

And really, you’re beyond wet and prepped enough for him to go fast if he wants to, but he doesn’t. Not entirely because he wants to tease you (though it does serve that purpose), but because he’s been so on edge this entire time that he’ll cum in record time if he doesn’t, and he’ll die before he lets Changbin last longer than him. 

Changbin, who is happy to have your attention again, has his tail thumping excitedly against the mattress. You’re holding onto his shoulders for support as your tongues play together, gasping into his mouth when Chan is finally fully sheathed inside you, his hands digging into your hips whilst still trying to be cautious of his claws and their ability to pierce your delicate skin (though you don’t think you’d particularly mind if they did.)

Changbin brings a hand to one of your ears, stroking the soft fluff and causing you to whimper as you clench around Chan’s cock, earning you a grunt from behind, a clear sign that he felt it. It’s not meant to be a challenge against Chan’s ability to hold out, but he takes it as one– if anyone is going to break and cum fast, it won’t be him.

His hand comes around to your front, grabbing your neck with just enough strength to pull you back towards him. You gasp and whimper, turning your head as much as you can to look at Chan while he holds your neck. “Make our Binnie cum again while I fuck you, and then I’ll let you cum again too. Understand, bunny?”

You nod quickly as Changbin whines and his cock twitches. Our Binnie– he likes the sound of it more than he’d expect. Chan whispers a simple ‘good girl’ in your ear before he lets you go, letting you fall back into Changbin.

Your head lands on his chest, and he intends to lift you up to support you and shift himself into a position that’ll benefit the both of you, but it doesn’t seem you need it– your hands are instantly on his cock, your tiny hands wrapping around and stroking as much as they are able. He groans and grabs your face, lifting it up enough so that he can lean down to kiss you.

Your pace falters when Chan finally starts to roll and thrust his hips, but you do your best to keep steady, determined to perform well and be allowed to cum again. You’re gasping, whimpering, crying as Chan’s pace turns to one you can only describe as purely animalistic– and fair, you admit, given how much self restraint and composure he had to hold until now. The fact that he even went this long before losing it is a herculean feat. 

Despite that, he is still firm on the idea that he absolutely will not cum before either of you do, so he reaches around and grabs one of your hands, taking it away from Changbin’s cock and bringing it up instead to one of his twitching ears. “Wanna see our Binnie really lose it? Rub his ear, he’ll go crazy.” 

“Hyung–” he opens his mouth to protest as his face starts to flush, seemingly embarrassed that his weak spot is being called out. The complaint dies in his throat however when your fingers softly rub over his ear, a gaspy whine coming out instead as his hips jolt up into the other hand still on his cock. 

“Fuck, shit-” he weakly whines while Chan smirks in victory– though the smirk doesn’t last very long, as he truthfully isn’t fairing much better than Changbin in regards to how good you’re making him feel. Maybe in the end, his plan backfired– because each noise that Changbin emits causes you to clench harder; but he still has other ideas in mind to make the two of you cum first.

Chan’s fingers find your clit again, making your body jolt and your hands grip at Changbin harder– on both his poor, sensitive cock and equally sensitive ear. He curses again, eyes rolling back for the second time, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as his hips once again unconsciously thrusts upward.

It reaches a point where he’s essentially doing all the work, your fist almost entirely still while Changbin fucks your hand. His hands dig into the sheets, almost tearing them as he clenches at the fabric between his fingers. “O-Oh fuck, ’m gonna cum– harder, touch me harder, please–” 

Butterflies explode in your stomach, having never expected to hear Changbin beg the way you are usually made to. You do as he asks, you’d never dream otherwise; your fingers grip him harder, squeezing his cock and rubbing harsh circles on the soft ear in your hand. The thump of his tail is erratic, his breaths harsh as his head falls back, cum shooting on your hand and his stomach.

When he opens his eyes and lifts his head, he’s met with the sight of you licking his cum off your hand before your scooping up the mess he made on his stomach with your fingers. You stick them in your mouth, licking them clean and then sticking out your tongue to show him it’s all gone when you’re done, twisting your neck after to show Chan too. 

“F-Fuck,” Chan stutters a groan, pulling out long enough to flip you back around, your back hitting the mattress as Changbin moves to the side to watch. “Such a good girl, cleaning him up without having to be asked, should– fuck, should reward you, shouldn’t I?”

But he already promised you could cum if Changbin did, so what’s the next best reward he could give you? “What do you want? Tell me, bunny, and I’ll give it to you,” he decides to simply ask as he slides back into your wet warmth, resuming the harsh pace he’d set before you flipped back around. 

“K-Kiss? Can we kiss?” you ask and he chuckles, stroking your cheek as he brings his face close to yours, close enough that your noses are touching and you can feel his breath against you.

“That’s it? That’s all you want?” he asks, unable to suppress the smile when you quickly nod, “Bin’s gonna get jealous, y’know. You’ll have to make it up to him after.” But before you can reply, he’s kissing you, tongue shoving it’s way in your mouth.

Chan’s pace is fast and not entirely accurate, but God, he’s trying– and you perfectly understand, because even with the cool exterior he exudes, you can tell he’s barely been holding it together. He’s utterly gorgeous like this too, sweat dripping and jaw clenched, brows scrunched and veins popping from exertion, pretty lips glossy from your kisses just prior.

He finds your clit once more, desperate to make you cum first, but his fingers are quickly replaced by Changbin’s, allowing him to focus purely on his own pleasure. Chan’s hands grab your legs and keeps them held open, his cock going as deep as it can go. 

“So perfect, perfect bunny for us,” Chan grunts as his head falls to your neck, lips ghosting over the mark he made with fangs. Changbin brings his other hand to one of your ears, rubbing the base in the same way you rubbed his, while his fingers on your clit rub in quickly practiced circles. “Yours, ‘m yours and Binnie’s, bunny just for you,” you affirm, body shuddering when Chan groans in response.

He’s close, so fucking close, but you have to cum first– so he closes his eyes and tries to focus on hitting the spot that makes you see stars, working to stave off his release as long as he can possibly can. And he’s successful, Thank God– between his perfect thrusts and Changbin’s fingers, you’re cumming again in no time at all, the wet spot beneath you growing as you drench Chan in your release. 

He grunts, thrusts reverting back to their sloppier rhythm as he chases his high, his grip on your thighs sure to leave bruises behind. A string of curses leave him as he finally cums, filling you to the point it leaks even as he’s still fully pressed inside.

Your eyes are closed, heavy with exhaustion, but you hear them talk to each other as they wipe your sweat away and clean you up between your thighs. One of them picks you up, Chan you think, while the one you assume to be Changbin changes the sheets for him, absolutely filthy after the night you just shared.

Tired and not entirely conscious as you are, you still snuggle into the chest of the one holding you, and it’s confirmed it’s Chan when you hear him chuckle and whisper something about you being “sweet and cute.” You tiredly whine when you’re put back down, eyes still closed but missing the warmth you were enveloped in, and hear them once again chuckle before you feel them on both sides, pressed against them in the middle. 

With a struggle, you blink awake, body heavy and eyes still impossibly tired, the darkness surrounding you making it near impossible to tell what time it is. It's clear you're still in their den, and wolves dens are always dark given their nocturnal nature.

You're laying on your back, you realize, Changbin’s arm slung over your stomach while Chan, who is also apparently awake, is stroking your head as he looks at you. “You didn’t sleep?” you ask quietly and he shakes his head, whispering his reply back to you.

“It’s still the middle of the night, sweetheart. We never sleep at night– but well, after what you did to Changbin, he was out as soon as he got comfortable next to you. Couldn’t stay awake even if he wanted to.” You quietly giggle, turning your head to catch a peek at him. He looks cute, peaceful– you give him a soft peck on his cheek before you turn your attention back to the awake Chan.

“He’d lose it if he was awake during that, y’know. He loves cute shit like that,” he says and you smile– you can tell, it’s obvious; Changbin is a bit of an open book, you think. “What about you?” you ask and he scoffs a little, turning his gaze away as a slight smile peeks out on his lips.

“Course. I just don’t make it as obvious as that idiot. Seriously, we have a reputation to maintain.” You peck his cheek, and he scoffs again, trying to hide the growing smile and retain the cool image. “Don’t start– you’re gonna make me as bad as him.”

“Is it going to be morning soon..?” you ask as you lower your head back to the pillows. “It will be in a couple hours,” he replies, turning back to you with a more serious expression, “you need to go back home, yeah? Can’t stay here?”

You frown as you nod, a strange feeling of loneliness filling your gut at the idea of leaving them behind to go back to your cottage. “Grandmother needs me..” you tell him and he hums in understanding, careful not to expose the ache in his chest that you’ll be parting soon– whether that’s courtesy of the mating bite or if it’s feelings he’d have regardless he can’t entirely tell.

“We’ll figure something out. Just get some more rest for now, okay? I’ll be right here.” You nod and close your eyes, relaxing further when you feel him start to stroke your head again. When you shift slightly for comfort, Changbin instinctively holds you tighter; even in his sleep, he has to make sure you’re close.

There’s a lot you’ll have to confront come morning, but you decide to follow Chan’s words and leave it until then. You lay one of your hands atop the one Changbin has resting on your stomach, and use your other to touch Chan, humming happily when he brings his own over to hold it. 

For now, you’ll fall back to sleep, you’ll indulge in the safe comfort you feel while sandwiched between their bodies, holding their hands, secure in the knowledge that even though your life will be drastically different from now, it’s what will make you happiest. A bunny and her two bad wolves, who aren’t actually as bad as they seem– this is where you belong.

[tightjeansjavi]

Hi!! Love your writing!! Can you write a cowboy fetish joel miller with boot riding 🥺🥺

Hi nonnie! Thank you for sending this in! It scratched my brain just ✨right✨ and I hope it does the same for you! I couldn’t just do some boot ridin’ without some plot ;) enjoy 🤠

Dinner & Diatribes

~word count: 3.7k~

Pairing | Cowboy/bounty hunter! Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’re the kind of love that Joel Miller has been dreaming of all his life

Warnings: smut,fluff, angst, cowboy in shining armor vibes, unprotected piv, boot ridin! dick slingin, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, implied age gap, dom/sub vibes, sir/mister kink, implied abuse (not by Joel) Joel is a bounty hunter during the Wild West, reader is a runaway bride wanted for murdering three men, filthy language, pining, protective! Joel, assumed unrequited love, swearing, AU that might not 100% be historically accurate but I tried! reader has no physical descriptions such a skin tone or body type, readers nickname is Chickadee, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything!

Joel Miller knows that keeping a bounty for himself ain’t the way to go about things..he knows that there’s consequences for his actions, an imminent problem would surely arise if he didn’t bring you back to the town you fled from. Wanted for the murders of three men. A wild untamable thing on the run is how the sheriff described you to Joel. And the most important detail of all; I don’t care if you bring her back alive, or in pieces.

And then Joel found you, tracked your trails for miles and miles through the barren rough terrain of the Wild West. You didn’t even put up a fight when you heard the distinct sound of thundering hooves drawing nearer and nearer. You were exhausted, dehydrated, and on the verge of collapsing to the dusty earth while vultures circled ahead.

This didn’t mean you gave up entirely when Joel Miller had you circled, cornered and lasso at the ready. That’s when he took notice of your state, your attire. A once glittering wedding dress now hanging on by threads of shredded fabric. The bottom tooled fabric was now a dirty sand color, blending in with the dirt. Remnants of your eye makeup cracked and stained beneath your eyes and cheekbones that were once painted in a pretty pigment.

He watched from the saddle of his horse as you sank down to your knees, awaiting your inevitable fate to be delivered. “Have you come to turn me in, Mister?”

His head cocked to the side, eyes studying your vulnerable form intently. You couldn’t see his face as it was obstructed from your view with a tied bandana, but even from where you sat on your knees, you could see that his eyes were a deep shade of brown, dark and mysterious.

He dismounted his horse swiftly, silently, boots tearing up dusty patches of earth with each heavy step he took. The spurs on the back of his boots chimed through the air as he stopped in front of you. His broad frame casted a shadow over your kneeling form. His hands were encased in worn leather, and he smelled of tobacco smoke, saddle soap, and musk.

He crouched down, hat tipping forward while one leather clad hand reached for your jaw, thumb brushing across your skin as he tilted it upwards, forcing you to look into his eyes. He saw your grime and dried blood stained face up close. Your eyes flickered nervously as he turned your head to the side.

“Ain’t you gonna get on with it and turn me in? What’re you draggin’ this out for, huh? You caught me, mister. Go and collect your fuckin’ reward.” You spat defiantly into the dirt, a glob of salvia landing on the toe of his boot.

His grip tightened around your chin, jaw ticking sharp like a knife, eyes narrowing in on your face and the subtle wobble of your severely cracked and dry lower lip.

“What happened to you?” He finally spoke. His voice reminded you of fire crackling, ominous thunder and heavy rain. Thick, gravelly, deeper than the Grand Canyon itself.

“What’s it matter if I tell ya, huh? You gonna take pity on me or somethin’ mister?”

He was silent again, appearing deep in thought as he continued to study your face, searching through the grime and dirt for any clues..then, he saw it; The eyes of someone that suffered abuse. His grip around your chin softened

“Stand up.” He commanded.

You struggled to your feet, confusion etched in your features, the obvious sway in your step before two strong hands grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

“We’ll have to move fast.”

“What’re you—” You were still confused, head spinning from his words and malnourishment.

“I don’t turn in folks that killed outta self defense, Chickadee. And certainly not a woman that killed her abusers.” He gave you a curt, tight nod. “Better you than I cause I woulda tied those sons a bitches up and dragged them through the fuckin’ desert.” He rasped.

“You’re..not turnin’ me in?”

“No. Ain’t morally right for me t’do so.” He said softly.

And that’s how you ended up riding through the countryside with Joel Miller to protect you. You’d patch up his shiners, his wounds, keep his belly full with hearty stews that kept him strong and alert. You’d clean his gun, shine his leather till you could see your reflection in the fabric. And in return, he protected you. He never asked for any sexual favors, or for your hand. He viewed you as his equal, his partner.

It hurt sometimes, to flirt with the man you owed your life to and for him to brush your attempts off everytime. As if you were a pesky horsefly, or insignificant gnat. Yet, you couldn’t help it. Joel was handsome, ruggedly so and you’d often find yourself fantasizing about kissing him, feeling his fingers touch you in places you craved to be touched in. To feel his caress on your skin, the bite of his leather, the scrape of his scruffy beard. The stretch of his cock inside of your wet cunt.

You were driving yourself mad with want for a man that didn’t want you back, or so you assumed that was to be the case.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Joel Miller was on the edge to finally just give in when he caught you one night with your skirts hiked above your thighs with your boot clad feet firmly planted in the dirt. Under the pale glow of the moonlight above, and the glittery shining stars, he could see your hand between your thighs, touching yourself and moaning his name.

It felt wrong to watch you, to invade your privacy and your modesty. But he’d be damned if he’d go another night without feeling the hug of your pussy around his aching cock. Or to feel the taste of your kissable lips on his tongue. Damned. Damned. Damned. Fuck, he couldn’t survive another second without knowing what it was like to be loved by you.

For years he had pushed you away despite knowing the pain it caused both you and him. A man could only last so long pretending to not love a woman that he’d throw his life down for in a heartbeat. That’s the kinda love Joel Miller had been dreaming of all his life.

Your head snapped at the sound of a twig snapping behind you as your hand stilled between your thighs. Your heartbeat rattled wildly in your rib cage at the fear and excitement of being caught.

Oh, please. Please let tonight be the night.

“Don’t stop on my account, Chickadee.” He drawled deeply before stepping closer to where you sat.

The heat rushed to your cheeks like a wildfire spreading, your stomach clenched inwards as you began to touch yourself once more, eyes staying locked on his own.

When he was close enough, you used his shins for support as you rubbed your swollen clit in tight, fast circles.

“No.” He shook his head. “Slower. Take your time, darlin.’ There ain’t no rush. Let me see you.” He rasped, before slowly sinking into the dirt behind you. His strong thighs corralled your own almost possessively as his hands gently grasped the hem of your skirts, pulling them up higher. You felt the brush of his beard against your cheek when his chin came to rest along your shoulder. “Nice and slow for me.”

“I’m—sorry, Joel.” You whispered ashamedly through the cool darkness of the desert night. You slowed your fingers, dragging them through the building slick that pooled between the seam of your cunt.

“Sorry for what, Chickadee? Sorry for touchin’ yourself? For moanin’ my name? Why would you be sorry for that?..” His deep tone sent sparks flying through your body as you leaned back into his strong chest.

“Because—you don’t want me, and this is wrong for me to do. To touch myself and moan a man’s name that doesn’t desire me the way I desire him.” A whimper was clawing up your throat, begging to be released, but you wouldn’t allow it.

He dropped the fabric of your skirts briefly only to dip his hand between your thighs and place his massive palm over the top of your hand, guiding your fingers over your clit once more. “This man desires you plenty, Chickadee. I was only tryin’ to protect your modesty..and our hearts.” He whispered against your ear, lips ghosting across your exposed skin. “Been wantin’ to love you all these years we’ve spent together.” He admitted. “I’m a terrible, rotten man for keepin’ you starved this long..” he trailed off, pressing open mouthed kisses at the spot where your jaw met your neck. “M’sorry.”

Those were the last words you ever expected a fucking bounty hunter to whisper..let alone to you?

A shuddered breath slipped past your parted lips, just for him. Your head lolled to the side, granting him easier access as your lashes fluttered shut. “I’ve felt like..such a fool, Joel. A dirty little fool for a bounty hunter.” You took your lower lip between your teeth, biting down harshly and drawing blood to the surface. You let him take full control of your hand, letting him guide and manipulate your fingers to play with yourself just right.

“Shh..I know now, Chickadee. M’sorry, truly. But I’m here now, ain’t I? M’here. Here forever if you’ll have me. I understand if I've bruised and neglected your heart far too many times..I can accept your rejection if it is coming.”

You could detect the edge of sadness in his tone, the acceptance already settling into his bones and heart.

“Joel, please kiss me.” You nearly begged him, dying to finally know what his lips would feel like on your own.

“Why didn’t ya just say that sooner, Chickadee.” He chuckled. “I wish ya woulda just grabbed me by the breeches years ago and knocked some sense into my thick skull. Woulda taken your ache away a long time ago, darlin.’” He said in a hushed whisper. “But I know you were afraid..can’t blame ya for that. Not really. ‘Specially since I ain’t the nicest of men to come by.”

He was taking too long, and you were an impatient woman.

“Joel.” You huffed, fighting the urge to curse him out before you decided to take matters into your own hands, finally. Tomorrow was never promised, not when you and Joel were constantly on the run.

He kept rambling on until he felt the soft touch of your fingertips brushing against the patches in his scruffy beard and the magnetic pull drawing him in closer, closer till he could taste your mingled breath on his lips.

Here in the middle of the desert, with nothing but the moon and stars as a source of light, you finally knew what it was like to kiss Joel Miller. You learned his lips quickly, liking that they were both soft and a bit chapped. As you licked slowly into one another’s mouths you could taste the faint remnants of tobacco on his tongue. It was a bruising kiss, one that both ignited the fire deep within you, and sent a delicious tingle curving down your spine.

So, this is what the girls back home were all talking about. Being kissed by a real man.

And then you found yourself straddling him in the dirt, saying fuck all to your modesty because you had never wanted a man more than you did now. And you wished that your mother could see you now. To see what her perfect little daughter had turned into.

Fuck you, mother. Fuck you for forcing me to marry that monster.

Joel brought you back down to earth with both his lips and his words tattooed on your skin. He caged you with his body, acting as a shield from the chilly night ear that sent goosebumps rising.

He worked your blouse open, growing more frustrated by the minute when the clasps wouldn’t automatically give. He was desperate to feel more of you, all of you because he knew then that you were his, and he was yours. And if you’d end up being the death of him, so be it. At least he could go out being loved rather than unloved.

“You gonna fuck me now, mister? Gonna take what belongs to you, Joel?” You mumbled against his lips in a chasing kiss, growing more desperate as the seconds ticked by.

“Gonna do more than that, Chickadee.” He rasped. This was a promise, and a man such as Joel always kept his promises.

The howl of a Coyote far off in the distant sent uneasy nerves rolling through you, because the realization hit you then that you and Joel were out in the fucking wilderness, and you suddenly felt bare and exposed.

“Jus’ a coyote, doll. He’s singin’ to the moon. We’re safe here, I promise. Ain’t ever gonna let somethin’ happen to you again, Chickadee.” His strong calloused, yet gentle hands came to cup for your face. His deep brown eyes met yours through the pale glow of the moonlight casted over your faces. “I swear on my life, you will always be safe with me.”

and while the lone coyote sang his song to the moon, Joel Miller had you singing your own song, just for his ears too.

After that night spent together, you never had a night where you slept alone. Joel was always there. Holding you, kissing you, fucking you into a blissful state.

He still feared for your safety, and you feared for his. This would never change, but you refused to live in fear for the rest of your life.

It was a boiling hot day under the blazing desert sun. You and Joel were moving west towards California. Hearing about the gold rush there sounded like as good of an opportunity as any. Not even just for the gold, but the prospects of a new life. Joel had dreams of owning a ranch, sheep specifically and living out his days with you by his side.

“Come join me for a swim, cowboy.” You were sitting side by side under the one single tree along the river's edge. Your two horses were drinking their fill after traveling for days in these conditions.

Your cowboy had his arms crossed behind his head, biceps bulging under the thin fabric of his shirt. His hat was tipped down over his head. You only witnessed Joel being fully relaxed on a few occasions where he would let his guard down for just mere minutes.

“Mmm. That’s alright, doll. Y’go on and enjoy yourself.” He said with a lazy sigh.

“Just a quick one together? Please?” You reached over and gently lifted the brim of his hat just enough so you could see his closed eyes.”

“Chickadee..” he said in a low warning tone, peeking one eye open to look up at you before he shut it once more.

“You’re no fun.” You huffed while releasing your gentle grip on his hat.

“M’plenty fun, doll. I gotta keep watch, anyway. Can’t do that if I’m stark naked in the river with ya. What if someone tries to sneak up? Won’t have my gun at arms reach.” He sighed.

“I know, Joel.”

Maybe when we get to California..he won’t have to worry about all of that.

He sat up turning his body to face you before his palm came to rest upon your cheek in a gentle caress. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, tugging it down gently before he leaned in and kissed you sweetly. “Now go on and cool off, Chickadee.”

You kissed him back with the same amount of sweetness before you pulled away and gave his nose a light boop. His face scrunched inwards before he reached around and gave your ass a light and playful swat that sent you giggling as you rose to your feet.

You shot him a seductive wink before you raced down to the river's edge, kicking up a cloud of dirt with your boots.

Joel watched from afar with a hooded gaze as you stripped down from your skirts and blouse followed by your unlaced boots. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when your one boot wouldn’t give right away and you nearly tripped before finally getting it off. He kept watch as you dove into the crystal clear waters and reameraged moments later.

He reached into his pack, pulling out an apple and pocket knife while you splashed around like a kid on Christmas. He cut off a small slice before biting it off on the edge of the knife, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned back against the sturdy tree.

When we get to California..I’m going to marry her.

He didn’t want to end your fun so soon..but it was time to get moving again. He brought his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, whistling to let you know that it was time to pack up.

You had been floating peacefully on your back with your eyes closed when you heard his whistle that immediately tore you from your daydream state.

He was just about to stand up from where he was resting against the tree when you emerged from the river. You reminded him of a goddess. Bare, beautiful, skin sprinkled in water droplets that were kissed by the sun. You looked unreal, and he was the luckiest man alive.

“C’mon, Chickadee. We gotta head out.” He called for you when you were within earshot.

“I’m coming!” You bent down to gather up your clothes before the idea struck you. “Can I dry off first, please?”

He let out a grumbled sigh before he ultimately nodded his head in agreement. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt..

“Jus’ till ya dry off, doll.”

With your clothes and boots gathered up in your bare arms, you approached him casually, setting everything down on your nearby saddle while he watched you with piqued curiosity.

“I was thinking about you out there..laying on my back and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin..” you trailed off.

“Is that so? Hmm..what were you thinkin’ about, Chickadee?” His eyes slowly trailed down your bare body. From the swell of your breasts, down your tummy and thighs and what lay between them.

“Want to take a guess, cowboy?” You asked teasingly.

His brow raised as a grin tugged along the corner of his lips. A game is what you were playing, and he was the willing participant.

“Based on your tone, I’m gonna guess it’s got somethin’ to do with..my cock?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner while his hand casually came to rest between his own thighs. Oh, he was playing alright.

“Mmm..perhaps I was thinkin’ of ridin’ your cock right under the shade of this tree..but that would be too obvious, Joel.” Your eyes drifted down to where his hand was before the traveled down the expanse of his strong thighs and ending at the toe of his leather boots.

He caught onto your drift almost immediately and you saw his pupils begin to darken. “Y’wanna ride my boot? Is’that it? Well, ain’t you a filthy thing, Chickadee. You wanna get ‘em all shined up for me? Drag that sweet cunt of yours over them?”

His eyes stayed locked on yours in a challenging stare while he palmed himself through his pants to relieve the growing tension.

“I do, sir. I really, really, really want to ride your boot.” You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks because never in your wildest dreams did you expect to take part in debauchery such as this.

“On your knees then, girl. Kiss ‘em for me.” He fell right into character with a flip of a switch.

You found yourself lowering onto your knees without a care in the world about the dirt while you bent down over his boots, pressing a kiss to the leather, dragging your tongue down the stitched seam.

“That’s it, doll. Get ‘em nice and shined up for me.” He said while popping the button on his pants open and pulling his cock free from the confines.

“You gonna touch yourself while I ride your boot, mister?” You were sitting upright again before you crawled closer, letting your hands rest along his thighs as you positioned yourself right above his left boot. The imprint of your kiss had already begun to dry from the scorching heat.

“Yeah, doll. I’m gonna fist my cock while you ride my boot like the dirty Chickadee that you are.” He spat into his palm before he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock just as you lowered yourself over the expanse of his boot, taking your lip between your teeth when you dragged your clit right across the smooth leather.

“Fuuck me. Ain’t that a sight. Look at you, fuckin’ filthy girl. S’feel good, Chickadee?”

You rolled your hips forward slowly at the rate that he was pumping his fist. A soft whimper slipped past your lips while your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Feels so good, mister. So—so good.” You moaned freely with each steady roll of your hips, chasing that high. Nothing would ever compare to Joel’s cock. You knew this, he knew this, and you also were aware that this little game would only last so long.

And then he watched you lose yourself completely on his boot with each roll and grind of your hips against the dampened leather. Crying out his name, nails digging into his covered thighs, head thrown back, tears nearly flooding your eyes.

He had the same sense of urgency and realization that nothing would ever compare to the warm hug of your pussy around his cock. That’s when the game ended as his strong arms came to lift you into his lap by your thighs. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss filled with intermingled moans and teeth clashing together when he finally slipped into your warmth.

California could wait a little longer, he wanted to savor this moment for as long as it lasted because now he had the love that he had been dreaming of all his life. Right here in his arms, cock buried to the hilt under the shade of this very tree. Right here with his Chickadee.

That’s the kinda love I’ve been dreaming of

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