xiuriii - Tumblr blog

xiuriii · 7 days ago

Text

back to you - three

pairing - lee jeno x reader

word count - 58k words… oops

genre - smut, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

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

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

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

[fic ml]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jeno — i’m five minutes away now

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

y/n — hi baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Messy?” you repeated, incredulous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The suggestion lingered, thick with temptation, the possibilities wrapping around your thoughts like a slow burn. You pictured yourself on the empty stage, the spotlight casting shadows as you peeled away each piece of clothing, his gaze devouring every inch of your skin. The idea of swaying your hips just for him, performing in nothing but the heat of his stare, sent a shiver coursing through you. Your mind wandered further—to his hands gripping your waist as you tangled together behind the bar, his lips marking trails down your neck in the dim light, your bodies pressing against the cold counter, unapologetically lost in each other. The thought of that much space, that much freedom to surrender to him without restraint, made your breath hitch and your thighs clench. Every inch of you ached to turn that fantasy into reality.

Jeno’s hands slid down to your back, his grip tightening. He groaned appreciatively, his gaze darkening with interest, but then he hesitated, the briefest flicker of guilt crossing his face. “That sounds incredible,” he said, his voice low, “but my party’s this Sunday, baby. I’ve been planning it for weeks.”

Your excitement deflated slightly, and you huffed, crossing your arms as you gave him a mock glare. “You’d rather hang out with those annoying people, especially those girls who throw themselves at you, than me?” you teased, your tone light but carrying just enough of an edge to show your true feelings.

Jeno smirked, tilting his head as he looked at you. “I’m still gonna spend time with you because you’re going to be there. You know you’re the only one I actually care about being there, right?” His tone was smooth, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made your chest tighten.

The weight of the conversation pressed on you, a necessary shift from the lingering heat between you. You sighed, breaking the silence first, your voice softer, reflective. “None of them there know that you’re mine,” you murmured, your fingers moving absently through the strands of his hair, soft and slightly tousled from the day, as you spoke.

Jeno’s response was immediate, his voice steady and unwavering as his eyes met yours. “But I do,” he said, the simplicity of his words holding a depth that tightened something in your chest.

Your breath steadied as you leaned closer, every movement deliberate, measured, like the calculated steps of a chessboard. You didn’t speak without weighing the consequences, without first dissecting every possible outcome in your head, analyzing how each piece would fall. The proximity was strategic, your voice softened but unwavering, meant to disarm, to guide the conversation in your favor. Words weren’t released carelessly; they were chosen with purpose, crafted to leave no room for misunderstanding.

“Where we’re going, though,” you began, your voice carrying a precision sharpened by your meticulous nature, “this—keeping it a secret forever—it’s going to do more harm than good.” You studied his reaction, your eyes tracing the slight furrow of his brow, cataloging it as a sign of resistance. “I think we should start slowly becoming more public, I want people to know you’re mine. Seeing girls all over the campus actively trying to get with you isn’t something I can bear to see anymore.” You let the word linger, watching how it settled in the air between you. “It doesn’t seem useful anymore to hide this. It doesn’t benefit us.”

There was no flourish in your tone, no overstep. Every syllable reflected the logic of someone who didn’t make decisions on a whim. You had already analyzed how this secrecy left cracks—moments of unnecessary tension, fleeting paranoia, a strain on both of you that, in the long run, served no purpose. And now, you were presenting your findings, offering the solution like a carefully prepared argument, your mind already tracing the next step forward, ready for his reply.

Jeno’s expression shifted, his brows knitting as he leaned back slightly, studying your face with an unreadable look. “It’s true,” he began carefully, his voice low, as though he were testing the weight of each word. “I’ve turned down every single girl who’s tried to get with me, and yeah, that’s raised suspicions. That’s why there’s a rumor going around that I’m secretly seeing someone.” His gaze flickered, not out of insecurity, but out of the heaviness of what he was about to say. “But you do know that for some of these girls, even if they knew I was exclusive with someone—or serious—it wouldn’t stop them. It happened when I was with Areum for all those years and she was my girlfriend.”

It hung in the air like a blow you couldn’t quite dodge. The implication was there, his sentence unfinished, unspoken and heavy. And you’re not.

You didn’t react outwardly. You never did. Calculations ran in the background of your mind, sorting through every possible reaction and discarding anything that might betray the smallest hint of insecurity. But it didn’t stop the thought from cutting through. You’d wondered before, more than you’d care to admit, if you would ever mean enough to him for that title. Girlfriend.

He hadn’t ever asked. You hadn’t discussed it. And somewhere, buried under every carefully laid layer of reason, there was a small, pathetic certainty that he wasn’t going to ask at all. It stung. Not enough to shake you, but enough to harden something inside of you. If he wasn’t going to offer you that title, you’d take something else. You’d make sure this wasn’t a relationship buried in shadows, suffocating under the weight of secrecy. Your next words were sharp, cutting through the tension like glass breaking.

“It’s not my problem if girls will still try to get with you, it’s more of a reflection on them then me. I really don’t give a fuck about those types of girls.” The bluntness of your tone caught him off guard, his brows knitting slightly as he blinked at you, but you didn’t falter. You couldn’t afford to falter.

“This isn’t about them. It’s not about what they’ll do, or what they’ll say. It’s not about whether they’ll stop, because I know they won’t. They didn’t when you were with her, and they won’t now.” You took a breath, your voice sharpening like a blade with every word. “This is about me. Becoming public with you is something I want to do for me.”

You didn’t say it out of malice, or to hurt him, but the selfishness in your words felt justified. You weren’t thinking about him, or the rumors, or the way people would whisper behind your backs. You were thinking about what it would mean to you.

It wasn’t just about claiming him—it was about claiming yourself. About stepping out from behind the wall you’d built to protect yourself, to make sure no one ever saw how vulnerable you could be when it came to him. Keeping this hidden no longer felt like a shield; it felt like a shackle.

“You’re mine, Jeno. And it’s getting harder and harder to hide that.” The conviction in your voice didn’t waver, though your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “I don’t care about how this ends, or how people will react, or what it’ll cost. I just want this to be something I don’t have to hide anymore.”

You exhaled sharply, the words hanging between you like an unspoken challenge. But even as you stood firm, staring at him with a defiant glint in your eyes, that quiet, unrelenting ache gnawed at the edges of your resolve. The same question that had haunted you for weeks returned, sharper now: Would he ever choose to give you the thing you wanted most without you having to ask?

He nodded, but you didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the way they darted to the side for a split second before locking back on yours. That momentary pause—so brief it would’ve been invisible to anyone else—was enough to make your chest tighten. “What about Mark?” he asked carefully, his tone light but too measured, like he was bracing himself for the fallout.

You groaned inwardly, biting down on the sharp reply that hovered on your tongue. That’s really what you want to ask me right now?

A heavier sigh escaped your lips, the weight of his question pressing down on you more than you wanted to admit. You shook your head slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’ll deal with him,” you said, your voice steady and low, but carrying enough weight to make your stance clear.

You leaned in slightly, your gaze unwavering, challenging. “I’m a grown woman, Jeno. I can handle him being bitter. He doesn’t control me, and he sure as hell doesn’t control how I feel about you.” The firmness in your tone softened at the edges, but the steel remained. “There’s nothing he can do—nothing anyone can do—to change the way I feel about you. I don’t care how he reacts. Not about him, not about anyone else.”

Your words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown, daring him to challenge you further. But even as your exterior remained composed, a small part of you braced for his response, for any sign that he didn’t share the same conviction you were willing to risk everything for.

Jeno’s hand lingered on your thigh, his touch deliberate yet uncharacteristically gentle. His thumb traced slow circles over the fabric of your jeans, grounding you even as his words set your nerves alight. “Being able to kiss you, hold you without worrying who’s looking… not having to hide around—it’s very tempting,” he murmured, his voice low, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. But that smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was something else there—something heavy, lingering, and it made your breath hitch in a way you couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening, but you forced yourself to speak, your voice quieter than you intended. “Is that the only reason?”

For a moment, he didn’t react. His hand stilled against your thigh, the room thick with the weight of unspoken truths. His gaze, usually so sure, seemed to falter, his eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name—hesitation, guilt, maybe even fear. His jaw tensed, a muscle feathering beneath his skin, and when he finally lifted his gaze to yours, it was darker, more conflicted, like he was caught between wanting to tell you something and keeping it locked away.

Then, slowly, he shook his head, his lashes lowering as he closed his eyes, exhaling deeply through his nose. It wasn’t a sharp denial, nor was it a clear admission. It was restrained, quiet, loaded with a tension that pressed against your chest like a vice. His head dipped forward slightly, the faintest brush of his forehead against yours, as though the closeness might absolve him of what he wasn’t saying.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stayed there, your breathing shallow and your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything left unsaid. You weren’t sure if you wanted to break the silence or let it stretch, afraid of what either choice might reveal.

But then Jeno’s breath hitched as he lifted his head slightly, his eyes fluttering open. They burned with something raw and unguarded, a fight raging behind them that he couldn’t fully conceal. His gaze locked on yours, heavy with unspoken words, and when he finally spoke, his voice was uneven, trembling with restrained intensity.

“You know you’re mine, right?” he rasped, the words spilling out like they carried the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

The vulnerability in his tone, in the way his fingers flexed at his sides as if trying to steady himself, left you breathless. Your heart hammered, but you didn’t falter. You nodded, your voice soft yet certain. “I know.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours, searching for something—reassurance, absolution, maybe even control he no longer had. Then he shook his head, exhaling deeply before his lips curved into the faintest smile. His next words came out quieter, lower, as if they were just for you.

“My girl.”

The way he said it, low and possessive, sent a shiver through you, your chest tightening with an ache that was equal parts yearning and relief. It wasn’t just a claim—it was a promise, a possession spoken not out of dominance but out of need. His gaze softened slightly, but the tension remained, the moment so charged it was as if the air had been pulled from the room.

This wasn’t just a declaration; it was him laying himself bare, a rare and sacred thing that he handed to you without reserve. And you, in return, held it as tightly as you could.

Jeno called your name, his voice a low thread pulling you from the haze of your thoughts, unraveling the composure you clung to. When your eyes met his, the world narrowed to just him—his gaze, heavy with an emotion you couldn’t name, yet it settled in your chest like a weight and a spark all at once. It was disarming, like finding a crack in the armor you’d spent years forging, his vulnerability pressing against your own. You felt exposed, as though he’d peeled back the layers you didn’t even know you had, leaving you defenseless in a way that was both terrifying and achingly intimate. For a moment, you didn’t recognize him—or maybe it was you who felt unfamiliar, reflected in the rawness of his expression.

You coughed, breaking the moment with an awkwardness that wasn’t characteristic of you, before dragging the conversation in a safer direction. “So,” you began, adjusting your position as if the shift in topic could steady you, “I told Shotaro… about us.”

Jeno blinked, surprised. “Really?” His brow arched slightly, his tone laced with curiosity. “Why him?”

You nodded, your fingers brushing against his as you spoke, grounding yourself in his soft touch. “I had to tell someone, and he was the safest option. I can’t tell Mark—not yet. And the others would make it a thing, and I can’t deal with that right now. Shotaro’s different. He’s supportive and understanding. He’s good at listening, at making sense of things. I knew he’d hear me out without turning it into some… spectacle.”

Jeno exhaled, his lips curving into a small smile, something warm yet restrained. “I’m glad it’s slowly getting off your chest.”

Relief flickered through you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “I feel a bit bad, though. I kind of cornered him. He screamed a lot.” You paused, a wry laugh slipping through. “I might’ve traumatized him.”

Jeno’s chuckle was low and smooth, his hand sliding up to settle lightly against your arm. “Poor Shotaro. Bet he’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“He’s never gonna look at me the same,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “I told him how many people I’ve been with… and now he knows what I really do at the bar.”

Jeno raised a brow, feigning offense. “Hey, that was supposed to be my secret, I love being the only one who knows,” he teased lightly. “Now you’re just giving it away?”

The humor lightened the air between you, easing the weight of the confession. Still, there was a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface—a shared understanding that this wasn’t just about Shotaro knowing. This was about you taking a step toward making your relationship something real, something that couldn’t be hidden forever.

“Jen…” His name slipped from your lips in a whisper before you could stop yourself. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say, but his name lingered in the space between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. You hesitated, searching for the right words, but nothing came.

Jeno noticed your pause, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing your eyelids in the softest kiss. “Look at me,” he murmured, his voice so low it felt like a secret meant only for you.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for one last second before obeying. The moment felt fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter it entirely. When your gaze met his again, your chest tightened. His touch, his presence—it all felt too much, like a truth you weren’t ready to fully face. But there was no running from it now. Not when he was right here, grounding you in a way that only he could.

Jeno’s hand fell to your charm bracelet, his thumb brushing over the delicate trinkets that dangled from it. “You’re going to need another one soon,” he teased gently, the shift in tone offering you both an escape from the intensity of the moment.

You let out a soft laugh, grateful for the reprieve. “My apartment or yours tonight?” The question was light, but the weight of everything unsaid lingered in the air between you.

His grin returned, slow and knowing. “Yours,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with the kind of promise that sent heat rushing through you.

The night unraveled like silk, fraying at the edges with need and care, every touch pulling you further under. As soon as the door closed behind you, the restraint you’d both carried all day evaporated. Jeno’s lips claimed yours, hot and urgent, his hands rough yet reverent as they gripped your waist and pulled you flush against him. It wasn’t gentle—it was primal, a release of every pent-up desire that had built between you. His breath was jagged, your moans swallowed by the space between you as he pushed you back against the wall, pinning you there as if afraid you’d slip away.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tipping your head back to expose the curve of your neck, where his lips found their place, biting and sucking until you whimpered his name. Your hands clawed at his hoodie, yanking it off and marveling at the heat of his skin beneath your touch. He groaned when your nails raked down his chest, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

Clothes hit the floor in a trail to the bedroom, neither of you caring where they landed. By the time you fell onto the bed, it wasn’t just desperation driving you—it was something deeper, something neither of you dared to name yet. His name spilled from your lips like a prayer as he kissed down your body, his hands mapping every inch of your skin as if committing you to memory. It was raw, messy, and consuming. When he finally sank into you, your gasp echoed in the room, and for a moment, nothing else existed. He moved like he was trying to undo you, every thrust deliberate, every whispered word in your ear driving you closer to the edge.

Afterward, when your breaths finally steadied and your bodies cooled, the intimacy shifted into something softer. Jeno helped you into a sweatshirt, his smile lazy as he tugged the hem down over your hips, and you laughed, swatting his hand away. The night wasn’t over, and the promise of something more lingered as you ventured out into the city.

The riverfront was quiet, bathed in the warm glow of streetlights reflecting on the water’s surface. The cool air bit at your exposed skin, crisp enough to raise goosebumps, but Jeno’s hand in yours anchored you, its warmth seeping through like a slow-burning ember. His fingers laced with yours in a way that felt inevitable, a quiet promise in the simple act. He gave your hand a soft squeeze, and when you looked up, the faint curve of his lips, the way his eyes softened just for you, made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t explain.

You leaned against the railing, the metal cold beneath your fingertips as you gazed at the water, its surface rippling with reflections of the city lights. The hum of the river, the faint sounds of the city in the distance—it was a quiet rhythm that made the night feel alive, like a secret shared between the two of you. “I used to come here all the time as a kid,” you murmured, your voice softer than the lapping waves. “It felt… alive. Like the city’s heartbeat. I’d sit here for hours, just watching.”

Jeno stepped behind you, his arms sliding around your waist and pulling you against his chest. His chin found its place on your shoulder, his breath fanning over the curve of your neck, warm and steady. “I can see why,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant only for you. “It’s peaceful. Feels like it belongs to you.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over his where they rested on your stomach. “It used to make me feel small, in a good way. Like no matter how loud my thoughts got, this place would drown them out.”

Jeno was quiet for a moment, his thumb drawing slow circles against your side. “I came here a lot too,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, a thread of something heavier pulling at the edges of his tone. “When I was younger. My mom loved this spot. She’d pack sandwiches and drag me and my dad here for picnics.”

You tilted your head slightly, catching the distant look in his eyes as he gazed out at the water. “I didn’t know that.”

He nodded, a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She said the river reminded her of where she grew up. She’d sit here for hours, telling me stories about her hometown, about how she’d spend her summers by the water. My dad hated it, though. He’d always stay in the car or cut the trip short.”

The shift in his voice was subtle, but you felt it. The warmth that had been there moments ago cooled slightly, and his grip on your waist tightened, as if grounding himself. “She’d laugh it off,” Jeno continued, “say he didn’t know how to appreciate the simple things. But I think it hurt her more than she let on.”

You turned in his arms, your fingers brushing his jaw gently, urging him to look at you. “Jeno…”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes made your chest ache. “I didn’t get it back then,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Why she kept bringing us here when it was clear he didn’t want to be. But now… I think she was just trying to hold on to something that made her happy. Something that felt hers.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling between you. “She sounds so loving.”

“She is.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening slightly. “She deserved more,” he said, his voice steady but distant, like the words weren’t entirely for you. His gaze lingered on the water, unmoving, the reflection of the city lights dancing in his eyes. “More than someone who only saw the inconvenience. More than someone who…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as his grip on the railing shifted, knuckles faintly paling under the strain.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was heavy, brimming with the things he wouldn’t say. You watched him, your chest tightening at the tension in his posture, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly like he was holding something in. His hand slid off the railing, falling to his side as he exhaled, the sound sharp and controlled.

It was denial, you realized—not overt, but there, laced in the way he kept his tone even, his words carefully measured, never fully opening the door to the weight he was carrying. He glanced at you then, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, and just as quickly, he turned his gaze back to the water. “She just… deserved more,” he repeated, quieter this time, as if saying it again would make it feel less personal. But you knew it was.

You turned slightly, the question forming in your mind, but he caught it before you could speak. His lips brushed yours, the kiss starting soft, tentative, as if testing the moment. Your breath hitched, your head still turned sideways, his lips fitting perfectly against yours. His hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. The world fell away, the only sound the faint rush of the river and the shared, uneven breaths that slipped between you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded and heavy with something unspoken. His breath mingled with yours, his lips brushing the faintest kiss against your temple before he leaned back just enough to meet your gaze. His hands slid under your skirt, warm and deliberate, gripping your ass through the thin fabric. His touch was firm, claiming, yet his gaze softened, as if the weight of his words could break the moment.

“It’s different with you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, the ache in your chest spreading, your heart beating a little too fast. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist as if anchoring himself. His jaw tensed, and he exhaled a shaky breath. “With Areum… I felt like I was always pretending. Like I had to keep up this version of myself to make everything seem fine. I was holding my breath, just waiting for it to fall apart.” He paused, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your skirt.

“But with you…” His voice softened, his words barely above a whisper as his eyes locked onto yours, holding you in place. It wasn’t rushed, like he wanted the moment to stretch, to last. He hesitated, searching for words that could match the feeling that lingered between you. “It feels like breathing—natural, steady, something I don’t have to think about but can’t imagine living without.

His hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate, grounding him just as much as you. “I don’t have to try, I don’t have to hold anything together. You make it feel like there’s nothing to hold, nothing to fix. Just—this.” He let out a small, uneven exhale, his lips twitching into something like a smile, soft and barely there. “Just you. I’m so good with you.”

His gaze lingered, drinking you in as though the moment could slip away if he didn’t memorize it. The way he looked at you then felt heavy but sweet, like a secret being shared, something quiet but infinite, and it left your heart aching in the best way. Your fingers brushed over his cheek, and you felt the way he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment before opening again, darker, searching. He made it so easy to believe that this was enough, that what hung unsaid between you didn’t need to be spoken aloud. His faint smile faltered, as if he could sense your hesitation, the conflict you weren’t ready to confront.

“It’s a good thing,” he said lightly, but there was something fragile in the way he said it, a tentative weight to the words that left you feeling exposed.

You wanted to say something back—something deliberate, something that would tighten the threads already weaving so carefully between you. But your mind, always calculating, always weighing the risk, refused to let your heart take the lead. You measured the distance between his vulnerability and your restraint, gauging the consequences of saying too much, of letting him see too far into you. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t unravel the carefully constructed balance you’d built? That wouldn’t tip the scales and leave you exposed?

Your silence wasn’t hesitation—it was strategy. A moment to decide whether you could afford the cost of letting him in, of giving him more than fleeting intimacy cloaked in kisses and touches. But even as you hesitated, a flicker of something darker crept in: the quiet fear that you’d already given too much, that this was careening toward something neither of you could control.

Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips capturing his in a way that said what you couldn’t. The kiss was soft at first, deliberate, but it deepened as your hands slid to his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his hoodie, the steady rhythm of his heart against your palms. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, as though he understood that this was all you could give.

Jeno wouldn’t notice, couldn’t notice, the precision of your decision. Not yet. To him, the kiss was only a kiss—soft, full of unspoken promises—but to you, it was a safeguard, a way to maintain the tenuous balance between want and surrender.

“I have something for you,” he said quietly, his voice low and warm, a stark contrast to the teasing edge it usually carried. The words caught you off guard, stealing the air from your lungs for a moment. You turned your head slightly, catching his intent expression and you smiled softly, knowing what was coming.

He brought your wrist up—the one adorned with the charm bracelet—and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your face. The soft, lingering pecks made your chest tighten, the intimacy stealing your breath more effectively than anything else he’d done that evening. Silently, he unclasped his hand to reveal a small charm resting in his palm. It gleamed under the faint glow of the streetlights, and your breath hitched when you recognized what it was: a tiny, intricate wave, its curves and lines mimicking the rippling water below. Jeno didn’t say anything at first, his eyes locked onto yours as he watched for your reaction. His gaze was steady, his expression softer than you’d ever seen, like he was offering you something much deeper than just a piece of jewelry.

The tenderness in his actions sent a surge of warmth through you, and for a moment, you felt untethered. Slowly, you turned in his hold, facing him fully now, your hands resting lightly on his chest. “You don’t know how much these mean to me,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the depth of your emotions. “Every single one… I don’t take it lightly.”

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, a kiss that felt like a promise. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his hands slid to your waist, holding you steady. “Anything for my girl,” he said, the words so quiet they were barely audible, yet they rang louder in your chest than anything else.

That feeling came again, like a foreign weight pressing against your ribs, insistent and unfamiliar. You wanted to push it away, to bury it before it took root, but the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to ignore. Still, you didn’t let it show, didn’t let it escape into the open. You simply smiled, your fingers tracing the edges of the new charm, grounding yourself in the physicality of it. “Thank you,” you whispered, kissing him again, softer this time, as if trying to convey what you couldn’t yet put into words. Jeno’s arms tightened around you, and for a moment, the world faded, leaving only the two of you suspended in the quiet night.

The moment stretched, his eyes heavy-lidded and focused entirely on you. His hands held you still, one cradling your jaw while the other gripped your waist with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, his mouth working against yours like he wanted to memorize every detail, every soft gasp you let out against him. His lips dragged over yours, parting and meeting in a rhythm that sent heat coursing through your veins, his tongue teasing just enough to leave you trembling. He kept you like that, face-to-face, his lips trailing from your mouth to your cheek, then lower to your jaw, each kiss leaving a mark you felt in your bones. But then, with a deliberate slowness that felt like a tease, his hands slid to your hips, guiding you as he turned you around.

For a moment, you felt the cool night air brush against your face as the world blurred, but it all sharpened again with the heat of his chest pressing against your back, his arms wrapping securely around you. He adjusted you slightly, pulling you flush against him, and the full weight of him against you was enough to make your breath stutter. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. His actions told the story. His hands slid down your sides, tracing every curve like they belonged to him, pausing briefly at your hips before moving lower to grip the swell of your ass through your skirt. His hold was firm, possessive, and when his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh, he gave a slow, deliberate pull, guiding you back into him.

His lips found the side of your neck, warm and insistent, and as he kissed down to your shoulder, you felt his breath hitch against your skin. His movements weren’t rushed; they were reverent, like he was savoring the moment. His hands moved again, slipping upward to gather your hair, tying it loosely and exposing the delicate curve of your neck. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth, his lips brushing over the nape of your neck with a slow intensity that made your knees weaken.

He loved this—being behind you, the way your body fit against his like a puzzle only he had the answer to. He loved the way your neck arched so perfectly when he tilted your head back, the way your hips moved instinctively when he guided them. The way your ass pressed against him with every slight shift—it wasn’t just the physicality; it was the control, the trust, the unspoken connection that made it intoxicating.

His lips grazed your temple, lingering there for a moment before brushing down to the shell of your ear. The softness of the touch was a stark contrast to the growl in his voice when he spoke, low and teasing, “You keep leaning back into me like that, baby, and I’m not gonna care who’s watching.” His hands tightened on your waist, the pressure enough to make your breath hitch. “Do you want them all to see how good you look when you fall apart for me?”

A shiver rippled through you, and you inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself against the way his words made your pulse race. “You wouldn’t,” you whispered, but there was no strength in it—only the quiet tremor of a challenge you weren’t sure you wanted to win.

“Try me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear before trailing lower, pressing deliberate, burning kisses down the curve of your neck. Each touch was slow and purposeful, like he wanted to etch himself into your skin. His hands slipped under your sweater, his calloused fingers meeting bare skin, and you gasped at the sensation, your back arching slightly into his touch.

The railing pressed against your hips as he crowded closer, his body pinning you in place with an unyielding warmth that made it impossible to think. You turned your head to meet his mouth, and the kiss that followed was anything but gentle. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his teeth grazing your bottom lip and drawing a quiet, desperate whimper from you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, and he growled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you and sinking deep into your core. His hands traveled lower, gripping your thighs and pulling you back into him, every movement calculated, claiming. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with want.

Your heart pounded, every nerve alight as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes was unrelenting, burning through every ounce of composure you thought you had. “Jeno,” you managed to breathe, your voice shaking as his lips found yours again, his grip on your body a silent promise of what was to come.

The café was bathed in a golden haze, the early evening glow filtering through the wide windows, casting soft shadows across the wooden floors. The air was rich with the familiar warmth of roasted coffee beans and the sweet, buttery aroma of pastries. It was comforting—a safe haven that always grounded you—but tonight, it felt precarious, a fragile bubble straining to contain the undercurrent of anticipation coursing through you. Jeno’s party was hours away, and the thought of seeing him again sent your mind spiraling, your thoughts darting between memories of him and the lingering tension of your secret. You stood at the espresso machine, the rhythmic hiss of steam grounding you in the present. The familiarity of the task was a lifeline, but your hands moved on autopilot. Your mind betrayed you, replaying flashes of the night before: his lips on yours, the way his hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t let go, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. The memory of it sent a flutter racing through your chest, your breath hitching as your hand wavered, nearly spilling the foam you were carefully crafting.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Irene’s voice cut through the haze, warm and curious as she stepped up beside you. “What are your plans for after the shift?”

Startled, you blinked, setting the cup down and gripping the counter to steady yourself. “Oh,” you said, stalling for a second as you fumbled for the words. “Just a… party tonight.”

Irene raised a brow, her lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. “A party, huh? Sounds fun. Who’s hosting?”

Her tone was light, casual, but the glint in her eyes was anything but. You hesitated, your heart picking up speed as you tried to decide how much to share. “A friend,” you said, a touch too quickly. The word felt foreign and inadequate, and you could tell she caught it by the way her smile widened just slightly.

“Right,” she said, the word drawn out with quiet amusement. She picked up a glass from the counter and started wiping it, her movements unhurried. “Just a ‘friend’s’ party, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed under her gaze, and you busied yourself with the cup in front of you, determined not to give anything away. But Irene’s presence was steady, unrelenting in the way she could pull answers from you without even trying. It was the kind of warmth that made people spill their secrets, but you weren’t ready for that. Not yet.

“It’s nothing big,” you said, your voice steadier this time. “Just a casual thing.”

“Casual,” Irene repeated, her tone lilting, but she didn’t press further. She set the glass down and gave your shoulder a gentle pat. “Well, whoever this ‘friend’ is, I hope they know how lucky they are.”

Her words hung in the air, light and teasing, but they settled deep in your chest, stirring something you couldn’t quite name. You nodded, offering her a faint smile before turning back to the machine, your thoughts already drifting to Jeno and what the night might bring. You passed a cappuccino to a customer with a polite smile, the weight of Irene’s words hanging in the air. She moved closer, patting your shoulder gently, her touch grounding yet maternal. She began humming softly, the familiar lullaby she always fell back on when the café slowed into its evening rhythm. It was the kind of thing that made you feel both safe and seen, a quiet reminder that Irene had always been more than just your boss.

“You’re working so hard, dear,” she said after a moment, her tone soft and affectionate. “I keep telling you to take breaks.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I know, I know. You’re the best, Irene.”

Her smile turned wistful, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Someone’s gotta look after you.”

Her words hit deeper than you expected, settling into that hollow part of you that craved care, but before you could say anything, the sound of your friends’ laughter carried across the café. You turned toward the corner booth, where Donghyuck, Chenle, Yangyang, Shotaro, and Nahyun were waving you over. Their energy filled the space, light and infectious, their presence a welcome distraction.

“Y/N!” Donghyuck called dramatically, already halfway out of his seat to gesture at you. “We need our usual fix, please!”

Nahyun grinned, resting her chin on her hand. “Something strong. We’ve got a party to get hyped for.” The corners of your lips tugged upward. You felt the warmth of excitement ripple through you—your shift was nearly over, and soon you’d be free to join them.

“Donghyuck wants a spiked caramel latte,” you muttered to Irene as you gathered ingredients, the clink of ice and the soft hum of the blender filling the air. “Chenle’s always rum-based, Yangyang goes for fruity vodka…”

“And Shotaro?” Irene prompted, her eyes twinkling.

You laughed. “A light soda with a little whiskey. I’ve got them all memorized.”

Irene chuckled, leaning against the counter as you worked. “You spoil them too much. They’re lucky to have you.”

As you poured the drinks, your thoughts veered away from the steady rhythm of the café and back to Jeno, the weight of his memory pulling you under like a tide. You didn’t mean to linger on that particular night, but the haze of it crept into your mind anyway, vivid and intoxicating. The way his grin turned sharp and boyish as he watched you mix drinks—his curiosity always piqued when you were in your element. You’d crafted your best cocktails that night, each sip drawing a deeper laugh from him, his cheeks flushed from the liquor and the heat between you.

Then came the smoke. The two of you sat sprawled on the worn leather couch in the dim light of the bar, passing a blunt back and forth, your giggles tangled with the low hum of music. You remembered how your head lolled back against the cushions, how you’d teased him about his inability to handle your “special mixes” while he playfully scolded you for making them too strong. When his fingers brushed yours, taking the blunt from your hand, the laughter faded into something heavier, slower. The air thickened with the weight of unspoken want, your bodies naturally gravitating closer, heat rising between you. His lips had found yours first, lazy and unhurried, his tongue tasting faintly of rum and smoke as his hand slid over your thigh, igniting something that left you both gasping.

The thought of his touch made your hands falter now, a splash of liquor spilling onto the counter as your grip slipped. You cursed softly under your breath, shaking your head as Irene, ever observant, raised an amused brow from across the counter. “Careful, dear. Don’t let your mind wander too far.”

By the time you carried the tray to the booth, their laughter had turned into an animated conversation about tonight’s party. You placed each drink in front of them, Donghyuck immediately raising his cup.

“Cheers to free booze later at Jeno’s party!” he declared, grinning.

“Can’t believe we’re partying two nights in a row,” Chenle added, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “My poor liver.”

Yangyang smirked. “I heard Jeno’s got some new playlist he’s dying to show off. The guy’s been hyping it up all week.”

Shotaro sat across from you, his usual playful energy dimmed, replaced by an unusual quiet. His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the edge of his drink, his gaze flicking between you and the rest of the group with a guarded hesitation that didn’t suit him. When his eyes finally met yours, there was something unspoken there—too knowing, too cautious, as though he was carrying the weight of what you’d told him earlier and couldn’t quite figure out what to do with it. You shot him a warning look, subtle but firm, the kind that said, don’t even think about it. His lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Something about the way he avoided holding your gaze for too long made your chest tighten, a ripple of unease threading through the moment.

It wasn’t until Irene’s voice cut through the chatter that your attention snapped back. “Where’s Mark?” she asked casually, her tone light but pointed. “He’s usually here with you all.”

You froze, the question hanging in the air, and then Irene smiled knowingly, her eyes locking on yours. “He’s with Areum, right?”

You blinked, startled by Irene’s words. “What?”

She gave you one of her signature smiles, soft but knowing, the kind that always made you feel like she was a step ahead. “I’m his mother. I know everything.”

The chill her words sent through you was subtle but undeniable, creeping along your spine as her gaze lingered. It wasn’t the statement itself—it was the weight behind it. The way she said it like it was obvious, like she knew more than she let on, made your chest tighten. If Irene knew about Mark and Areum, what else might she suspect?

You nodded stiffly, grabbing the empty tray and retreating to the counter under the guise of wiping it down. Her words echoed in your head, mingling with the quiet hum of the café and the lively conversation at the booth. The thought crept in, unbidden: did she know about Jeno?

The possibility felt too confusing to entertain, so you forced yourself to focus on the group. They were still laughing, passing jokes back and forth, and for a moment, the tension eased. You carried the revelation with you, though, a quiet hum beneath your thoughts as you moved back to the booth and slid into the seat beside Shotaro.

You barely had time to settle into the booth before Nahyun pushed her chair back, the screech of metal against tile slicing through the café’s hum. She stood abruptly, slipping her bag over her shoulder. Her expression was pointed, sharp in a way that made your stomach twist.

“I’ll catch you all later,” she said curtly, her voice clipped. No goodbye, no lingering glance—just a straight shot to the door. The table went silent for a beat. You followed her with your eyes, your mouth opening as if to call her back, but nothing came out. You caught Shotaro’s gaze instead, and your chest tightened at what you saw there. He looked… lost. His eyes stayed fixed on Nahyun’s retreating figure, his expression hollow, like the weight of her absence had already settled into his chest.

Your instinct kicked in, gentle but firm. You reached out and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in a way that was meant to ground him. “Hey,” you said softly, leaning closer. “Don’t let her get to you, okay? You’re good.”

He gave you a small, unconvincing smile, his shoulders stiff. Chenle picked up on it immediately. “Yeah, Taro,” he chimed in, nudging his friend from across the table. “Forget about her. She’s just being her usual self.”

Yangyang joined in with an exaggerated laugh. “Exactly. Do you know how many times she’s stormed out like that? Just forget her, bro.”

Shotaro’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t enough to shake the weight you saw in his eyes. You tousled his hair again, this time more playfully. “See? We’ve got you,” you said, giving him a small smile. “Forget about her.”

For a moment, Shotaro seemed to loosen up, a small smile tugging at his lips as the table’s conversation pulled him from his thoughts. But the relief was fleeting. The café door opened again, and in walked Mia, Aisha, and Yiren—a swirl of high-pitched giggles and the sharp scent of floral perfume. Their laughter was bright, exaggerated, their movements deliberate as they swept inside, their presence cutting through the warm, inviting atmosphere like a blade.

Shotaro’s smile disappeared instantly. His eyes darted to the door, and you followed his gaze. That’s when you saw Nahyun standing with them, her laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle, casting quick glances toward your table, her gaze sharp and lingering. Your stomach twisted. It was as though she knew exactly where to aim her jabs without saying a word. The way she leaned in close to Mia, whispering something that made the others laugh harder, sent a spark of irritation through you. You didn’t know what she was saying, but you had a sinking feeling it wasn’t anything good.

Shotaro’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as his shoulders stiffened. The lost look in his eyes from earlier returned, deeper now, like a wound being prodded. You reached over and gently ran your hand through his hair, your voice soft as you tried to soothe him. “Don’t look, Taro,” you murmured, low enough for only him to hear. “She’s not worth it.”

He blinked at you, as if trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him, but his gaze kept drifting toward the door. You glanced back yourself, catching Nahyun’s smirk as she whispered something else to Mia, her eyes darting briefly in your direction. Your irritation bubbled higher, but you forced yourself to stay composed, your hand still resting on Shotaro’s shoulder as you tried to keep him grounded.

“Let it go,” you said, your tone firm but kind. For now, that was all you could do.

You turned your head sharply toward Shotaro as the bitterness in his tone caught you off guard, something so foreign to his usually lighthearted demeanor. “I dump her, and she thinks she can make fun of me,” he muttered, his jaw clenched as his eyes stayed fixed on the door where Nahyun stood.

The table stilled, stunned into silence. “Wait—” Yangyang started, his brows furrowing, “You dumped her? Since when?”

Shotaro didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the table as his fingers fidgeted with his drink. It was such an unlike-him gesture, and your stomach twisted. He finally exhaled, shaking his head. “A while ago. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

The weight of his words hung in the air for a beat too long, but you quickly decided you weren’t going to let this moment define the rest of the night. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked. “Forget her,” you said softly, offering him a small smile. “You’ve got us, right?”

Yangyang caught on quickly, grinning as he leaned forward. “Yeah, Taro. Who needs her when you’ve got me? I’d make a way better partner anyway.”

“Better at what?” Chenle interjected with mock seriousness. “Breaking his heart? You’re terrible at commitment.”

“Okay, rude,” Yangyang shot back, his hand flying to his chest in exaggerated offense. The table erupted in laughter, the tension breaking as you all jumped into the teasing. Even Shotaro cracked a faint smile, and you kept threading your fingers through his hair, watching as his shoulders finally relaxed.

Chenle, ever the instigator, leaned closer to Shotaro. “What you really need is a makeover. New look, new you. I say we bleach your hair—completely platinum.”

Shotaro let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I think I’ll pass.”

As the laughter subsided, you all let out a collective sigh of relief when Mia, Aisha, Yiren, and Nahyun finally left the café. Their departure felt like a gust of fresh air, clearing the room of the tension they had brought in with them. You glanced at Shotaro, catching the faint flicker of ease returning to his expression, and you felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. But, of course, the peace was short-lived.

Chenle leaned back in his chair, shooting you a pointed look with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, guys,” he started, dragging out your name in a way that immediately set your nerves on edge. “Guess what rumor I heard today.” The playful tone in his voice sent a ripple of anticipation around the table, everyone leaning in slightly as you braced yourself for whatever was about to come. The distraction was en route, and you didn’t yet realize you were about to be the center of it.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along despite the flicker of anxiety in your chest. “Enlighten us.”

Yangyang’s grin widened. “They’re saying you’re hooking up with Jeno.”

You froze for a fraction of a second, but quickly recovered, forcing a laugh that sounded almost real. “Oh, come on,” you said, waving him off. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, seriously,” Chenle chimed in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Apparently, people think you’re sneaking around with him. Like, secretly dating or whatever.”

You laughed again, this time leaning into the absurdity. “Dating Jeno? Please. Do you even hear yourselves? I can’t stand the guy.”

“Exactly,” Yangyang said, smirking. “Which is why it’s so funny. It wouldn’t work. Total opposites.”

“Opposites attract,” Chenle sing-songed, earning a smack on the arm from you.

“Not in this case,” you shot back, rolling your eyes for effect. “Can we talk about something less ridiculous now?”

The jokes didn’t let up. “What if you’ve secretly had a crush on him this whole time?” Yangyang teased, his grin sharp. “Like, the classic enemies-to-lovers trope.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your seat. “Right, and in the next chapter, we’re married with kids,” you shot back dryly. The table erupted into laughter, the kind that was light and easy, and you played along as if you weren’t sitting on the exact truth they were joking about. But Shotaro wasn’t laughing. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands fidgeted in his lap.

Shotaro had been unusually fidgety all afternoon, his knee bouncing under the table, fingers twisting the hem of his sweater. At first, you chalked it up to the earlier situation with Nahyun—that bitter tone in his voice, so unlike him, had clearly unsettled him. But as the conversation spiraled into jokes about you and Jeno, you saw something shift in him. You knew him too well to miss it. It wasn’t Nahyun that had him unraveling; it was the secret he was barely keeping together. You threw him a lifeline, trying to redirect the jokes before they hit a nerve. “Right, Shotaro?” you said, nudging his arm with a forced smile. “Tell them how insane they sound.”

But instead of joining in with his usual laughter, he froze, his wide eyes darting between you and the others like a deer caught in headlights. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and then clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “Taro?” Yangyang asked, half-laughing, half-confused. “What’s wrong with you?”

Shotaro’s face flushed as he tried to hold it in, but the pressure was building, visible in the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. “You guys are—” he started, his voice too tight. He coughed, forcing a laugh that came out shaky. “You guys are ridiculous.”

It wasn’t convincing. At all. Chenle raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You okay, man? You look like you’re about to pass out.” Your stomach flipped. You could see it coming now, the inevitable crack in his composure. You shot him a warning glance, your foot nudging his under the table, silently pleading with him to hold it together. But Shotaro wasn’t looking at you anymore—his focus was entirely on the rest of the table. And then, like a dam breaking, it burst out.

“Because it’s true!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the café, startling everyone into silence. “Y/N is hooking up with Jeno!”

The table descended into an eerie silence, the kind that made the air feel heavy and stifling. Yangyang’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a sharp, unreadable stare. Chenle’s mouth fell open, his face frozen in wide-eyed disbelief. For a moment, all you could hear was the low hum of the café’s background noise—the quiet clatter of cups from Irene behind the counter and faint laughter from a distant table. But none of it mattered. The world seemed to tilt as Shotaro’s words settled over the group like a bomb.

Donghyuck’s head whipped toward you, his brows shooting up so high they almost touched his hairline. “Wait—what?” His tone was loud, incredulous, and laced with just enough amusement to make your stomach drop.

Chenle nearly choked on his drink, sputtering as he clutched the table for support. “No. No way. Are you kidding me?” Yangyang, however, stayed unnervingly calm, his sharp eyes narrowing as they flicked between you and Shotaro. His smirk was gone, replaced by a calculating expression that made your skin prickle. “Is this true?” he asked, his voice quiet but demanding, each word slicing through the tension like a blade.

Your mouth opened, but no sound followed at first, your thoughts momentarily tangled. It wasn’t that you didn’t have an excuse ready—you did. You could’ve easily lied, brushed off Shotaro’s outburst as a poorly timed joke. But a part of you hesitated, a part that didn’t mind your closest friends knowing. They were your constants, the ones who had seen every shade of you, from your worst days to your rare, unguarded moments. Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel the same urgency to hide this secret anymore. Maybe a part of you wanted the truth out in the open, at least with them. You trusted them, trusted that even in their shock and disbelief, they wouldn’t betray you. And maybe, selfishly, you wanted to share the weight of this, to stop carrying it alone.

However, beside you, Shotaro was spiraling, his guilt unraveling faster than he could catch it. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” he groaned, his voice muffled and cracking. “You were all sitting here joking about it, and I just… I couldn’t keep it in.” He finally looked up, and the regret in his wide eyes was so raw, so pitiful, that some of your anger softened despite yourself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding more like a child than the usually carefree Shotaro you knew.

Donghyuck, of course, was the first to recover, leaning back in his chair with a mix of disbelief and delight dancing across his face. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, pointing a finger between you and Shotaro. “You’re telling me you”—he paused, gesturing dramatically—“and Jeno? The guy you supposedly hate?”

“Donghyuck, shut up,” you snapped, your voice louder than intended, but your nerves were fraying.

“I’m just saying!” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “This is wild, even for you.”

Yangyang finally leaned back, his elbows resting on the table as his gaze drilled into you. “How long?” he asked, his voice low but cutting.

You hesitated, the weight of their stares pressing down on you like a physical force. You thought, briefly, about spinning the truth, about weaving a believable lie to salvage whatever was left of your dignity. But then you caught Shotaro’s guilty expression, and something shifted. You realized you couldn’t—didn’t want to—lie about any part of this anymore. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. A way to finally let go of the constant fear of being found out.

“Not long,” you said finally, your voice even but tinged with exhaustion. “But long enough.”

The admission sent the group into a new round of chaos. Chenle groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. This is insane. Jeno? Mark’s brother Jeno?”

“No, Chenle, the other Jeno I’ve been secretly hooking up with. Obviously, Mark’s brother Jeno.”

Chenle shot you an exasperated look, but your response earned a surprised snort from Yangyang, who had been quietly narrowing his eyes at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Oh, she’s still got jokes,” Yangyang muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Bold of you, considering what we just found out.”

Shotaro sat straighter, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted. His tone, softer but more at peace now, made you glance his way with suspicion. In his mind, the worst had already happened—there was no going back, no further secrets to guard. “What did Mark say when you told him?” he asked, his gaze sharper now, his voice quieter but no less pointed, like he was testing you.

The table fell silent, every pair of eyes turning to you. Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. You froze, the heaviness of the question pressing down on your chest. Shotaro’s calm facade cracked in an instant. “Wait—” His voice shot up, cracking with disbelief. “You haven’t told him?! Are you serious right now?” His shout made the others flinch.

Chenle was the first to recover, throwing his head back with a loud laugh that echoed through the café. “Oh my god, this is brilliant! You haven’t told Mark?” He leaned forward, his grin wide and incredulous. “You do know he’s gonna freak out when he finds out, right? Like, lose his mind freak out.”

At the mention of Mark, your stomach twisted painfully. “He’s not going to find out, not yet, I need to figure out how I’m gonna tell him,” you said quickly, your tone hardening. “Not unless one of you says something. And you’re not going to.”

Donghyuck let out a low whistle, his grin returning. “You think you can keep this from Mark? You really think he’s not going to figure it out?”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” you shot back, glaring at him. “This doesn’t leave this table. Do you understand me? None of you are saying anything.”

Chenle slumped in his chair, muttering under his breath, while Yangyang’s expression remained unreadable, his sharp eyes fixed on Shotaro. You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice but keeping it firm. “Taro,” you asked directly, cutting through the tension. “Can I trust you to keep it in this time?”

Shotaro groaned audibly, his head dropping back into his hands like the weight of the entire situation was crushing him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered again, his voice muffled and pitiful. “I didn’t mean to say it, I swear. I just—”

“Shotaro,” you interrupted softly but pointedly, trying to ground him. He peeked at you from between his fingers, the guilt in his wide eyes so raw it almost made you feel bad for him. Almost. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I will, I promise!” he blurted, sitting up straighter, his voice cracking with urgency. “I won’t say a word. I swear.”

Yangyang let out a dry laugh, but you ignored him, keeping your focus on Shotaro. “Good,” you said quietly, your gaze steady and unyielding. “Because if this gets back to Mark before I figure things out…”

Shotaro’s face crumpled further, but he nodded, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own mistake.

Chenle let out another dramatic sigh, throwing his head back. “My lips are sealed,” he said reluctantly. “But I want to be there when Mark finds out.” You shot him a glare and swore at him, but the tension in the air had eased just enough to let you breathe. It wasn’t perfect, but for now, it would have to be enough.

Jeno’s apartment had always felt like a chameleon, shifting effortlessly to fit the moment, the mood, the people inside it. You knew its every corner, every quiet creak and curve, like the back of your hand. Tonight, though, it felt unrecognizable, as if it had shed its usual restraint and dressed itself in reckless abandon. The once-serene living room, with its minimalist furniture and sleek, polished surfaces, was now a kaleidoscope of sound and color. Bass-heavy music throbbed against the walls, shaking the floor beneath your heels, while lights—red, blue, green—flashed and bled into one another, washing over the crowd like a fever dream.

This wasn’t just a party—it was indulgence laid bare. The apartment wore its chaos well, pulling you in with the kind of raw energy that demanded to be fed. Furniture that usually whispered elegance was shoved aside, creating space for grinding bodies and half-drunk laughter. The kitchen counter, once the epitome of spotless modernity, was now buried under bottles, mixers, and the occasional abandoned phone. Even the windows, typically pristine and reflective, were fogged with condensation, blurring the city skyline into streaks of muted light.

Your friends moved forward, merging seamlessly into the chaos, but you hesitated at the threshold, feeling the push and pull of the room. Your gaze swept over the crowd, catching flashes of movement—dancing, shouting, fleeting glances exchanged in dim corners. Despite the thrumming energy, you felt the apartment’s other personas lingering beneath the surface. You’d seen it as a sanctuary in quieter moments, a place of understated intimacy where laughter had been soft and kisses had tasted like secrets. Now, it was unrecognizable, its sleek edges drowned in decadence, as if trying to swallow you whole.

And then, there was Jeno.

He wasn’t loud or boisterous like the party raging around him; he didn’t need to be. The room seemed to shift subtly when he appeared, his presence a gravitational pull that even the chaos bent around. Dressed in black, his shirt clung to his body in a way that was both effortless and deliberate, the rolled-up sleeves revealing veins that drew your eye like a map. Jeno was smiling, the kind of effortless grin that somehow lit him up even under the dim, flashing lights. He navigated the crowd with ease, slipping between groups with a nod here, a laugh there, like he was made for moments like these. His confidence wasn’t loud or overbearing; it was woven into the way he moved, the way people naturally gravitated toward him without him having to try.

When his eyes found you, it felt like time slowed, the noise of the party fading into static. His stare was unrelenting, dark and heavy, dragging over your figure in a way that made your skin prickle. The straps of your top suddenly felt insubstantial, your mini skirt a little too short. Heat climbed up your neck, spreading across your cheeks, but you didn’t let yourself flinch. Instead, you held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than you should have before looking away, your pulse thrumming against your ribs.

His gaze lingered, deliberate and unhurried, dragging over you in a way that made your skin prickle with heat despite the crowded room. For a moment, the noise and chaos around you seemed to fade, your focus narrowing to the sharpness of his features and the weight of his attention. But then he was gone, swallowed up by the throng of people, leaving you standing there with a racing pulse and too many thoughts you couldn’t afford to entertain. Shaking off the haze, you forced yourself to look around, your eyes scanning the room until they landed on someone else entirely. Mark.

He was across the apartment, perched on the arm of a couch with his teammates clustered around him. His easy laughter carried faintly over the pounding bass, his smile bright as he sipped from a red cup. He looked so at ease, so perfectly at home in this chaos, that it made your chest tighten. You lifted a hand, offering him a small wave, but his eyes slid right past you, never once acknowledging your presence. The sting of it was sharper than you’d anticipated, cutting through the thin veil of calm you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard, trying to brush off the weight of his indifference, but it lingered, gnawing at the edges of your confidence.

You turned back to your friends, catching Yangyang’s eye as you did. He raised his cup in a silent question, and you gave him a tight smile in response. “Let’s grab a drink,” you murmured, pushing through the crowd toward the makeshift bar. Anything to distract yourself from the way Mark’s disregard had made you feel invisible in a room where you were already trying to stay hidden.

The music shifted to a faster beat, the crowd pulsating in unison under the swirling lights. The air was thick with sweat and spilled liquor, the scent of cologne and perfume mingling into something almost dizzying. You tossed back your first drink too quickly, the burn spreading warmth through your chest, and reached for another without hesitation. Anything to dull the jealousy clawing at your insides.

From across the room, you could see Jeno again. He was standing near a group of girls, one of whom was leaning far too close, her laugh high-pitched and artificial. Your grip on your cup tightened, the plastic bending slightly under your fingers. You hated this—hated how his attention on anyone else made your stomach twist. But you couldn’t blame him. You were the one who insisted on secrecy, on keeping this fragile thing between you hidden.

You looked away, swallowing hard, but the image burned behind your eyelids. And then you saw her—Areum. She was standing next to Jeno, her expression light and friendly as she said something that made him laugh. They looked comfortable together, familiar. Too familiar. Your fingers clenched around your cup, the sharp bend of the plastic grounding you for a moment. It shouldn’t have stung like this. You’d seen Areum countless times, knew her place in his past, but something about the way they stood there, unbothered and unguarded, twisted in your gut. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it shouldn’t matter. But no amount of logic could quiet the storm brewing under your skin.

He’s mine. The words repeated in your head, over and over, each one pounding like a drumbeat in time with the music. He’s mine, and they have no idea.

“Another?” Yangyang’s voice cut through the haze, his arm draping over your shoulder as he held out a shot glass.

You grabbed it without hesitation, tilting it back in one quick motion, the burn a fleeting distraction. “Keep them coming,” you muttered, your voice thick with determination, and Yangyang grinned before handing you another. The alcohol numbed the ache but heightened everything else—the music, the lights, the energy vibrating in the air.

The next shot came and went, and you felt your inhibitions slipping further away. The jealousy, the frustration, the secret tether between you and Jeno—they all dissolved into the beat of the music, into the rhythm that pulled at your body until you couldn’t resist anymore. Yangyang grabbed your hand, dragging you onto the makeshift dance floor, where bodies moved in wild, chaotic unison. You let the music take over, your hips swaying to the heavy bassline, your arms raised as you spun under the flashing lights. The room was a blur of colors and motion, and for the first time that night, you felt free.

You didn’t think about Jeno or Areum or the girls who flocked to him like moths to a flame. You didn’t think about Mark’s cold indifference or the weight of your secrets pressing down on your chest. You just let go, your movements uninhibited, your laughter spilling out as Yangyang spun you around before pulling Chenle into the fray.

You were reckless, untouchable, the center of your own little universe. For once, the storm in your chest quieted, replaced by the pounding bass and the intoxicating rush of losing control. The party had reached its breaking point—music pounding so loudly that the walls seemed to vibrate with it, bodies packed together in a crush of movement, laughter and shouting overlapping in a relentless buzz that filled your head. The apartment, once so pristine and controlled, felt like it was devouring you, every corner brimming with chaos and energy. Your breaths came shallow and quick, the air thick with the cloying mix of sweat, alcohol, and the low burn of something darker curling in your chest: jealousy.

Jeno. His name was a mantra in your head, a loop that wouldn’t quiet. Every time you caught sight of him, his easy charm radiating like a beacon, it was a fresh wound. He moved effortlessly through the crowd, laughing at something someone said, his dark shirt clinging in ways that made it impossible to look away. And then there were the girls—three of them, orbiting him, their giggles loud and syrupy as they leaned in, their hands brushing his arm or shoulder.

It was suffocating. You needed air, space—anything to escape the sight of him surrounded like that, untouchable and yet so close. You shoved through the crowd, the press of bodies grating against your nerves. Your friends’ voices faded behind you as you wove your way down a narrow hallway, the din of the party dulling to a murmur. Here, the air was cooler, the lights dimmer, casting flickering shadows that felt like a reprieve from the chaos. Leaning back against the wall, you closed your eyes, letting the cool surface ground you. Your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breaths, but it wasn’t enough. The jealousy was a gnawing thing, twisting in your gut, impossible to swallow down. The frustration of wanting him so openly, so badly, but knowing you couldn’t have him—not like this—was unbearable. You needed to calm down. You couldn’t let this spiral.

But as you tried to collect yourself, the sound of low voices reached your ears, pulling you out of your thoughts. A drunken laugh, the unmistakable smack of lips meeting—someone was kissing, tucked into the shadows just ahead of you. Your body tensed instinctively, the intimacy of it grating against your already raw nerves. You stepped back into the shadows, instinctively pressing yourself against the wall, your body tensing as the voices grew closer. Then, unmistakably, you heard Mark’s laugh—low and familiar, cutting through the muffled noise of the party.

You shifted carefully, moving further into the darkened hallway, your heart quickening—not out of fear or jealousy, but to avoid being seen. Peeking around the corner, your gaze locked onto him. Mark stood with Areum, her body angled toward his, her hand resting lightly on his chest. She said something, her voice soft but teasing, and it made him grin—lopsided, easy, unguarded. It wasn’t envy that tightened your chest but the sharp awareness of how out of place you felt. Like you were intruding on a moment that didn’t belong to you, a dynamic you weren’t a part of. You watched as they slipped into a nearby room, their laughter trailing behind them, and you exhaled softly, forcing yourself to relax. You pressed your back harder against the wall, biting the inside of your cheek. The weight of their presence faded, but the feeling lingered—displacement, a quiet, gnawing reminder of everything you were working so hard to ignore.

The hallway was silent again, the faint hum of the party fading into the background as you stood rooted in place, staring at the spot where Mark and Areum had disappeared. Your phone slipped into your hand, the screen lighting up as you prepared to text Jeno, telling him where to meet you.

“Hey.”

The sudden voice jolted you, your head snapping up. Nahyun stood a few feet away, her figure partially obscured by shadows. Her presence was so unexpected, so jarring in this quiet space, that you immediately tensed.

“Nahyun?” you said sharply, your voice edged with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer right away, her eyes darting toward the floor before flicking back up to meet yours. Her expression was unreadable, but her tone was anything but subtle. “I saw Mark and Areum.”

Your stomach twisted, your eyes narrowing. “And?”

“I followed him into the corridor,” she said, her voice dipping slightly as if to soften the blow of her next words. “I thought maybe I’d get a moment alone with him, you know, finally make a move. But then she came in, all fake laughs and clingy little touches. Honestly, what does she even have?”

Your breath caught for a moment, your fingers tightening around your phone. “You’re serious?” you choked, blinking in disbelief.

Nahyun scoffed, her lips curling in disdain. “She’s nothing special. All that caked-on makeup, those fake extensions, and that ridiculous laugh—it’s like she’s trying too hard. And Mark? He’s just sitting there, lapping it up like an idiot. It’s pathetic, honestly.” Her tone was sharp, cutting, but there was something raw buried beneath it, a bitterness she didn’t bother to hide.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, your patience rapidly unraveling. “Nahyun,” you said, your tone icy, “you didn’t see anything. Understand?”

Her brows furrowed, and she let out a humorless laugh. “What are you talking about? Everyone’s going to see them soon enough. Why does it matter if I—”

“You didn’t see anything,” you interrupted, stepping closer, your voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And if you even think about opening your mouth about what you think you saw, it won’t end well for you.”

Nahyun blinked, startled by your tone, but then her lips curved into a defiant smirk. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?”

You tilted your head, your smile razor-thin. “Remind everyone about the night you fucked Coach Suh in the supply closet? Or how you begged him not to tell anyone after? Shall I remind you about that, Nahyun?”

Her smirk dropped instantly, her mouth falling open as the blood drained from her face. “You wouldn’t,” she breathed, her voice shaking slightly.

Your gaze didn’t waver, your voice cold and unrelenting. “Try me.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Nahyun’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her earlier bravado dissolving into something much smaller, much weaker.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice low, defeated. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Good,” you said sharply, your eyes narrowing as you took a step back. “Let’s keep it that way.”

But instead of leaving, Nahyun lingered, her shoulders tense as her gaze darted to the side. Then, after a beat, she crossed her arms and looked back at you, her chin jutting forward with a mix of defiance and hesitation. “Do you think he’d ever go for me?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“Mark,” she clarified, her voice laced with bitterness, her gaze flicking to the floor before meeting yours. “Do you think he’d ever drop Areum for me?”

The question struck you like a slap, your stomach twisting at the sheer audacity. You blinked, caught between disbelief and annoyance. “What did I just say?” you asked sharply, your voice carrying a bite that even surprised you.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone rising in frustration, her jaw tightening. “Just tell me. You know him better than anyone. Would he ever… look at me like that?”

You folded your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes at her. “You really want the truth?” you asked, your words cutting through the air like a blade.

“Yes,” she snapped, the defiance in her voice almost masking the vulnerability underneath.

“Fine,” you said flatly, your patience fraying. “No. Mark wouldn’t go for you.”

Her lips parted, the words hitting her with visible force. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice rising in disbelief, indignation flashing across her face.

“You asked,” you said with a shrug, your tone devoid of apology. “Areum’s more his type. Always has been.”

Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “You don’t know that,” she bit back, her voice tight and defensive. “People change.”

“And some don’t,” you countered smoothly, your voice calm but edged with finality. “Mark’s not about shallow games or fleeting attention. He values stability, loyalty— all things you never gave Shotaro so I doubt you’d be able to give Mark what he wants.”

Nahyun scoffed, shaking her head, her laugh sharp and humorless. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “You act like you know everything about him, like you’re so much better than everyone else.”

“Maybe I do,” you replied coolly, your gaze unwavering.

Her lips twisted into a mocking smile, her tone sharpening. “You’re so weird, you know that? Always looking at everyone like you’re two steps ahead, like you have everything figured out. You think you’re untouchable, but you’re not. I know you’re hiding something.”

Her words cut through the tension like a spark to dry kindling, but you didn’t flinch. You tilted your head slightly, your expression calm but your eyes sharp. “Go ahead,” you said evenly, the weight of your words landing with precision. “Figure it out. See how far it gets you.”

Nahyun’s nostrils flared, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She glared at you for a moment longer, the tension between you taut as a wire, before she finally turned on her heel and stormed off, her movements stiff with fury. You exhaled slowly, the encounter leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. As you watched her retreating figure disappear down the hallway, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease. Whatever she thought she knew, whatever games she was planning, you’d just added fuel to a fire you weren’t sure you could put out.

You hiss through your teeth, the anger curling hot and sharp in your chest. That entire interaction left you shaken, a lingering unease burrowing under your skin, coiling tighter with every passing second. You don’t know why it’s affecting you so much, but your hands tremble as you reach for your phone, already dialing Jeno’s number. Your thumb hovers over the call button, but the string of messages on your screen freezes you in place.

jeno — go to my room, baby jeno — i’ll be there in a few minutes. jeno — don’t be late.

Relief floods you, easing some of the tension in your chest but doing nothing to quiet the storm beneath your skin. You shove the phone into your pocket and march toward his room, your steps quick and purposeful, the frustration bubbling hot and erratic. Once inside, the silence feels oppressive, wrapping around you and amplifying every thrum of impatience in your body. You pace, glancing at the door, your anger simmering into something more volatile. He said he’d be here in minutes, but each second stretches unbearably long, your mind spiraling, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

You’re so worked up, so wound tight, that tears prick at your eyes without warning. You blink them away, biting the inside of your cheek, but the raw emotion doesn’t budge. You don’t even know why you feel this way—why the frustration burns so hot, why the need to see him is so desperate it makes your chest ache. All you know is you need him now. The heat between your legs intensifies, fed by a mix of anger and need. Your body aches for him, the restless buzz of it too loud to ignore. With a bitten-off groan, your hand moves beneath your skirt, fingers finding slick heat as you press against yourself. The touch pulls a sharp moan from your lips, your head falling back against the wall as you circle your clit, trying to ease the tension clawing at you.

You barely register the sound of the door opening. Jeno steps inside, and before he can say a word, you’re on him. You grab his shirt, yanking him forward with enough force to make him stumble. The door slams shut behind him as your mouth crashes against his, your kiss rough and unrelenting. Your kiss is rough, messy, and demanding, swallowing the startled groan that rumbles in his chest. He reacts instinctively, his hands finding your waist to steady you, but you don’t let him set the pace. Your teeth graze his lower lip, tugging just hard enough to make him hiss, and you press closer, grinding against him as if you could sink into his skin.

“Lock the door,” you pant against his mouth, your voice shaking with urgency.

He fumbles for the lock, his eyes never leaving yours. The sharp click is barely audible over the sound of your heavy breaths, and before he can say anything, you grab him again, pulling him into another bruising kiss.

“Slow down—” he starts, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze narrows, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the damp lashes, the wild edge in your eyes. His brow furrows. “Have you been crying?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you yank him closer, crashing your mouth against his in a silent plea. His concern lingers, his movements slower now, as if he’s unsure whether to keep going but he pulls back just as quickly as your lips find his. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours. But you don’t have the words—only the raw, burning need to feel him, to let him tear you apart and put you back together all at once.

“Just—don’t stop,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as you grind against his hand. His gaze flickers between your face and his fingers working you, his jaw tight, his breath coming heavier now.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice a rough blend of heat and care. The words are barely more than a breath, his lips brushing against your temple with a gentleness that contradicts the tension radiating from your bodies. His hand slides higher beneath your shirt, fingers grazing the underside of your breast as his thumb sweeps deliberate circles over the curve. The tenderness of his touch feels almost unbearable, like he’s trying to soothe something raw and unspoken inside you, and it only makes the ache in your chest tighten. You don’t know whether to cry harder or beg for more.

His thumb drags over the thin fabric of your bra, the pressure firm but teasing, and your breath catches. When he finally slips his fingers beneath the material, the heat of his skin against yours sends a jolt through you. He doesn’t rush; his movements are measured, the rough pads of his fingertips tracing circles around your nipple before pinching it between his fingers. You gasp, your back arching into his touch, the sharp pleasure shooting straight through you. His eyes stay on your face, watching every reaction, every flicker of need that crosses your features.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his tone laced with something dark and intoxicating. His thumb flicks over your nipple again, the slow, deliberate motion designed to pull every sound from you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he groans low in his throat, leaning in to press his mouth to your jaw. His lips skim down the column of your throat, nipping at the skin, and the combination of his touch and his mouth has you trembling against him.

His hand slides lower, down your stomach, before disappearing beneath your skirt. His fingers trace the edge of your underwear, toying with the elastic, and you let out a choked whimper. The teasing only lasts a moment before he pushes the fabric aside, his fingers slipping through your folds. “So wet,” he mutters again, his voice low and rough, and the way his words curl around you sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. His thumb circles your clit, slow at first, almost unbearably light, and you can feel his breath against your cheek as you shudder. He presses harder, the pressure building, and you gasp, your hips jerking into his hand, chasing the friction you’ve been desperate for.

He shifts slightly, angling himself to slide his fingers deeper, and the stretch has your head falling back against the wall. His free hand finds your waist, steadying you as his thumb continues its torturous circles. Every stroke is calculated, precise, and his gaze stays locked on you, like he’s memorizing the way your body reacts to him. “Does this feel good?” he asks, his voice a low growl against your ear, and all you can do is nod, your breathless whimpers answering for you. He curls his fingers just right, the motion sending a shock of pleasure through you, and you cling to him, your body trembling as you lose yourself in the haze of his touch.

“Did you deal tonight?” Your voice comes out flushed, breathless, and trembling with the raw edge of desperation that clings to every syllable. The words spill out so frantically they’re barely coherent, your body trembling against his, your head spinning.

Jeno blinks, his brows pulling together in a deep frown. “What?” His confusion is palpable, his tone tinged with disbelief. “I don’t deal—what are you even talking about?” His hands flex against your waist, grounding you, but his narrowed gaze makes it clear he’s thrown by your question. “You know I don’t. I just know where to get stuff from.”

You’re not listening, not really. The rest of his words barely register, drowned out by the thrumming chaos in your head. “Do you have anything?” you press, the desperation in your tone sharpening into something raw and insistent. Your eyes search his face, wild and pleading, your grip on his shirt tightening as if you’re afraid he’ll leave without answering.

He hesitates for a moment, his concern warring with something else, but then he nods. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small bundle of baggies and pills. Tiny clear packets with crystalline powders, a couple of pills pressed into the shape of hearts, and even a sleek metal tin that holds a pre-rolled joint. You don’t give him time to explain, your shaking hands already snatching one of the baggies. The motion is frantic, reckless, and your fingers tremble as you tear it open. You don’t think—you barely breathe—as you dip your finger inside and press the powder to your nose, snorting sharply. The burn is instant, sharp and electric, sending a jolt through your body as your head tilts back against the wall.

“Baby…” Jeno starts, his voice low and uncertain, his brows furrowing as he watches you. He looks like he wants to stop you, but his words catch in his throat when you grab one of the pills. A small, pink heart-shaped tab rests on your palm, and you waste no time pressing it to your tongue.

“Here,” you murmur, your voice low, thick with need, the edges of your words slurred by the pulse pounding in your ears. Tilting your chin up, you let your tongue dart out slightly, the pill balanced delicately on it, a silent invitation hanging in the charged air between you.

Jeno freezes for a moment, his jaw clenching as his dark eyes flit between your face and the small heart-shaped tab on your tongue. Concern flashes across his features, a flicker of hesitation that doesn’t match the way his hands grip your waist, firm and grounding. “Baby, slow down,” he says softly, the rasp in his voice betraying the mix of unease and desire coursing through him. You don’t give him the chance to argue further. Your hands twist tighter into his shirt as you pull him down, your lips crashing into his with reckless urgency. The pill transfers between your mouths, your tongue tangling with his as his breath catches. His groan vibrates against you, low and unsteady, as he lets himself be swept into the frantic heat of your kiss.

The bitter tang of the pill lingers as the kiss deepens, consuming and frantic, each movement fueled by the energy crackling in the air. Your fingers clutch at him, desperate, almost clawing, as if anchoring yourself to the solid warmth of his body could steady the chaos swirling in your head. He doesn’t push you away, but there’s a tension in his movements—a cautious slowness to the way his hands slide up your back, as though he’s holding himself back. “Slow down,” he murmurs again, the words a broken whisper against your lips. But this time, his resolve falters, his grip on your waist tightening as his tongue brushes yours, the kiss growing hungrier. You can feel him give in, the groan that rumbles deep in his chest spilling over into the way his hands hold you.

The effects of the pill are slow at first, just a faint hum under your skin, but it builds steadily, weaving itself through your veins with an intoxicating heat. Your breaths come faster, shallower, the edges of the room blurring as your focus narrows to nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, the weight of his body pressing into yours. Jeno’s hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you deeper, slower now, like he’s trying to pace himself despite the heady haze beginning to settle over him. You feel the shudder in his breath when he pulls back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze flickers across your face, searching for something he can’t quite put into words. “You good?” he asks, his voice low, rough, and tinged with worry.

You nod quickly, too quickly, the sharp motion making your head spin. “I’m fine,” you whisper, though your voice doesn’t sound entirely convincing, even to yourself.

His eyes narrow slightly, studying you for a beat longer before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another pill. This one is blue, stamped with a tiny smiley face, and he holds it up between his fingers. “Last one,” he says, watching your reaction carefully.

You take it without hesitation, holding it to your lips before motioning for him again. He doesn’t hesitate this time, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. The kiss is slower, deeper, as if he’s trying to temper the frantic energy that’s been driving you. The pill dissolves between you, the faint bitterness mixing with the lingering taste of him. His hands roam your body, not in a heated rush, but with an almost protective urgency. One settles on your hip, grounding you as the other cups the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Baby, you’ve gotta take it easy,” he murmurs again, softer now, his forehead pressing to yours.

“I’m fine,” you insist, though the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes threaten to betray you.

Jeno exhales deeply, his hand slipping down to rest on your thigh, squeezing lightly as if to anchor you. “I’ve got you,” he says quietly, the reassurance in his tone steady and warm. “Tonight, I’ve got you. Don’t worry about anything.”

The promise in his words settles over you, a quiet comfort that steadies the chaos in your chest just enough to breathe. You nod, leaning into him, letting the weight of his hands and the steady beat of his heart against your chest pull you back from the edge. Even as the high begins to take hold, threading through your senses and making the room spin in soft, colorful waves, you feel the solid, grounding presence of him. He’s not just watching you—he’s taking care of you, his touch firm yet careful, his gaze never leaving you for too long. You don’t have to say a word to know he means it. Tonight, he won’t let you fall.

The air between you was taut, crackling with an intensity that made Jeno’s pulse hammer in his chest. He stood there, silent, watching you, taking in every sharp edge of your expression and the vulnerability you tried to mask beneath your defiance. It was so you—even like this, raw and unsteady, you clung to control with a ferocity that made it impossible for him to look away. His gaze flicked briefly to the desk, where the remnants of his stash lay scattered: crystalline powders shimmering faintly in the dim light, the edges of the baggies catching his attention like a warning. He knew it was dangerous, the way your eyes kept darting to it—restless, almost absent-minded. It wasn’t just about the drugs; it was the tension in you, the storm barely held together, and he hated that he couldn’t fix it outright. But he could feel it in his bones—tonight, you wouldn’t let him try.

“Eat me out,” you said, the words sharp and breathless, cutting through the silence with a weight that made his throat tighten.

His lips parted, but no sound came, the air between you thickening as his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He hesitated for half a second, not because he didn’t want to but because the desperation in your tone was unlike anything he’d heard before. But then your eyes met his, unwavering and wild, daring him to refuse you. He nodded, a slow and deliberate motion, his jaw clenching as he fought to steady himself.

It wasn’t enough for you. You stepped closer, your hands reaching for his wrists and guiding them with purpose. You placed them on your ass, your touch firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Eat my ass out,” you repeated, your voice softer now but filled with the same unrelenting command, the words dripping with heat.

The restraint he’d been clinging to snapped. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer with a force that made your breath hitch. His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss rough and consuming, all teeth and tongue and frustration. He groaned low in his chest, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that was almost punishing, like he needed you to feel just how far you’d pushed him. The kiss deepened, his hands sliding down to grip the back of your thighs. With effortless strength, he lifted you, his fingers digging into your skin as he maneuvered you toward the bed. The room blurred as he moved, the only thing grounding you the searing heat of his mouth and the unyielding hold of his hands.

You gasped into his mouth as he pushed you forward, the mattress dipping under your knees as he bent you over with little resistance. His hands were rough but steady, sliding over your ass and thighs as he positioned you exactly how he wanted, his body pressing against yours for a moment as though to remind you who held you in place. Your palms flattened against the sheets, your back arching instinctively, and you could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady. He was behind you now, his breath warm against the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing your skin with a possessive hunger that made your chest tighten.

Jeno’s hands were rough but sure, sliding up your thighs and over the curve of your ass as he adjusted your position. His fingers spread you wider, holding you steady as his breath ghosted over the back of your neck. “Say it again,” he rasped, his voice low and wrecked, the gravel in his tone making you shiver.

You didn’t hesitate. “Eat me out,” you said, the command in your voice clear, though it trembled at the edges. You pushed back against his hold, daring him even as you gave yourself to him.

Jeno clasps the vial in his hand, his fingers tightening around it as his jaw ticks. The tension in his body is visible—shoulders taut, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His eyes are glued to you, his gaze dark and heavy as it roams over the arch of your back, taking in the way you’re poised, waiting—your body practically begging for his attention, even if you’d never outright admit it.

“Pour it,” you say, your voice steady, firm, and laced with a heat that leaves no room for hesitation. “Along my back. Slowly.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering from your face to the vial in his hand. There’s a moment where his pride surfaces, a fleeting spark of defiance that’s quickly extinguished by the way you’re looking at him. His lips twitch into something close to a smirk as he murmurs, “You don’t need to tell me what to do.”

You roll your eyes, the motion quick and deliberate, but there’s a flicker of amusement in the way your lips curve. “I shouldn’t have to, but here we are,” you shoot back, your voice carrying just enough edge to make his jaw tighten. The teasing lilt that follows, though, is impossible for him to ignore. “What’s the matter? Need me to draw you a map, pretty boy?”

The words land like a spark to dry kindling, igniting something raw in him. His eyes drag down to the smooth expanse of your back, lingering on the way your skin glows faintly in the dim light, stretched taut with the soft arch of your body. The air between you feels heavier, hotter, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Jeno’s movements are unhurried, but there’s a palpable tension in the way his fingers grip the vial, knuckles white as though it’s the only thing grounding him. Tilting it carefully, he lets a fine stream of crystalline powder spill out, the particles catching the light as they cascade down your spine. The powder lands in a delicate line, highlighting the curve of your body as it trails lower, settling in the dip of your lower back before spilling onto the soft swell of your ass.

A low, guttural groan escapes him, raw and unrestrained, vibrating through the charged silence. He can’t help it—watching the way the powder clings to your skin, accentuating every dip and rise of your body, is intoxicating. His breath comes quicker now, uneven, and his hands twitch at his sides, his grip tightening around the vial like it’s the only thing keeping him from touching you. The sight of you, your body perfectly arched and waiting, is a torment he can barely withstand. His teeth graze his lower lip, his jaw flexing as he tries to control the ache building inside him. The heat pooling in his stomach is relentless, made worse by the way you shift slightly, the subtle movement drawing his attention to how effortlessly you hold his focus. You’re beautiful like this—devastating, deliberate, and utterly out of reach until he’s earned you.

“Keep going,” you murmur, glancing back over your shoulder, your voice low and dripping with command. “And don’t make me repeat myself.”

The sharpness in your tone sends another groan tumbling from his lips, his body reacting faster than his mind. He tips the vial again, the powder cascading down in another thin, deliberate line. His free hand continues to flex at his side, his fingers itching to touch you, but he doesn’t dare move without your permission.

“Good boy,” you purr, your lips curling into a smirk as you feel his breath hitch at the praise. The tension radiating from him is palpable now, his restraint fraying with every second. You shift slightly, the movement drawing his attention to the way the powder clings to your skin, accentuating every curve and dip.

“Now, clean it up,” you say, your voice soft but sharp, the command cutting through the tension like a blade. “And don’t waste a single bit.”

Jeno doesn’t hesitate—he can’t. The moment the vial is set aside, his focus narrows entirely to you, the curve of your back, the powder glinting faintly on your skin. His breath is heavy, uneven, as he leans in, his nose brushing along the line of powder that traces your spine. He inhales sharply, the crystalline powder disappearing as he snorts it clean, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his chest. The sound is raw, desperate, like he’s already drunk on the moment, and it vibrates against your skin, making your body jolt slightly beneath him.

He pulls back just long enough to take another line, his hands gripping your hips roughly, as if grounding himself in your body while he chases the high. The sharp inhale is followed by another groan, more wrecked this time, his lips brushing your skin as he exhales, hot and heavy. The powder is nearly gone now, but his lips and tongue take over, wet and rough as he drags his mouth along the faint trail that remains. His teeth graze the dip of your spine, biting down just hard enough to leave a sting before his tongue soothes the spot, his breath scorching as it fans over your skin.

By the time he reaches the small of your back, he’s practically trembling, the restraint in his body barely holding together. His nose presses against the powder that lingers there, snorting sharply, his groan spilling over into a growl as his fingers tighten their hold on your hips, pulling you closer to him. The sound of his breathing—harsh, animalistic—fills the room, each exhale brushing hot against your skin, each groan sending shivers racing down your spine.

When he finally snorts the last of it, his hands spread you wide, and his lips crash against the curve of your ass with a hunger that feels unrestrained. His tongue darts out immediately, rough and desperate, licking at your skin as if he’s trying to claim every inch of you. He groans louder now, the vibrations reverberating through your body as his mouth grows more frantic. He sucks at the soft flesh, his teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt, his lips pressing hard, like he’s trying to devour you.

He doesn’t stop to catch his breath—he can’t. His tongue moves lower, tracing the curve of your ass with an urgency that borders on reckless. His hands spread you wider, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh with bruising intensity, and his mouth follows, licking and sucking with wild abandon. When he reaches the sensitive skin just above your asshole, he pauses, his breath hot and ragged against you, and the anticipation makes your body tense.

“Good boy,” you purr, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction, the words cutting through the haze like a match to gasoline.

His groan is instant, guttural and wrecked, as if your praise alone has undone whatever shred of control he had left. Then he dives in, his tongue pressing flat against the tight ring of muscle before dragging upward in a long, rough stroke. He groans so deeply it feels like it shakes the air around you, his lips sealing over the spot as he sucks hard, the pressure making your breath hitch. He’s relentless, his tongue swirling, dipping, licking, sucking—you can feel the raw hunger in every movement, the desperation in the way his fingers dig into your skin, pulling you open even wider so he can bury himself deeper.

Jeno is completely lost in it now, the taste of you, the heat of you, the way your body trembles beneath him. His groans grow more guttural, more unhinged, as he works his tongue harder, his lips pressing wet and firm against you, his teeth grazing just enough to leave you gasping. He laps at you like a man starved, his hands rough as they grip and knead your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth, as though he can’t get enough.

“You taste so good,” he mutters, his voice thick and wrecked, the words trembling with a raw, unfiltered hunger as he presses deeper, harder, his breath ragged against your skin. Your body jolts as his tongue drags again, rougher now, his lips sealing over you in a way that feels possessive, desperate, his groans muffled but constant. He’s not just licking or teasing—he’s taking you, every movement filled with a hunger so raw it sends heat pooling in your stomach. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin, and when you gasp, he soothes it with another long, deep lick, his groan low and primal.

He pulls back just long enough to catch his breath, his hands spreading you even wider as his lips press against you again, wetter, rougher, hungrier. “Can’t get enough of you,” he growls, his voice thick with desperation and then his tongue is back on you, working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. Every stroke, every groan, every desperate press of his lips feels like it’s unraveling you, dragging you deeper into the haze of him, until all you can feel is the heat of his mouth and the rough, unrelenting way he worships you.

Your body trembles violently, the relentless pressure of his tongue pushing you over the edge. It’s sharp and overwhelming, a blinding heat that shoots through every nerve as your muscles tighten, your back arching instinctively. Your moans spill out in broken gasps, your fingers clawing at the sheets, barely able to ground yourself as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you raw and breathless.

Jeno doesn’t slow down, his mouth still locked on you, drawing out every last ounce of your release until your thighs quake and your body sags forward, boneless and trembling. His groans vibrate against your skin, his tongue sweeping one final time before he pulls back, his breath hot and heavy against you.

As the haze of your climax fades, you turn toward him, sitting back slightly on your heels. The sight of him steals what little breath you’ve managed to recover—his face is flushed, his lips swollen and slick, his pupils blown wide, a glassy, dazed look clouding his gaze. The high has fully claimed him now, written across every inch of his expression, but it’s the unrestrained hunger still burning in his eyes that makes your stomach twist with heat.

Reaching down, you tangle your fingers into his damp hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan softly as you guide him closer. His breath ghosts over your skin, his mouth brushing lightly against you as your voice cuts through the heated silence. “There’s more,” you murmur, your voice dripping with a dark, teasing edge as you tilt your head, reaching for the vial again. This time, you tip it with deliberate slowness, the fine powder cascading down the curve of your chest, settling perfectly between your breasts before trailing along the flat plane of your stomach. “You see that?” you taunt, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling his face just close enough to feel your warmth but not touch. “You want it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he groans, his voice raw and unsteady, thick with desperation as his gaze locks on the powder shimmering on your skin.

“Then take it,” you command, leaning back slightly, arching your chest forward just enough to push his restraint to its breaking point. “But don’t make me regret letting you.” You lower yourself to the floor, the cool surface pressing against your skin in sharp contrast to the heat coursing through your body. You slide down slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact with Jeno as you settle back on your heels. The light sheen of sweat glistening on your body catches the dim glow of the room, accentuating every curve as you shift.

You lean back against the cool tile floor, your weight supported by your hands before you let your arms relax, fully surrendering to the sensation as your head rests against the hard surface. Jeno shifts, his knees sliding between your legs until his body presses against your thighs, straddling them with a deliberate closeness that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. Your hand tugs sharply at his hair, guiding him lower, his movements grow bolder, hungrier, his mouth pressing into your skin with a heat that sends a shiver through you.

He leans forward, his breath heavy against your skin as his tongue traces the fine, glittering trail of powder down the curve of your chest. The first swipe is tentative, reverent almost, like he’s savoring every granule. He lingers at the valley between your breasts, his tongue pressing deeper as his lips graze your skin.

When he pauses, his hands trembling against your sides, you tighten your grip in his hair, pulling just enough to tilt his head up. “Suck,” you command, your voice steady and low, the authority in it leaving no room for hesitation.

His lips close over your nipple immediately, the heat of his mouth sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. A gasp escapes your lips, but you don’t let it distract you. Instead, you guide him, your fingers curling tighter in his hair. “Good boy,” you murmur, the words dripping with satisfaction as his tongue flicks against the sensitive peak. “Just like that. Suck harder—make me feel it.”

His groan vibrates against your skin, raw and desperate, as he obeys. His lips tug harder, his tongue swirling with more intent, like he’s desperate to please you, to hear you say more. You lean back, the cool tile pressing against your back as your head rests against the floor. The contrast between the cold beneath you and the heat of his mouth on your chest sends a shiver down your spine. You arch into him slightly, feeling the way his mouth works, his focus absolute.

“Use your tongue more,” you instruct, your voice soft but firm, as your grip in his hair tightens just enough to guide him. “That’s it—don’t miss a single spot.”

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin, laced with a trembling edge that feels rare, almost fragile. His lips linger, brushing lightly over you as his hands remain steady, strong, yet hesitant. “I just want to make you feel good,” he adds, the words thick with need, his breath warm against your body.

Jeno rarely questions himself—his confidence is effortless, his touch always sure. But tonight, it’s different. The need to make you feel good isn’t just a desire; it’s something deeper, something that drives every movement, every kiss, every glance. He’s hyper-focused, completely in tune with you, watching the way your body shifts, the way your breath hitches, like he’s memorizing the map of your pleasure.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to watch him, his lips glistening as he moves from one breast to the other, his tongue teasing the powder away. “You’re doing just fine, pretty boy,” you praise, letting the words slip out like silk, sending another groan from deep in his throat.

But when his hand starts to wander, his fingers brushing dangerously close to the heat between your legs, you tug sharply at his hair, pulling his head back just enough to meet his gaze. “Keep your hands where they are,” you warn, your tone sharp, your eyes narrowing as his chest heaves. “You don’t get to touch unless I say so.”

“Yes,” he breathes, his voice breaking slightly as his hands retreat back to your sides. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”

“Good boy,” you purr, tugging his head back down toward your chest. “Keep sucking. Maybe, if you’re good enough, I’ll suck your cock.”

His groan is guttural, his lips latching onto your nipple again with renewed desperation, his tongue working harder, swirling and flicking as his lips tug with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

You hum softly, arching into the heat of his mouth, your nails digging lightly into his scalp. His lips latch onto your nipple again, tugging harder this time, and the sharp pull of pleasure forces a low gasp from your lips. His hands tighten against your sides, trembling slightly as he fights the urge to move them lower, every touch filled with a desperation he can’t control.

His tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, dragging and circling before sucking deeply, and your head tips back against the tile, a quiet moan slipping free before you can stop it. “Fuck, Jeno,” you murmur, the sharp edge of approval in your voice only spurring him on.

But when his teeth graze you, a little too rough in his eagerness, you tug sharply at his hair, pulling his face back just enough to make him look at you. His lips are swollen, glistening, his pupils blown wide with need. “Not so hard,” you warn, your tone firm but low, almost a purr. His breathing stutters, his nod quick and obedient as he adjusts, leaning back in with more care.

“That’s it,” you murmur, your fingers threading through his hair again, guiding him back to your chest. His lips close over you, sucking slower now, each drag of his tongue deliberate, and a satisfied hum escapes you. “Good boy. Just like that—don’t stop.”

He groans softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, and you feel the tremor in his hands as they flex against your waist. His mouth works tirelessly, shifting from one breast to the other, his tongue circling and flicking in perfect rhythm, each movement driving you higher.

“Please,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled and raw, a tremor in his tone as his lips move to the swell of your other breast. “You taste so good… I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

Your smirk deepens, your body arching slightly as his tongue lingers too long, his groan muffled as he loses himself in the moment. “You’ve been so good for me tonight,” you murmur, tilting his head just enough to meet your gaze.

His hips jerk slightly at your words, a ragged groan spilling from his lips as he nods, his tongue swirling harder now, his lips tugging in just the right way to make your breath catch. His hands dig into your waist, his restraint fraying as he presses closer, desperate for more. Your grip tightens in his hair, pulling him back slightly, his lips parting as he pants softly, his gaze flickering with a mix of frustration and need. “Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, your voice sharp but laced with amusement, watching as his brows furrow, his pride flaring in response.

The challenge ignites something in him, and he leans back in without hesitation, his tongue flicking faster, more intentional, his lips pressing harder, drawing a sharp gasp from you. “That’s more like it,” you murmur, your nails grazing his scalp as he moans against your skin, the sound low and desperate, his every movement filled with a need to please.

“Good boy,” you purr, your voice softer now as you feel the tremble in his hands, his body completely at your mercy. He groans again, his lips and tongue working tirelessly, worshiping every inch of your chest like he’s never wanted anything more, and you let him—because tonight, he’s entirely yours.

“Did you get it all?” you ask, your voice dripping with a teasing sharpness as you tilt your hips, the curve of your body brushing firmly against his lips. The motion pulls a groan from deep in his chest, raw and muffled as his tongue falters for a moment before resuming. His mouth moves with urgency, sucking harder now, the wet heat of his tongue dragging over your skin like he’s trying to leave nothing behind. “I don’t like waste, Jeno. Make sure every bit of it’s gone.”

“Yes,” he murmurs finally, his voice wrecked and uneven, each word trembling as though it’s been dragged out of him. “I got it all.”

“Good,” you say, your tone firm but taunting, your smirk deepening as you straighten, pulling yourself back. His lips leave your skin reluctantly, his breath heavy, uneven, his hands twitching at his sides like he’s desperate to touch you. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you reach down, gripping his jaw with just enough force to keep his eyes on yours as you tilt his face up.

Jeno’s gaze softens as he looks up at you, his lips still lingering against your skin, the heat of his breath brushing over you. Even after everything, the traces of stress, the weight of your lingering emotions, haven’t fully melted away. He knows you too well, every flicker of tension etched into your features despite the haze of satisfaction clouding your eyes.

He shifts slightly, his thumb brushing against your hip, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. There’s one last idea forming in his mind, something he knows might break through the last remnants of your mood. Leaning back just enough to meet your eyes fully, he tilts his head, his voice low but teasing as he asks, “Did Jihyo still give you the keys to her bar?”

Your brows furrow for a moment, but the corner of your lips betrays you, twitching upward as you bite back a grin. “Why?” you ask, the hint of amusement creeping into your voice. “You said you wouldn’t go.”

“I changed my mind,” he replies, his chuckle warm and low, tinged with the satisfaction of watching your spirits lift. He can see the shift in your expression, the tension easing slightly as curiosity takes over.

“Seriously?” you laugh, shaking your head. “How are you gonna go now? You’re just gonna leave the party you’re throwing?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice dripping with smug confidence, the grin spreading across his face as he watches your amusement bubble over. It’s easy for him—effortless—to turn the weight of your emotions into something lighter, something brighter. And in this moment, he’d do anything to see you smile again.

The emptiness of Jihyo’s bar was striking. It had been stripped of its usual vitality, the space felt hollow, the quiet amplifying every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. The neon signs scattered across the room flickered weakly, their glow casting fragmented, saturated light on the walls. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely silent, interrupted only by the faint hum of electricity, the muted bassline of music from the far end of the bar, and the distant clink of ice settling in abandoned glasses. Jeno moved through the space like he owned it. His presence carried a kind of mischievous intensity tonight—an undercurrent of heat that buzzed between you every time he looked your way, his heavy-lidded eyes darkened with something playful yet dangerous. When he stopped in front of a small alcove off to one side, you hesitated. Jeno tilted his head, flashing you a grin as he gestured to the small, private “tattoo” station tucked away like a secret. “Come on,” he said, his voice low, inviting, and impossible to resist.

You stepped forward, the sound of your heartbeat growing louder in your ears. The station had a reclined bench that looked sturdy, supplies were scattered across the small counter beside it: gloves, ink pots, and sheets of paper with half-finished designs. The angle of his jaw caught the light, sharp and precise, as he picked up the tattoo machine. You shifted with uncertainty, lowering yourself onto the bench. The leather creaked under your weight, cool against your skin as you leaned back. Your eyes flicked to him, heart pounding in your chest as his gaze locked on you. “Jeno,” you started, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and something far more dangerous—arousal. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” he countered without missing a beat, his grin widening, dangerous and playful in equal measure.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped at his tone. “I can’t believe you don’t have a tattoo,” he continued, his words teasing as he leaned closer.

“I do have one—” you began to protest.

But he cut you off, voice dipping low as he murmured, “Baby, I’ve seen every inch of your body.” His words sent a shiver racing through you, the heat of his gaze almost unbearable. “Trust me,” he added, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk, “I’d know if you had a tattoo.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you shift on the bench, reluctantly turning to reveal the faded smiley-face tattoo just below the curve of your ass on your thigh. It’s small, old, barely noticeable, but it feels like a spotlight is shining on it under his gaze. The second his eyes catch it, his snort breaks the silence, low and teasing. “That’s such a lame tattoo,” he says, the humor in his tone biting but not cruel.

You bristle, warmth creeping up your neck as you move to turn away, your body shifting defensively. “Shut up,” you grumble, trying to pull your leg out of his view. The embarrassment prickles under your skin, but before you can get far, his hand shoots out, firm but not forceful, gripping your thigh and keeping you exactly where you are.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, tinged with something heavier that makes your stomach flip. The possessiveness in his gaze as his fingers press into your skin is almost enough to wipe away your embarrassment. Almost. “Relax,” he says, his grip steady as he leans forward slightly, his other hand finding your lower back and pressing there with just enough pressure to make you stay still. His touch burns, firm and deliberate, and the weight of it sends heat pooling low in your belly. “I know where I want to give you a real one.”

“You’re so—” you start, your words trailing off as his thumb brushes over your lower back, tracing small circles that make your breath hitch. Your body betrays you, leaning into his touch even as your mind tells you to play it cool.

“I’m what?” he asks, his smirk widening, the teasing edge in his tone almost unbearable. He tilts his head, his eyes flicking between your face and the tattoo, still visible just beneath the hem of your shorts. “Come on, baby, say it.” You don’t answer, can’t answer, the ache between your thighs making it impossible to think straight. He lets the silence hang, his grip on you unyielding, and you know that as much as you might pretend to resist, you’re already his to unravel.

Your pulse pounds, loud in your ears, as his gloved fingers skim the curve of your lower back, testing the spot with deliberate precision. Goosebumps rise across your skin, every slight shift in his touch sending sparks up your spine. You can feel his breath, warm and unsteady, fanning over you in shallow bursts. The reality of what’s about to happen—letting Jeno mark you, permanently—is both terrifying and thrilling. The permanence of it, the faint hum of the tattoo machine, the undeniable heat building between you—it’s a heady cocktail of fear, desire, and reckless surrender. “You’re shaking,” Jeno murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a softness to it that grounds you despite the tension tightening in your chest.

“Maybe because this is insane,” you manage to say, your voice trembling as much from nerves as from the heat of his hand pressing into your skin. “What if I regret it?”

“You won’t,” he replies simply, his grin tilting into something playful but dangerous, his confidence unwavering. “I know you. You’ll love it.”

Your heart stutters at his words, at the unspoken truth threading between them: he does know you. Better than anyone, better than you even want to admit to yourself. And that’s why this moment feels so heavy, so charged. It’s not just about the tattoo—it’s about the control he exerts over you, the way he knows exactly how to push you to your limits and make you crave it.

His fingers trace slow circles against your lower back, right where the tattoo will go, and your mind flashes to a memory so visceral it makes your breath hitch. “You literally had me on the floor eating your ass out and doing lines from your ass,” he says, blunt and completely unapologetic, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. He doesn’t even try to soften it—doesn’t have to. Instead, he wiggles his eyebrows with a playful cockiness that only he could pull off.

“Something I’d definitely do again,” he adds casually, the words dripping with a teasing confidence that makes your stomach flip. “But that’s not the point.” His gaze sharpens as he leans closer, his voice dipping lower, laced with intent. “The point is, I should get to tattoo you now.”

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the burn of your cheeks as you perch on the edge of the reclined bench, your back half-bare, your top pulled up just enough to expose the curve of your lower back. “Will you at least tell me what you’re going to tattoo on me?” you ask, your voice breaking slightly as you try to cling to some semblance of control.

Jeno hums, leaning closer until his breath tickles your ear, his tone smooth and maddeningly calm. “No. Just trust me,” he says softly, his lips just grazing the edge of your jaw as he pulls back. “You’ll love it.”

Your mind reels, caught between the exhilaration of what you’re about to do and the weight of knowing this is forever. But it’s Jeno. The one person who’s always known exactly how to push you, how to coax you into giving him every part of yourself without regret. The fear morphs into something else entirely, a reckless acceptance that tightens your chest as you nod, biting your lip to keep the growing smile at bay. “You’re gonna owe me for this,” you say, trying for defiance, but the tremble in your voice betrays your excitement.

Jeno’s grin sharpens, his hand pressing more firmly against your back as he tilts your chin with his other hand, forcing you to look at him. “Baby,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into something dark and honeyed, “if anything, this is me doing you a favor.”

His touch slows at the base of your back, where the curve begins just above your ass. He pauses, fingers pressing lightly, testing the spot. You glance over your shoulder, catching a flicker of concentration in his expression, his brow furrowed slightly as he leans in. His hands are steady, the lines of his forearms taut and flexing as he adjusts the angle. The sharp buzz of the machine cuts through the air, startling you. You flinch instinctively as the vibration jolts through your body, sending your nerves into overdrive. Your breath catches, chest tight, as your heart slams against your ribs. The anticipation feels overwhelming—too sharp, too much—and panic begins to bubble beneath the surface.

But then Jeno’s voice breaks through, low and steady, the softness of it grounding you instantly. “Hey,” he murmurs, leaning closer so you can feel his breath brush against your temple. “I got you, baby. Try to relax.” His words are a balm, warm and intimate, and you find yourself exhaling shakily, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. His hand moves from the machine to your lower back, gloved fingers brushing lightly over your skin, the touch firm yet gentle as though anchoring you. “Breathe for me,” he whispers, his tone impossibly delicate, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, gripping the edges of the bench with white-knuckled intensity, trying to steady yourself. The hum of the machine vibrates against your ears as the needle tip presses to your lower back, and you can’t stop the sharp intake of breath as the first sting bites into your skin. “Shhh,” Jeno soothes, his free hand sliding up to rest just above your hip, a steadying presence. His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles, a silent reassurance that you’re not alone. “It’ll only hurt for a second,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that it feels like a secret meant just for you.

The sting deepens as he begins to work, the vibration traveling through your body in waves, strange and intimate in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Each press of the needle blurs the line between pain and pleasure, sending sparks of heat low into your belly that make it impossible to focus on anything but him. You try to steady your breathing, but every sensation feels heightened: the sharp pinch of the needle, the hum of the machine that seems to echo through your bones, and the occasional swipe of his gloved hand to clear away excess ink. His touch lingers just a second too long, firm and possessive in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

Your breathing hitches, and Jeno notices instantly, leaning closer again. “You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing lightly against your ear as he speaks. His voice is calm, soothing, the teasing edge from earlier entirely replaced by something softer.

“Nearly done,” he whispers, his tone low and steady, the vibration of the machine cutting through the air. The sound mixes with the distant thrum of music from the bar, but it’s his presence—his touch, his voice—that keeps you tethered. Even as the sting deepens, the intimacy of the moment is what consumes you, leaving you breathless and raw, utterly captivated by him.

The machine falls silent as he switches it off, the sudden quiet amplifying the pounding of your heart. He sets the device aside with practiced ease, his movements deliberate, before picking up a cloth to wipe away the excess ink. His touch is careful, almost reverent, but the slight drag of the cloth over your sensitive skin makes you shiver. The sting is sharper now, the fresh ink throbbing against your skin, but it’s overshadowed by the heat of Jeno’s presence. He leans in, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the spot just above the bandage. The tenderness of the gesture sends a jolt through you, and your entire body reacts—goosebumps rising, your breath hitching.

You twist around to face him, still perched on the edge of the seat. He reaches for his phone, the movement slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. He angles the screen toward you, showing you the photo he just snapped of the fresh tattoo. The lighting is dim, streaked with the flickering red and blue neon, but the ‘23’ on your lower back is unmistakable. Jeno’s jersey number—his mark—is now etched into your skin. It’s bold yet elegant, perfectly sized, with sharp, clean lines that follow the curve of your spine. The ink sits right above the dip of your ass, a brand that’s both subtle and impossible to ignore, claiming you in a way that feels intimate and irreversible.

You stare at the image, your breath catching in your throat as your chest tightens. The realization of what you’ve done—what Jeno has done to you—hits all at once. Your lips part in a gasp, but no words come out, the weight of the moment rendering you completely still. It’s more than just a tattoo. It’s his tattoo, his number, a mark that ties you to him forever. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, the significance of it sinking in with a dizzying mix of shock and arousal.

Jeno’s gaze never leaves you. He’s attuned to every flicker of emotion that crosses your face, the subtle changes in your expression, the way your breathing quickens. For a split second, his grip on your waist tightens, his voice soft but edged with curiosity. “What is it?” he asks, his tone quieter now, laced with a tenderness that catches you off guard.

But then you smile—soft, girlish, so radiant it makes his chest tighten. The tension in the air shifts as the corners of your lips curve into a grin that feels impossibly sweet, and for a moment, Jeno forgets to breathe. The contentment that washes over him is visible in the way his shoulders relax, his eyes softening as he watches you.

“You like it,” he states, his voice low and confident, though there’s a hint of vulnerability beneath his words.

“I love it,” you whisper, your fingers brushing lightly against the fresh ink.

He leans in, pressing his lips softly to yours, the kiss unhurried but laced with meaning. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I know your birthday’s on the 23rd,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, “but this tattoo isn’t for your birthday.”

“It’s for me,” he says, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk that’s equal parts teasing and serious. His chuckle is soft, almost indulgent, as he adds, “But hey, it can mean your birthday too, if that makes you feel better. The real reason?” His fingers press into your waist, his grin widening. “I think it’s hot. I want my jersey number on you. Permanently.”

The raw honesty in his voice sends a thrill through you, your stomach flipping as the heat between you spikes. You exhale shakily, your hands slipping to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “I can’t believe I just got your number on my body,” you murmur, your voice trembling but edged with excitement.

“Believe it,” he says, his tone thick with satisfaction, his fingers tightening against your skin. His lips brush yours again, but this time, there’s an unspoken promise in the way he kisses you, slow and deliberate. When he pulls back just slightly, his eyes lock on yours, the intensity in his gaze leaving you breathless. “You’re mine,” he adds, his voice low and wrecked.

A low, broken moan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, as his words strike deep, igniting something primal and consuming in your chest. The heat between you surges, impossible to ignore, and your hand fists in his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that’s all hunger and desperation. His mouth crashes against yours, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, the kiss messy and rough as the weight of everything you’ve done vibrates between you. The sting of the fresh tattoo sharpens against your back, but it only fuels the feverish intensity, the ache blurring into pleasure as Jeno’s hands grip your waist with bruising force. His body presses against yours, heat radiating from him as his lips move with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. You bite at his bottom lip, a soft growl rumbling from his chest in response, his hands sliding lower, gripping harder as though he’s anchoring himself to you.

The neon lights overhead strobe against your skin, streaking you in flashes of red and blue, but the world beyond this bubble feels inconsequential. The only thing that matters is the way Jeno moves against you, rough and possessive, as if he’s branding you all over again, this time with his touch. The weight of his presence is suffocating in the best way, tethering you to him in a way that feels wild, reckless, and completely right. The air around you thickens, electric and heavy, every breath shared between you charged with an unspoken promise. His lips trail down to your jaw, nipping sharply before finding your neck, the scrape of his teeth followed by the searing heat of his tongue. You gasp, your back arching into him despite the sting, your nails dragging along his scalp as if to pull him closer still.

Adrenaline and desire swirl together, making your head spin, every nerve in your body buzzing with the need for more. The thought of leaving crosses your mind—a quieter place where you could rip each other apart without restraint—but even now, tangled together in this dark, neon-drenched corner, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Jeno’s mark isn’t just a tattoo—it’s a declaration, a claim that courses through you with every rough kiss, every desperate touch, binding you to him in a way that feels raw and unshakable. The permanence of it sinks in with every beat of your heart, and all you can think about is the promise etched into your skin, the unrelenting need for everything he’s willing to give you.

When the hum finally dies away, the world around you sharpens, shifting with surreal clarity. The bar like a dreamscape, unnervingly quiet but buzzing with an undercurrent of electricity that made every step feel significant. The usual chaos—the clink of glasses, bursts of laughter, the pulse of bodies moving together—was replaced with a surreal stillness. Neon lights flickered across the empty dance floor, their saturated glow reflecting off polished surfaces, painting the space in streaks of red, blue, and green. The ambient hum of electricity filled the air, soft but present, the faint bassline of a low, pulsing beat vibrating through the floor. You made a mental note to thank Jihyo endlessly for letting you have this place tonight—it felt like the entire world had been handed to you on a platter, a lawless playground meant only for you and Jeno.

“Come on,” you said, tugging Jeno by the hand, he settled on a plush lounge couch positioned just off the stage, leaning back with an ease that only amplified the heat between you. His legs spread slightly, his posture exuding a mix of dominance and unbothered confidence. He lit a cigarette—or maybe it was a joint, you couldn’t quite tell—and the curl of smoke around his lips made your stomach flip. His eyes, heavy-lidded and glinting with that feral edge you knew too well.

You didn’t hesitate as you climbed onto his lap, straddling one of his thighs. The fabric of his pants was coarse against your bare skin, the warmth radiating from his body making you shiver. Kneeling on the couch, your knees dug into the cushions as you adjusted yourself, pressing your core firmly against the thick muscle of his leg. Jeno’s free hand rested on your thigh, his fingers curling slightly, possessive, as his touch burned into you. His other hand still held the cigarette, its ember glowing faintly, but his focus was entirely on you now. The way his chest rose and fell in deliberate breaths told you just how much restraint he was clinging to.

Slowly, you began to move, your hips grinding against his thigh with a deliberate rhythm. The friction was immediate, sharp and tantalizing, as you found just the right angle to send jolts of heat spreading through your core. Jeno’s hand on your thigh tightened, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. He leaned forward slightly, his breath ghosting over your jaw as his lips brushed close but never touched.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. “So desperate, baby.”

The words made you whimper, a sound you hadn’t meant to let slip, and you buried your face in his neck to hide the flush creeping up your chest. But the sensation of his thigh flexing beneath you, firm and unyielding as you rode him, was overwhelming. The sting of the tattoo on your lower back pulsed with every movement, a reminder of the mark he’d left on you, of how much further you’d let him in. Your hands found their way to him, one bracing against his shoulder while the other slipped lower, pressing firmly against his crotch. The heat of him was undeniable, even through the fabric, and the way he twitched beneath your palm sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing over you. You squeezed him lightly, savoring the way his breath hitched against your ear.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained now, the earlier amusement in his tone replaced by raw need. “Keep going.”

You didn’t need the encouragement; you were already lost in the sensation of him, the rough texture of his pants dragging against your slickness, each grind of your hips sending sharp pulses of pleasure through you. Your hand on his cock worked in time with your movements, your fingers curling to press just enough to make him groan. His free hand trailed up your side, gliding over the curve of your waist before settling on your lower back, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of your fresh tattoo.

“You’re so fucking needy,” he whispered, though his voice cracked slightly, betraying just how much you were unraveling him. His lips finally found your jaw, grazing your skin with his teeth before he kissed the corner of your mouth, sloppy and demanding. “Always need me to ruin you, huh?”

You didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Your hips rolled harder, chasing the friction, your movements growing more erratic as the tension in your body coiled tighter. The slickness between your legs soaked through the fabric of his pants, and the faint wet sound of it only spurred you on. The bar felt far away now, the distant hum of music and the occasional crackle of the neon signs blending into the background noise of your shared breaths and low, guttural sounds.

Jeno’s cigarette had been abandoned somewhere, forgotten as his hands grabbed at you with more urgency. He hooked an arm firmly around your waist, his strength steadying you as you ground against him with increasing desperation. His other hand covered yours where it worked over his cock, his fingers pressing yours down harder, guiding you to grip him tighter. His gaze burned into yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide as he rasped, “You don’t even know how good you look right now, do you?”

His words sent a shockwave through you, and you whimpered again, pressing your forehead to his as your hand worked him faster, feeling him grow impossibly harder beneath your palm. Your movements became erratic, your breaths coming in sharp pants as the friction against his thigh sent sparks shooting up your spine. The edges of your vision blurred, your body trembling as the heat between you reached a fever pitch.

“Jeno,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your voice breaking with need.

He groaned in response, his fingers digging into your waist as his lips found yours again, desperate and consuming. The kiss was messy, full of teeth and tongue, your breaths mingling as the tension between you threatened to snap. His hand slid back to your ass, guiding your movements with a rough possessiveness that only made you push harder against him. A soft, breathy moan escaped your lips as your forehead pressed to his, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a vice. The tension in your body was unbearable, trembling under the weight of it all. “I can’t get enough,” you whispered, your voice breaking with desperation as you clung to him. “I want you everywhere.”

Jeno groaned low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist, anchoring you against him as though he feared you might slip away. “Needy girl,” he murmured, his teasing tone softened by the unsteady edge in his voice. His restraint was unraveling, a thin thread barely holding him together as he matched your fervor.

But you didn’t let him finish whatever thought was brewing behind his dark, hooded eyes. Your hand moved with purpose, pressing firmly against his crotch, feeling the heat of him through the rough fabric of his pants. He twitched beneath your touch, the hardness there growing impossibly firmer as you applied more pressure. “Jen, please,” you half-whined, half-commanded, the words spilling out with such raw need that even you were startled by them.

His thigh flexed beneath you in response, the motion deliberate and firm, sending a jolt straight to your core. You ground against him harder, each roll of your hips dragging delicious friction that made your stomach tighten with the promise of release. Jeno’s smirk faltered, his jaw tightening, his gaze darkening to something almost primal. The tension in his body was palpable, his fingers gripping your waist with enough force to leave an imprint. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breaths uneven as though grounding himself in your shared closeness.

Above you, the faint crackle of a neon sign cast fleeting glimmers of color across your skin, the flickering light giving the moment an electric, almost surreal quality. It felt like the universe itself was conspiring to amplify the charge between you. Your hand shifted, brushing against his as you reached for the cigarette he still held. The ember glowed faintly in the dim room, and you took it from him with a boldness that made his lips twitch into a faint, approving smirk.

Your fingers brushed his, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary as you brought the cigarette to your lips. Inhaling slowly, the burn of the smoke filled your lungs, sharp and intoxicating, before you exhaled, letting the haze curl between you. Your breath mingled with his as you leaned in, catching his lips in a kiss that was messy and unrestrained. It was the kind of kiss that demanded everything—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, breaths stolen in the heat of it all.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, your voice trembling with unfiltered want. “I want you on every table here,” you panted, your words almost breaking under the weight of your need. “Every chair, every surface—it’s ours tonight.”

Jeno’s response was a groan that felt more like a growl, his grip on your waist tightening as his gaze flickered briefly to the tattoo on your back. His smirk returned, sharper this time, dripping with pride and something darker, something possessive. “Then let’s do it, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with confidence, each word laced with the promise of unrestrained chaos.

The promise sent a feral surge through you, your movements growing more erratic, more desperate. You rolled your hips against his thigh harder, chasing the friction that had your breath catching with every pass. The slickness between your legs spread, soaking through the fabric of his pants, and the wet heat of it all made his jaw clench, a guttural groan slipping past his lips.

His hands roamed over your body, rough and demanding, like he couldn’t get enough of you. They slid up your sides, over the curve of your ass, pulling you tighter against him as his lips brushed along your jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. Each touch, each shift of his body beneath you, only drove you further into the haze, your mind consumed by the singular need to feel more of him.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of your words struck like a thunderclap. “About you. About us. Everywhere, Jeno.”

His reaction was instant. He groaned again, the sound low and wrecked, as his hands gripped you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself against the storm of emotions swirling between you. Your head tipped back, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you felt the full intensity of his need mirrored in your own.

For a fleeting moment, logic tried to break through the haze. A small voice in the back of your mind wondered, Did you lock the door? What were the chances of anyone walking in? But it was quickly drowned out by the all-consuming heat. At 4 a.m., the bar felt like another world entirely, its emptiness amplifying the intimacy, the lawlessness of what you were doing. Who would possibly walk in?

Jeno’s lips found your ear, his breath hot and uneven as his voice rumbled low. “Don’t stop,” he said, the words soft but loaded with unspoken promises. “I want to see you lose yourself, baby.”

And you did. The world outside the dimly lit bar faded into nothing, the tension building to something unstoppable as your bodies tangled together. Every sound, every touch, every shared breath was magnified, the raw need between you swallowing everything else. Nothing else mattered—not the past, not the future—only the unrelenting desire to take and be taken.

Jeno’s kiss faltered suddenly, a harsh cough breaking through the heavy, lust-drenched air. His hands tightened instinctively on your waist as his body stiffened beneath you, every muscle locking up. The change in him sent an immediate jolt through you, a shock that severed the intimate haze clouding your mind.

“Jeno?” you asked softly, breathless, your chest still heaving as you tried to read his expression. But his focus wasn’t on you anymore—his eyes were fixed on something just past your shoulder, wide and dark, the kind of look you’d rarely ever seen on him. Alarm.

The air in the room shifted, thickened, no longer humming with the raw heat of moments ago but now tense and brittle. You turned slowly, your pulse hammering against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to prepare for something you didn’t yet understand.

That’s when you saw her. Karina.

She was standing in the open doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Her frame was slouched, her weight shifted unevenly from one foot to the other. Disheveled, dazed, and glassy-eyed, she looked like she’d barely managed to stumble in. The edges of her mascara smudged down her cheeks, her hair tangled and damp as if she’d walked through rain—or worse.

You froze completely, your breath caught in your throat. The once-closed door stood ajar behind her, and a chill from the night air began to creep in, mingling with the charged warmth still radiating from your body. “Karina?” The word came out shaky, more a question than an address. The stark vulnerability in your voice felt foreign, wrong, in contrast to the reckless, heated energy of just moments ago.

Jeno exhaled sharply, still beneath you, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “What the hell?” He blinked once, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced she was real, his concern flashing to the surface in that split-second. “Are you—are you okay?”

Karina didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t lash out, didn’t seem angry—her wide, unfocused gaze barely acknowledged the intimate chaos she’d walked in on. Her eyes darted over your half-dressed state, Jeno’s hands still loosely on your waist, the faint sheen of sweat glinting in the dim light. But she didn’t react, not in any way that you expected. Instead, she stepped further into the room, her movements awkward, as if each step might send her sprawling to the floor. She didn’t stop until she reached the couch beside you, her knees buckling slightly as she dropped into the seat with a graceless thud. Her hand reached out, and with a surprising steadiness, she plucked the joint from where Jeno had abandoned it, bringing it to her lips and inhaling deeply. She exhaled slowly, her breath trembling but her expression distant, detached, as though she were entirely alone in the room.

Your heart was pounding now, confusion and guilt twisting in your stomach. A moment ago, you were drowning in Jeno’s touch, devouring every part of him like the rest of the world didn’t exist. And now, the world was slamming back into focus—messy, complicated, and filled with questions you weren’t ready to answer. You scrambled to cover yourself, grabbing Jeno’s jacket from the floor and tugging it over your exposed shoulders. The oversized fabric hung heavy against your flushed skin, the cool leather a jarring contrast to the warmth still coursing through your body.

Jeno’s hand slipped from your waist, his body shifting upright with a fluid ease as his focus turned entirely to Karina. You stayed still, perched awkwardly on his thigh, unsure whether to move or stay put. His attention on her felt natural, instinctive, and it left you feeling suddenly out of place. The tension in his jaw was subtle, but it gave away more than his otherwise calm exterior. He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, his gaze locked on her as though trying to piece together the fragments of her disheveled appearance.

“Karina,” he said, his voice low but firm, carrying a mix of familiarity and concern that made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach. “What’s going on? You alright?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Her head tilted back against the couch, the joint balanced between her fingers as she took a slow drag. You watched the smoke curl around her face, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. She didn’t even glance your way, her entire focus seemingly pinned on the ceiling.

You stayed quiet, unsure of your place in this unfolding scene. You didn’t know her—not really. You only knew of her in passing, from things Jeno had mentioned here and there. They were close, you knew that much, and it showed in the way his concern for her seemed effortless, instinctive.

“What happened?” he pressed, his tone softening, but there was an edge of insistence beneath it. His body leaned closer to hers, his elbows digging into his knees as he searched her face. You stayed frozen, observing. She hadn’t acknowledged you, and you didn’t know what to say even if she did. The dynamic between her and Jeno was palpable, a natural rhythm you could only watch from the outside.

Her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the joint for another inhale, her gaze still fixed somewhere far away. When she finally exhaled, her voice broke through the haze, quiet and uneven. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The admission hit like a shift in the atmosphere, a weight settling over the room that made your chest tighten. Jeno’s brows pulled together, his expression flickering between confusion and worry as he straightened slightly. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

You glanced at him, watching the way his focus remained locked on her, his voice careful but persistent. He knew how to handle her, how to coax answers out of her without pressuring too hard. Your gaze drifted to her again, taking in the smudged makeup, the tear-streaked cheeks, the glassy look in her eyes. She was a mess, and yet she didn’t seem fragile—just lost. You wondered how many times Jeno had seen her like this, how many times he’d been the one she’d run to.

The thought sent a strange pang through you, not quite jealousy but something adjacent to it. The ease between them was undeniable, a closeness you couldn’t ignore, and it made you hyper-aware of how out of place you felt now.

“Can I just… stay here for a bit?” she murmured finally, her voice trembling as she slumped further into the couch.

Jeno nodded immediately, his tone low but firm. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

A flicker of irritation sparked in your chest at his easy response. Of course? You wanted to ask why he didn’t hesitate, why he didn’t at least glance at you before offering her this space—your space. The intimacy you had claimed just moments ago now felt intruded upon, and the weight of her presence gnawed at your already frayed nerves. You stayed silent, forcing yourself to watch as he sat back slightly, his shoulders easing in a way that made your stomach twist. He reached out and plucked the joint from her fingers, setting it aside with a casual familiarity that only stoked your unease.

A bigger question loomed in your mind, cutting through the swirl of emotions. How did she even find this place? The bar was closed, locked—except for the door you’d carelessly left ajar. But what were the odds that she’d stumble across it, that she’d walk in at this exact hour, interrupting this exact moment?

Your eyes flicked between Jeno and Karina, your confusion sharpening with every breath. She didn’t even seem aware of the implications, slumping deeper into the couch like she belonged there. You tried to suppress the sting of annoyance at how comfortable she seemed, the way Jeno’s focus on her was so natural, so immediate. You crossed your arms, trying to ground yourself against the growing tension. The bar felt smaller now, its once-lawless allure replaced with a suffocating unease. You didn’t want her here. You didn’t want her tears, her drama, or the way Jeno leaned into it with such ease, cutting through the fragile bubble you had built tonight.

Jeno glanced at you fully this time, his gaze heavy with unspoken words. His eyes softened, his brow furrowing slightly in a silent plea, as if to say, Don’t get jealous. Just… understand. The shadow of his concern was etched into every line of his face, and despite the irritation bubbling in your chest, you found yourself wavering.

You and Jeno exchanged quick, uncertain glances as Karina brought the joint to her lips again, her hands steady despite the glassy sheen in her eyes. Her movements were detached, almost robotic, as though she were trying to keep herself together but was moments away from unraveling completely. The tension in the air was unbearable, a tangled mix of leftover arousal, pity, and something uncomfortably close to shame.

Karina let out a heavy sigh, noticing your restless fidgeting and Jeno’s furrowed brow. Her lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “If you want to keep fucking around, just do it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and taking another drag. “Don’t stop because I’m here.”

Jeno’s tone was soft but steady, his concern evident as he leaned toward her. “Maybe we should get you home.”

Karina let out a bitter laugh, her voice breaking at the edges. “I have no home right now… or no one waiting.” She hesitated, her lip trembling, her voice growing quieter. “I—I don’t care.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, twisting the energy between the three of you into something neither of you knew how to address. Your earlier irritation shifted, the jealousy fading into the background as concern crept in, but it was far from clear-cut. Karina’s casual acceptance of your intimacy—her flippant suggestion that you should keep going as if she weren’t even there—sparked something darker, something you couldn’t quite name.

You could see the way her eyes flicked between you and Jeno, glassy and tired but undeniably curious, as though she couldn’t decide if she was appalled or… intrigued. The way her teeth caught on her lower lip for the briefest second didn’t escape you. And as much as you hated to admit it, the realization sent a sharp, heated jolt through you, adding another layer to the tangled mess of emotions swirling in your chest.

You shifted slightly, your thigh brushing against Jeno’s, and the simple contact sent your pulse racing again, the earlier tension refusing to fully dissipate. His hand moved instinctively to your waist, a grounding gesture that reminded you of what you’d been doing not minutes ago. The ghost of his touch lingered on your skin, the memory of his lips, his hands, still burning in the back of your mind.

The conflict was sharp, visceral. The logical part of you knew you should step back, insist on figuring out what Karina needed, but there was another part—a reckless, impulsive part—that couldn’t ignore the way the room felt charged. The leftover arousal mixed with Karina’s raw vulnerability and her strange, almost detached curiosity, creating an unsteady cocktail of emotions that left you reeling.

Karina slumped back into the couch, her head tipping against the cushions as she exhaled another long trail of smoke. Her presence felt like both an intrusion and an invitation, and you hated how the line between the two was beginning to blur.

Jeno’s hand on your waist tightened slightly, a small, grounding squeeze that sent your thoughts spiraling even further. When you glanced at him, his expression mirrored your own—conflicted, uncertain, but undeniably charged. For the briefest moment, his eyes flicked toward Karina, then back to you, and the unspoken tension between the three of you became impossible to ignore.

The shift in your mind was sudden, impulsive, and laced with a recklessness you couldn’t fully name. You didn’t want her here—at least, that’s what you’d told yourself—but some twisted part of you couldn’t ignore how the dynamic had shifted. The air between the three of you was suffocating, electric, and charged with something you couldn’t place, and as you watched her squirm, her thighs pressing together like she was trying to stave off some internal battle, the jealousy that once burned in your chest morphed into something else entirely. She wasn’t a threat, wasn’t competition—she was raw, broken, and undeniably dangerous in a way that made the moment feel even more precarious.

The air in the room was suffocating, thick with the haze of smoke and the weight of unspoken desires. Neon light spilled across the three of you in erratic, uneven flashes, painting the scene in streaks of red and blue, as though the room itself couldn’t decide if it wanted to warn you or indulge you. Karina sat slouched in her corner of the couch, the joint burning low between her fingers, her glassy eyes flitting between you and Jeno, her lips trembling with an unspoken need that felt like a scream trapped in her throat.

Jeno’s arm was still around your waist, anchoring you to him, the heat of his touch an undeniable tether to the moment you’d been lost in only minutes ago. His gaze flicked to you, then to Karina, and back again, a silent conversation in the lines of his expression that you couldn’t fully read. But you didn’t need to—everything was written in the tension crackling between the three of you like a live wire.

Jeno glanced at you again, his expression dark and searching, and for a moment, everything else melted away. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as his lips found yours. The kiss was feral, his tongue sweeping past your lips, wet and hungry, a performance for her as much as it was for the both of you. You moaned softly into his mouth, your body pressing harder against him, and when you broke away, gasping for air, you caught the way Karina’s gaze snapped to your lips, her breath hitching audibly.

Her reaction jolted you—a sharp, electric pulse of adrenaline tangled with something darker, something you didn’t want to name. It was in the tremble of her parted lips, in the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. Jeno’s eyes followed yours, his lips curling into the faintest smirk as he caught the same flicker of desperation, the same unraveling that held you transfixed.

“You want this?” you whispered, the words raw and daring, slipping out before you could stop them. They weren’t for Jeno, not entirely—they weren’t even fully for Karina. They were for the moment itself, a challenge to the fragile balance holding it all together.

The silence between you stretched, unbearably taut. Karina’s gaze darted between you and Jeno, her hesitation palpable, trembling on the edge of collapse. But then, she leaned forward, her lips parting further, the subtle invitation enough to send the entire room spiraling into chaos.

You moved first, closing the distance between you and her, the kiss tentative at first, testing the waters. Her lips were soft but uncertain, tasting of smoke and salt, the bitterness of whatever had broken her lingering beneath the surface. But when she whimpered softly, the sound a mixture of surrender and need, the kiss deepened. Her hand fumbled against your arm, unsure but seeking, as if she didn’t fully trust her own body.

Behind you, Jeno groaned, the sound guttural, raw, and it vibrated through you like a second heartbeat. His hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him as the other drifted toward Karina, brushing her leg in a way that made her gasp. The tension thickened to the point of suffocation, every movement, every sound, every flicker of touch pushing you further into a frenzy you couldn’t claw your way out of.

You pulled back from Karina, your breath hitching, and turned to Jeno. His gaze was molten, dark and consuming, and when your lips met his, the kiss was hard, possessive, his teeth catching your bottom lip as his grip on you tightened. The taste of Karina lingered faintly on your tongue, and when you felt her hand brush against your thigh, tentative but growing bolder, it sent a new surge of heat through you.

Without thinking, you broke away from Jeno and turned back to Karina. Her eyes glistened, her expression caught between hesitation and hunger, and you leaned in again, your lips brushing hers with more confidence now. Her response was shaky but eager, her fingers curling against your shoulder as if trying to steady herself. Jeno’s hands roamed between you both, firm and commanding, the weight of his touch grounding you even as it stoked the fire burning wildly out of control.

The three of you moved together as though bound by an invisible thread, instinct pulling you closer. Jeno’s mouth found yours again, then hers, the rhythm chaotic and feverish. His hands were everywhere—on your hips, Karina’s thigh, gripping and guiding with a possessiveness that made your breath catch.

Logic tried to claw its way to the surface, a faint voice in the back of your mind whispering about the unlocked door, about how easily this could shatter. But it was drowned beneath the tidal wave of sensation—the heat pooling low in your belly, the raw, primal energy of the moment, the unrelenting pull of mouths and hands and desperation.

“Don’t stop,” Karina murmured, her voice trembling, her eyes wide and glassy, wet with something that wasn’t quite tears. You didn’t. The three of you tangled together on the couch, every boundary blurred, every movement an act of reckless surrender. Jeno’s grip on your hip tightened, his thumb pressing into your skin as his gaze flickered between you and Karina, his lips curling into something halfway between a smirk and a gasp.

Your pulse thundered like war drums in a fogged-out world, each throb magnified by the dizzy blur of substances coursing through your veins. Jeno’s silhouette still consumed your periphery—dark, beckoning, perilous—and now another presence, Karina, lingered just behind him, a third figure equally ensnared in this vortex of flickering neon and whispered sin. every breath tasted of smoke and heady abandon, as though the bar itself pulsed with a collective hunger. In that swirling haze of illusions, where inhibitions melted into the pounding bass of blood and bassline, you found yourself standing on the threshold of something unthinkably carnal. The night seemed to recoil in hush, conspiratorial and electric, acknowledging the triad of bodies trembling in shared heat. Jeno’s gaze darted between you both, wild and ravenous, a silent dare passing among the three of you. It was a moment steeped in raw, pulsing want: unsteady laughter, sweaty palms, tongues stained with lust. You could feel the current draw you together, the beating of your heart syncing with theirs, forging an unholy connection that promised ecstasy or oblivion—or both.

When Jeno finally moved, it was like a catalyst igniting every dormant desire in that cramped, neon-lit space. The sticky floors and flickering sign overhead rendered inconsequential by the warmth of colliding bodies and clashing breaths. One taste became two, became a frenzy of desperate hands and open mouths, each caress weighed down by the delirium of chemicals and longing. You sensed the line dissolve between fear and euphoria, realizing with a heady rush that you’d passed the point of no return. Whatever boundaries once existed had been swallowed whole by the thrum of three hearts beating in reckless unison.

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

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xiuriii · 10 days ago

Text

did not proofread lol i was bored AND OMG IT POSTED EXACTLY AT 12:27 AM 😈😈

m&m.

1:27 am

the cold air was blowing through milia's hair. walking around and eventually coming to a stop, arms crossed and leaned forward. her white winter coat she'd gotten as a silly gift from her friends, they found it ridiculous that she lived in the Philippines yet always felt cold. taking a hit from her marlboro gold, she watched the city. quiet and asleep. the small town really lived up to it's name, and there, emilia felt the smallest. she wanted to leave, she wanted to go somewhere big and loud, bordering boisterous. she never felt right in this town, yet she knew deep inside she could never leave. deep inside her fast beating and warm heart, she loved this place. the way it could rain and shine at the same day, the way the road smelled after the rain, the way she knew every corner of the place, and how much she'd learned. her first steps, her first day at elementary school, her first time riding a jeep, her junior and senior high years, and the heartbreak and happiness she lived through in those very streets.

it all seems strange, that soon she'll be far, far from everything and everyone she'd known her all life, and only return when she needs laundry done or during the holidays. the universe had blessed her with all the blessings she could have, yet the love she was ready to receive and reciprocate only fed off her and her disgustingly romantic fantasies. but the universe had a way of playing things out.

it wasnt unfamiliar to milia, love that is. she loved and received love, yet none were successful, staying merely as attempts or ended as astronomical bombs that exploded right in her face. but ut changed when milia met mark.

mark. mark lee. the sweet guy with the glasses, nerdy, had messy hair and always stayed optimistic even in situations where everybody was ready to give up. the guy who only recently got his braces removed (everyone only started noticing his charm after) the guy whose smile created the prettiest dimples, the guy who had a mole sitting perfectly on his left cheek and neck. it was one of her favorite things about him. she always played with his moles, connecting them and calling them constellations of his own.

funny, milia thought. mark had his moles and milia. well, not literally the skin condition, but her. milia was common, harmless, small, and could leave on its own. just like the girl. she'd only realized her nickname was a skin thing a year ago after her friends had fooled around google, looking up anything they could think of. emilia was a normal girl, harmless, felt small, and could leave anything she wanted to and run, but without emilia, something doesn't feel right anymore, like something that had always been there had gone and it'll never be the same. just like milia.

she didnt want to leave the town because it would feel so real, that she was leaving behind her treasured memories and that boy from the neighboring school with that stupid mole she'll never forget. there she wondered, clouds of smoke surrounding her, if anyone would notice if she just ran away and never returned.

across town, mark was laying on his bed, feet up against the wall. his record player humming softly to the album he put on. senior year, graduation is two weeks away, and he was scared. scared that he didn't have an exact plan and routine during his upcoming university days, scared that he'll never catch up on school work and never make friends like he did in this small town that had 7/11 closing down at 8 o'clock. he's also scared that he would lose himself and the people he most loved to the distance. mark loved the quiet town and preferred it that way, and he wondered how exactly he would be like and feel like in the big city.

mark wanted nothing else than to graduate college and live the life he'd always wanted, flying around the world with his camera and only staying home for the architectural work he studied for, and to share this life with someone. at the moment, emilia was all mark could think about. sharing that life with milia with their two sons, a daughter, and a golden retriever in some rich neighborhood in the very town they were in. he loved the girl so much, he liked blinking to see your face on his mind, he started eating right and sleeping right, in hopes to see her in his dreams.

for now, they waited for each other. the party was over in two weeks and the real world was coming, but the couldn't bring themselves to worry, yet at the same time couldn't bring themselves to swallow the fact that the future could fuck things up soon, force them apart and ruin all they worked for. but through it all, they realized pessimism wasn't their style. so what if everyone and the universe pulls them apart? what matters most is that they saw each other through all the bullshit life has thrown their way, and that once upon a time, they were two teenagers who wanted nothing more than each other and made each other shine. moles and milia. marks on our bodies that some hate, yet for some it's their defining characteristic, something that makes us shine. they come and go like people do, but there are those that stick forever.

here's to hoping that one day, someone'll be the mole that sticks.

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xiuriii · 10 days ago

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m&m.

1:27 am

here's to hoping that one day, someone'll be the mole that sticks.

#mark lee #xiuri's writings #love #universe #mark lee nct #mark x oc #mark lee x oc #mark lee x reader #what the gyattttttt

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xiuriii · 16 days ago

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best friend's brother!jaehyun

masterlist

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xiuriii · 19 days ago

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POV | PREVIEW

━ ❝ i’d love to see me from your point of view.❞

❀ lee donghyuck x fem!reader ❀ genre - slow burn, fluff!, angst, optional smut (we got all the big 3 all in one haha) ❀ details - best friends to lovers!au, college!au, ft. best friend mark, slice of life?, inspo from pov by ariana grande ❀ expected word count - 10k + ❀ teaser word count - 532 ❀ warnings - swearing, a lot of alcohol consumption/unhealthy coping mechanisms, sfw kiss scene ❀ synopsis - Donghyuck gradually falls in love with you, his best friend, through unprecedented intimate moments that reveal more than what meets the eye and a drunken shared kiss on your birthday makes him realize how hard he’s fallen for you. You’re oblivious to it all, trying to indulge and seek a one true love through bad tinder hookups or men you meet at the club, all to only end in self doubt that Donghyuck has to reconcile. And he always tells you what you need to hear, while also leaving out the part where he so badly wishes you can love yourself the way he loves you.

a/n - thank u to everyone who voted in my poll a month ago!! here it is!! (the teaser anyways haha) i hope yall are excited for it to drop bc its literally something ive been so happy to write and just overall im whipped for a whipped hyuck LOL and also… wow im not writing a sfw fic thats just SAD FOR ONCE BAHAHA

release date - as i mentioned in my poll, this is going to be released on my birthday as my birthday fic. im turning 21 which is a big thing for me and just anyone in america really lmao so i wanted to gift everyone for just being able to celebrate it w me esp with being in quarantine.. with that being said, it will be released on January 12th, 2021.

lmk if you want to be on the taglist :) @infnteen ; @soliverse ; @tytae-24

READ: PART ONE / PART TWO

“You being here makes me happy enough.” Your hand drops to draw the covers over your shoulders and Hyuck lightly feathers a friendly kiss at the top of your head.

“I’m going to be here for a long time, y/n.” As if you two could get any closer, he fully encapsulates you in his strong arms and your hot bodies mold into each other as if they’re made for it. The welled up emotions in his heart confuses him, but he holds you like he has the whole world in his hands.

Keep reading

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xiuriii · 20 days ago

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YAYYY

back to you — two

pairing - lee jeno x reader

word count - 35k words

genre - smut, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

synopsis — you can’t stop thinking about that heated night you shared with jeno. the memory clings to you, leaving you on edge, but when you realize you want him too badly to pretend otherwise, you strike a deal with him—opening the door to secret motel stays and late-night dates. the more time you spend wrapped up in each other, the heavier your guilt grows. every move feels risky, especially as you juggle the need for jeno with the need to keep everything hidden.

chapter warnings — college au, small town vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content(18+), explicit themes, one tree hill inspired, early 2000s vibe, power play, dom reader/sub jeno dynamics (both switches tbh), rough sex, explicit language, deep-throating, nipple play, reader choked jeno, spitting, degradation, praise kink, fingering, intense grinding, overstimulation, unprotected sex, oral sex, different + softer side to both yn and jeno, creepy motel vibes, tension as always, push and pull dynamics, really cute date scene between yn and jeno, they move fast and if you think it’s too fast then please remember that it’s happening for a reason and that it’s for the plot!!! also jeno and yn may appear quite domestic in this but trust me <3 all will make sense. don’t expect it to last :)) hehe enjoy

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

The campus thrums like a living heart, each breath of crisp autumn air a pulse, pushing life through its veins and leaving the world trembling with quiet anticipation. The pathway stretches ahead, lined with towering trees that are both beautiful and unsettling, their branches shedding leaves like silent confessions. You walk through a mosaic of amber, crimson, and ochre underfoot, each crunch a jarring reminder of time slipping away. Students mill about in small clusters, their laughter ringing out like echoes of a simpler life. A flyer for an upcoming party flutters loosely on a lamppost, its edges curling in the wind, barely holding on—much like you feel you are. Somewhere in the distance, the sharp rhythm of a basketball bouncing on concrete interrupts the morning stillness, grounding the scene in a reality that feels foreign to your own inner turmoil.

The campus moves like a living organism, its pulse in the scrape of sneakers, its breath in the faint rustle of wind through leaves. Beside you, Nahyun exists effortlessly within it, her voice threading into the currents of sound, each laugh she releases sparking against the energy around her. You walk in her orbit but feel adrift, the world sliding past like water you can’t touch. The wind stirs the leaves into fractured patterns, their sudden, frantic swirls echoing the chaos buried beneath your carefully guarded exterior. They don’t fall neatly—they spiral, scatter, catch, like control slipping through your fingers, too fleeting to grasp and too beautiful to ignore.

Nahyun’s words come effortlessly, her laughter easy as she weaves through a conversation about campus gossip. “So, rumor has it,” she begins, her tone conspiratorial, “Jeno’s been in bed after bed since Areum dumped him. Bet the breakup wasn’t as mutual as he made it out to be.”

You glance at her, surprised by how sharp the comment cuts through your thoughts. “Didn’t Areum dump him?” you ask, trying to sound indifferent, though your voice betrays a flicker of curiosity.

She shrugs, raising an eyebrow at you like she can’t quite believe you’re interested. You’re not the one for campus gossip or drama, and she knows it. “I don’t know,” she says with a smirk, as if the details don’t matter. To her, it’s just another piece of entertainment.

To you, it barely registers—just another fragment of his reputation folding neatly into place. Of course, he’s been fucking other girls; it’s what he does, a script he knows by heart. The sex you had wasn’t an exception, just another scene in a story he’s told a thousand times. You tell yourself this, repeat it until the words feel smooth, rehearsed, like armor against the truth. But your resolve falters for a split second, a crack in the facade you didn’t see coming. Why would it have meant anything? He’s Jeno—the kind of person who burns through moments like they’re endless, never pausing long enough to see what he’s left behind. You shake your head, not at the thought of him, but at the absurdity of how easily people let themselves get caught in his orbit. It didn’t mean anything, and yet it lingers, faint as smoke, stubborn as a bruise.

It comes back in flashes, unbidden—the rough drag of his hands over your hips, fingers curling with purpose, his breath hot and ragged against your skin like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear. His voice lingers in your ears, low and dark, the kind of sound that wraps itself around you and doesn’t let go. You feel the heat of him again, the way it burned through the careful walls you’d built, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. The taste of his kiss, the weight of his body, the way he pressed into you as if the world outside didn’t exist—it’s all still there, etched into you like a brand. Even now, a week later, it claws at you, a phantom ache you can’t shake, unraveling the threads of control you’d held so tightly.

It’s been a week, but the weight of that night hasn’t shifted—it sits heavy in your chest, unrelenting. You feel it in the way your hands tighten into fists when you’re alone, in the way your throat constricts whenever someone says his name. The bar flashes behind your eyes like a crime scene: the amber haze of the lights, the low thrum of bass in your ears, the taste of secrets spilling before you could stop them. You can still see the way his eyes burned through you, like they’d pulled something raw and unspoken straight out of your chest. The memory doesn’t leave; it hovers, pressing at the cracks in your resolve, clawing its way deeper every time you try to shake it off.

“Hey, Nahyun,” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence. “How do you know so much about everything?” The words are sharper than you intend, but she takes it in stride, her grin unfaltering. “Is it because Jeno has been in your bed too?” you add, your tone sarcastic, daring her to deny it.

Nahyun’s cheeks flush instantly, her reaction betraying the confidence she usually wears like armor. “I wish,” she says, deflecting with a laugh, though the way her gaze flickers away tells you there’s more to the story.

You arch a brow, unwilling to let her off that easily. “How’s it going with Shotaro?”

Her throat clears audibly, her composure visibly faltering. “It’s going fine,” she mutters, brushing the question aside with a wave of her hand. She turns the spotlight back on you, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.“What about you? You’ve been so… mysterious lately. Even more so than usual. Anything I should know?”

Her voice trails off, but the words don’t dissipate; they linger, needling at the edges of your composure. You track the subtle shifts in her tone, the way her gaze narrows just slightly, like she’s cataloging every micro-expression you might betray. The weight of her question settles into your chest like a slow drip, pooling in the spaces where you’ve kept everything carefully compartmentalized.

You feel the secrets pressing against their walls—the night with Jeno, the bar, every calculated decision that unraveled in a moment of heat and impulse. You can’t afford for her to see the cracks. So, you breathe evenly, straighten your shoulders, and let your mind dissect her words for any hidden implications. Mysterious. Even more than usual. You can hear the unspoken curiosity, the hunger for something salacious, and you know how quickly a misstep could fuel it. It’s not just a question to her—it’s a thread she wants to pull, and you can’t let her. Control is everything. You’ve stitched your exterior too tightly for her to unravel, no matter how heavy the seams feel under her scrutiny.

Your lips curve into a faint smirk, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You know how busy I am with all my assignments and projects,” you say, the words slipping out smooth, light, a deliberate misdirection. Nahyun doesn’t press, but you catch the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. It’s enough to hold her off, to keep her on the surface where you need her to stay. Beneath it, though, your mind churns, restless and uneven, the cracks in your control spreading faster than you can patch them.

Your mind circles back to the inevitable: you’ll have to face him. Avoiding him for the past week had been easy enough, your schedules conveniently misaligned, but today, the fragile buffer is gone. It’s the first study session for the project, and there’s nowhere left to run. The thought lands heavily, an unwelcome weight pressing into your chest, growing heavier with every step. You feel the dread coiling tighter, sapping what little energy you have. There’s no way around it. No way out. Just the sharp, inescapable reality waiting for you on the other side.

You wave goodbye to Nahyun as she veers off toward Shotaro, who’s leaning against a low stone wall near the student union. His grin stretches wide when he sees you, and he calls out, “Y/N! Wait, I’ve got a question—important stuff.”

You stop, eyebrows raising slightly. “What’s on your mind, Shotaro? You look way too pleased with yourself.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You remember that snack you wouldn’t stop talking about? The one that’s, like, ridiculously hard to find? All crunchy on the outside, creamy in the middle, and dipped in whatever magic they put in that chocolate coating?”

Your eyes widen. “Don’t tell me you forgot about it,” he teases, the corners of his mouth lifting like he already knows he has you hooked.

“Forgot about it?” you blurt, incredulous. “I’ve been thinking about it every day. It’s my white whale, Shotaro.”

His grin widens as he pulls something out of his pocket, and the sight of the familiar packaging hits you like a lightning bolt. “You mean this?” he asks, dangling it casually like it’s no big deal.

You gasp—an actual gasp, high-pitched and unrestrained, something you never do—and launch forward, practically tackling him. “Shotaro! No way! You’re a literal angel!” You wrap your arms around him without thinking, squeezing him tightly as he bursts into laughter.

“I had to,” he says, his voice light but warm. “You’ve been mourning it like you lost a family member. Figured it was time to step in.”

You pull back, still clutching the snack like it might vanish. “I love you. No, seriously. You’ve just saved me. Nahyun, he’s a hero!” you shout, glancing over at her as she rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.

“Glad I could do my good deed for the day,” he says, giving you a mock salute as Nahyun grabs his arm. “Now go enjoy it, Y/N. You’ve earned it.”

You wave goodbye, your hand brushing over the snack wrapper as you slip it into your pocket, smoothing the edges with precise folds until it lies flat. Your steps fall into an even rhythm, the soft click of your shoes against the pavement matching the steady beat of your thoughts. Shotaro’s words replay in fragments, fitting neatly into the quiet order of your mind, each one cataloged and stored without disrupting the pace you’ve set. The weight in your chest eases—not gone, but quieter, like the air after rain, leaving just enough clarity to focus on the path ahead.

The warmth from Shotaro’s easy kindness slips away as you move toward the quieter side of campus, the distant hum of laughter and footsteps fading like a song you’re no longer close enough to hear. The air feels heavier here, the stillness pressing against your skin as the study rooms come into view, tucked away like secrets waiting to be uncovered. When you step inside, the door clicks softly behind you, and the sterile hum of the air conditioning fills the space, its coldness sharp and precise, wrapping around you like an invisible boundary between the world outside and the one you’re about to face.

You lower your bag onto the table, movements precise and deliberate, each item placed with exact purpose. Your laptop sits perfectly parallel to your notebook, pens arranged in a neat line beside it. The sunlight filters through the blinds in sharp, angular beams, striping the table in a rigid pattern that mirrors the order you’ve imposed. The steady tick of the wall clock feels louder in the quiet room, marking time with a deliberate rhythm that matches the controlled cadence of your breathing. Everything is in its place—except for the restless churn beneath your calm exterior.

Your fingers brush over the edges of your notebook, flipping through the pages for the third time even though you already know their contents. This is just a project, you remind yourself, the thought slipping into place with the same deliberate care you give to everything else. Jeno’s presence, loud and untethered, is simply another disruption to neutralize. You’ve dealt with his kind before—the ones who thrive on dominance and disorder, who carry chaos like a second skin. But you’ve built yourself to withstand this. Each plan, every careful calculation, has been tailored to hold him at bay. He’s not a challenge; he’s a variable. And variables can be controlled.

The door swings open without warning, slamming against the wall with enough force to make you flinch. Jeno strides in, still in his basketball jersey, the fabric clinging to his chest, damp with sweat that gleams under the sunlight. His water bottle clunks onto the table, droplets scattering across your carefully arranged notes. He collapses into the chair opposite you, sprawling out with casual arrogance, legs spread wide, one hand drumming against the edge of the table.

“You’re late,” you say without looking up, your voice cool, clipped, refusing to give him the satisfaction of rattling you.

“Practice ran over,” he shrugs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve got the first away game coming up.”

“And that’s my problem because?” you reply, your tone sharp enough to cut.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair, the damp fabric of his jersey clinging to the sharp lines of his torso. “Relax, princess. I didn’t say it was your problem.” His tone is casual, but the glint in his eyes is pure challenge as he sprawls further, every movement deliberately careless. “I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”

Your jaw tightens as he casually knocks one of your pens off the table with the back of his hand, watching you tense as it rolls to the floor. You bend down to pick it up, forcing your movements to remain calm, even as the tension coils tighter in your chest.

“Can we just focus on the project?” you say, voice steady, though your gaze flickers—just for a second—to the bead of sweat trailing down his collarbone, catching in the hollow of his throat. The moment passes in an instant, but not quickly enough. When you glance back up, his smirk has sharpened, his dark eyes locked on you like he’s caught you in a game you didn’t agree to play.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says suddenly, leaning forward, his fingers brushing against your notebook as he shifts closer. The movement is deliberate, his thigh pressing against yours under the table. His voice drops lower, edged with something teasing, something dangerous.

“I haven’t,” you lie, the word coming out too quickly, too thin.

“You have,” he murmurs, his gaze steady, unwavering, pinning you in place. Before you can respond, his hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over the edge of your cheekbone with a deliberate slowness that sends a spark down your spine. He tilts your face toward him, and then his lips are on yours—no hesitation, no room to retreat. The kiss is hard, insistent, a collision of heat and intent that steals the air from your lungs. His tongue parts your lips with a boldness that leaves no room for doubt, claiming the space between you as his own.

A gasp breaks free from your throat, and your notebook slips from your grip, forgotten as your hands press against the solid plane of his chest. He’s impossibly warm, the damp fabric of his jersey clinging to the defined muscles beneath your palms. His scent wraps around you, woodsy and raw, intoxicating in its closeness, filling every inch of the quiet room until it feels as though nothing else exists. His hand slides down to grip the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepens. There’s a hunger to it, an urgency that seeps into your skin, making your body arch into his without thought, without restraint. It’s intoxicating, the way he moves, the deliberate press of his chest against yours, his lips trailing fire along the edges of your carefully guarded self-control.

Somehow, you’re in his lap, your thighs framing his as if you’ve always belonged there. His hands explore without hesitation, slipping beneath your top to grasp the warm skin of your back, his fingers pressing into you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. The friction between you grows with every grind of your hips against his, his arousal pressing hard against you, undeniable and electric. His lips trail down your jaw, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and a low, gravelly sound rumbles in his throat as you move against him, each motion pulling you deeper into the heat pooling between you.

His hands shift, fingers hooking at the hem of your top, tugging it upward with intent. The fabric rises slowly, dragging against your skin, until the sharp chill of the room brushes over you, and reality crashes down like a bucket of ice water. Your heart pounds as you shove against his chest, harder than you mean to, the strength of it forcing him back. His hands drop away instantly, and you scramble off his lap, stumbling to your feet, your breaths ragged and uneven as the moment fractures around you.

“Come back,” he says, the words simple but heavy, his voice low and commanding.

“No,” you reply, firm despite the way your chest rises and falls unevenly.

He leans back in the chair, watching you for a beat too long, his gaze searing through your resolve. And then, before you can react, his hands are on your waist again, and with one smooth motion, he pulls you back into his lap. A startled yelp escapes you, your hands bracing against his shoulders as his grip tightens, holding you there. His smirk is sharp, deliberate, as his lips brush close to your ear.

“You don’t sound so convincing,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, the heat of it making your breath catch. His hands slide over your waist, firm and unyielding, as if daring you to move, to fight against what your body has already started to betray.

“Stop,” you manage, your voice trembling but firm. “We can’t do this.”

He doesn’t move, his dark eyes flashing with frustration as he runs a hand through his damp hair. “Why not?”

You square your shoulders, your voice steadier now. “Because the idea of us working is impossible. I’m Mark’s best friend.”

He lets out a dry laugh, leaning back in his chair, his smirk cutting. “Well then, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, anger rising to the surface. “I could never be with someone like you, Jeno.”

His smirk sharpens, but there’s something darker behind it now, something challenging. “Oh, someone like me? Go on, tell me, Y/N. What am I like?”

Your composure hardens, your voice calm but cutting as you straighten. “You’re arrogant. You think everything revolves around you. You hurt people without even noticing because you’re too busy pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re cruel to Mark, to my Mark, and you don’t see how that affects the people around you.”

His smirk falters, but he doesn’t look away. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“You’ve been like this your whole life,” you press on, the words sharp and deliberate. “Even when we were kids, you were that spoiled boy who always had to win. And that one night—it doesn’t change anything, Jeno. It doesn’t change who you are, and it doesn’t change how I see you.”

His jaw tightens, and his voice drops, quieter but no less intense. “You think keeping people in boxes makes them easier to handle. But me? I’m not some puzzle you can solve. I’m not a neat little project you can file away once you’re done.”

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to recover. “And you think you’re so special, don’t you? That you’re worth breaking everything apart for? You’re not. You’re just… you’re just a mistake I won’t make twice.”

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/N. But you don’t look at me like you think I’m a mistake. You look at me like you don’t know what to do with me. And that scares you.”

You rise slowly, his hands still firm on your waist, their grip neither tightening nor loosening, just holding—steady, deliberate, as if the act of letting go isn’t something he’s ready to entertain. The warmth of his touch seeps through you, a quiet defiance against the distance you’re trying to impose. The air feels thick, charged with something unspoken, his thumbs brushing lightly against your skin in a way that feels more like a question than an anchor. Your voice comes out low, restrained, trembling at the edges but layered with quiet resolve. “You’re right,” you say, each word deliberate, cutting through the silence. “I don’t know what to do with you. But I know what to do for myself and that’s forgetting this ever happened.” The weight of it hangs there, as heavy as his hands, daring either of you to move first.

The silence stretches, thick and charged, before you move back to your seat. The sound of your chair scraping the floor feels too loud, too abrupt against the tension still pulsing between you. Jeno leans back in his chair, his posture infuriatingly relaxed as he picks up a pen and tosses it at you, the slight arc deliberate, landing just shy of your notebook. It lands just slightly out of place, the disruption deliberate, his smirk daring you to react.

You exhale sharply, leaning forward to grab the pen, your fingers moving with precision as you set it neatly back in its place. His gaze doesn’t waver, watching every movement with that maddening, amused grin. “Can we get on with the project now?” you snap, the edge in your tone betraying the lingering frustration that still coils low in your stomach.

His smirk doesn’t falter; if anything, it sharpens. “You’re really trying to pretend we didn’t fuck?” he asks, the words cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You don’t look up, your voice icy and firm. “We didn’t because nothing happened.”

He chuckles low, leaning forward just enough for his next words to reach you, each one dripping with deliberate weight. “His smirk grows, his voice dropping as he leans closer, his breath brushing against your skin. “Didn’t sound like ‘nothing’ when you were moaning my name, when I was inside you all night long. Pretty sure your body had other ideas.”

The sharp scrape of your chair against the floor fills the room as you shift, refusing to let him see the way your pulse quickens. “If you spent half the energy you use trying to rile me up on this project, we’d actually have made progress by now,” you say, your tone clipped, pointed.

“And miss out on how cute you look when you’re mad?” He leans forward, his arm brushing yours, the proximity making the air feel heavier, his smirk daring you to push him away.

You sit straighter, your eyes narrowing as you try to pull the conversation back into focus. “You’re the one who claimed that a team’s success hinges on how well players adapt to shifting dynamics under pressure. So, why don’t you back it up— was that just another excuse to waste time?”

Jeno’s smirk falters slightly, his gaze dropping to your laptop. His fingers tap lazily against the edge of the table, but his eyes sharpen as he skims the notes and diagrams on your screen. A scatterplot of player movements during a key game flashes across the display, annotated with your meticulous notes on decision-making patterns and communication breakdowns. Your outline includes a dense analysis of leadership strategies and how positional shifts influence the outcome under pressure.

“You’re overthinking it,” he says finally, his voice casual, though his assessment cuts cleanly through the tension.

You bristle, snapping your head toward him. “I think. You don’t. That’s the difference.”

He doesn’t flinch, the corner of his mouth curling upward again. “I see the problem now,” he replies, pointing at the laptop screen. “You’re trying to force structure into something that works on instinct. Basketball isn’t about perfect lines and rigid rules; it’s about rhythm. You can’t analyze every second like it’s a chessboard and expect it to make sense. You’ve got to feel the game—not dissect it to death.”

His words linger, cutting through the air and planting an idea you hate to admit makes sense. Your fingers hover above the keys, frozen for a moment as your thoughts stutter and fall out of rhythm. You never falter like this—never let someone’s perspective shift the order in your mind. You never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to, never expose the cracks in your logic for someone else to see. But now, for some reason you can’t fully grasp, the structure you cling to feels… insufficient.

Your voice comes softer than you expect, almost hesitant. “How can I feel the game? It’s not like I’d ever play.” The words slip out before you can stop them, a crack in your usual analytical exterior. It feels foreign, exposing even this small piece of uncertainty, and you almost regret it the second it hangs in the air.

Jeno’s movements slow, his eyes sharpening as he takes you in, and for a moment, his teasing demeanor fades. He leans back slightly, his hand brushing against the table as if considering something. “I have an idea,” he says finally, his voice softer, carrying an edge of intrigue that feels entirely too dangerous.

Your brows furrow, instinctively returning to skepticism. “What is it?”

His smirk returns, sharp and infuriating, the tension diffusing as quickly as it had risen. “You’ll see,” he says, tilting his chair back with an infuriating nonchalance. “But only if you stop overthinking everything.”

Annoyance surges back, grounding you like a sharp inhale. “Do you even care about this?” you bite out, your tone sharper now, cutting through the strange vulnerability that had settled between you.

He leans in, his face hovering close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath, his grin widening with a deliberate slowness that makes your stomach tighten. “Care enough to spend time with you,” he murmurs, his voice low, teasing, but underpinned by something darker, something that sends a faint shiver through you.

The air between you thickens, every glance, every word, every movement a layer in the game neither of you is willing to admit you’re playing. He leans closer under the guise of looking at your notes, but the subtle shift brushes his arm against yours, the contact lingering just long enough to make your skin burn. The heat of him is palpable, invading the small space you’ve tried to maintain.

“Do you mind?” you say, your tone clipped, but the edge falters, betraying your effort to keep composure. “You’re in my space.”

His smirk curves wider, deliberate and slow, his voice dropping lower, his breath ghosting over your skin. “I thought we were past personal space.”

The words are like a spark to kindling, sending a shiver down your spine. His presence presses in on you, the sharpness of his gaze locking you in place. You try to resist, to pull your focus back to the project spread out in front of you, but Jeno has never been the type to let you ignore him. He moves closer, his frame dominating yours, his hand brushing against your papers in a move that feels far too intentional. It’s not just the way he towers over you—it’s the way he watches you, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You shift back, but he doesn’t relent. He pretends to give you space, his hands moving to straighten the papers he just messed up, lining them up with a precision that mirrors your own. His fingers linger on the edges, the sharp, clean lines of the rearranged sheets tug at something deep within you, the kind of satisfaction that settles in your chest like a steadying breath. His movements are unhurried, precise, and you catch yourself watching too closely, a flicker of warmth blooming at how unexpectedly attentive he is.

“What?” he murmurs, catching the shift in your expression.

“Nothing,” you reply, returning to your notes. “At least now it looks decent.”

The highlighter sitting just out of reach catches your attention, and you lean forward to grab it, the movement fluid and unthinking. It’s a small gesture, one you’ve done countless times before, but Jeno’s gaze follows it, his attention snaring on your wrist like a hook catching on fabric.

His eyes narrow slightly, the shift subtle but there. It’s not suspicion—it’s curiosity, the kind that digs deeper the longer it lingers. The bracelet you’re wearing catches the light, its silver chain delicate, understated, and almost entirely bare. A charm bracelet, but one with hardly any charms. The sparseness of it seems to hold his attention, like it’s saying more about you than the silence between you ever could.

He doesn’t move or speak, but the weight of his observation feels palpable, hanging in the air. His gaze sharpens, deliberate in a way that feels out of place for someone so naturally impulsive. There’s something about the emptiness of the bracelet that sticks with him—something unspoken, a question without words.

You catch the flicker of his attention too late, and the realization makes you pull your sweater sleeve down instinctively, the fabric sliding over your wrist in a move meant to obscure. It’s automatic, almost defensive, but the brief glimpse of the bracelet lingers in his mind, unanswered.

He doesn’t react at first, still leaning back in his seat, but his posture shifts slightly, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, softer, the edge of curiosity still there but buried beneath something gentler.

“Are you hungry?” The question feels sudden, out of place, but the warmth in his tone keeps it from sounding abrupt.

You pause mid-sentence, blinking up at him. The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “Kinda,” you admit, setting your pen down as you study him, unsure of where this is leading.

He nods once, as if that’s all he needed to hear, and then turns on his heel without another word. The quiet resolve in his movements leaves you momentarily stunned, your eyes following him as he strides toward the door. He doesn’t take his bag, doesn’t look back, and the simplicity of it—the lack of his usual teasing or smug comments—throws you.

Your gaze drifts back to your work, but your focus wavers. The room feels emptier in his absence, the air thinner, like it’s waiting for something. You try to push the moment aside, eyes scanning your notes, but the sound of the door opening again pulls you immediately. You glance up, heart skipping when you see him, his hands full—two coffees and a small paper bag that smells faintly of something sweet.

You reach for the coffee, the warmth of the cup grounding you as you take a tentative sip. The moment the hazelnut hits your tongue, mingling with the creamy smoothness of oat milk, your eyes flutter shut, rolling back slightly in unguarded bliss. The taste is so perfect, so unmistakably yours, that it makes your breath catch. How did he know what you liked?

Jeno sets the other cup down on the desk beside a paper bag, his movements unusually measured, almost careful. It’s such a contrast to his usual recklessness that it makes you pause, your gaze shifting to him. “Thought you might need fuel,” he says, the words casual, but the subtle curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes betray him. There’s something deliberate about the way he says it, like he’s gauging your reaction, daring you to read into it.

You glance at the spread in front of you, a thoughtful assortment of pastries spilling from the paper bag. Your lips twitch into a faint smile. “Thanks,” you say, the word soft but genuine as you reach for another sip of the coffee, savoring the unexpected gesture more than you’d care to admit.

You brush a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear again. It’s become a repetitive distraction, an absent motion, though you can’t seem to bring yourself to tie it back. Maybe it’s laziness, maybe it’s something else, but the loose strands keep falling, teasing against your cheek, pulling your focus away from the task in front of you.

Jeno moves without warning, his presence at your back catching you off guard. His hands reach for yours, brushing against your knuckles as he takes the hair tie from your wrist. The motion is deliberate, unhurried, as though he’s not just helping but laying a claim to the moment. You turn your head, your breath hitching slightly, and meet his gaze—steady, soft, and unreadable. The warmth of his touch lingers, spreading across your skin in waves that feel intimate, almost too intimate, as your furrowed brows betray the sudden shift in the air between you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

He meets your gaze, his expression softer than usual, his eyes steady on yours. “Stay still,” he murmurs, his fingers gathering your hair with surprising gentleness. He ties it back, the motion slow and deliberate, and for a moment, you wonder if this is the same Jeno who thrives on chaos. The tenderness of it feels so foreign, so out of character, that you can’t help but stare at him as he finishes.

“You look so pretty with your hair up,” he says, his voice low, almost reverent.

Your breath catches. “It was in my face,” you reply, trying to sound dismissive, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, your name slipping from his lips in a tone that sends a shiver straight down your spine. His voice is darker now, laden with something unspoken, something impossible to ignore. His hand slides to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there, and before you can think, his lips crash into yours. The kiss is molten, pulling you under with its heat, his hands tangling in your hair as he draws you impossibly closer. A low, needy moan escapes him, vibrating against your mouth, and the sound alone makes your knees weaken. Every movement of his lips, every tilt of his head, carries a desperation that’s as heady as it is dangerous.

His hands are already tugging at your shirt, fingers brushing bare skin, when you shove him back with a strength you didn’t know you had. His groan is guttural, raw, his chest rising and falling as he stares at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with want. “Y/N,” he growls, the sound of your name stretched out like a warning, or maybe a plea. The space between you feels electric, every breath shared hanging heavy, the kind of tension that feels like it’s seconds away from detonating.

You smile, sharp and teasing, and grab your ID card from the desk. Pressing it into his hand, you grip his fingers tightly around it, your eyes locking with his. “Go to the closest printer and print off everything on this card,” you say, your voice dripping with command. “Then I’ll think about kissing you.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might argue. But instead, he nods, his eyes dark with determination as he turns and walks out the door without a second glance. The air feels heavier in his absence, the silence thrumming with the echo of what just happened. You can’t help but smile to yourself, knowing that you’ve won this round. For now.

The air is thick and electric when he returns shortly after. He doesn’t say a word, but you notice the stack of papers in his hand—stapled, collated, and arranged with a precision you hadn’t expected. He places them neatly on the table, his movements deliberate and uncharacteristically calm, like he’s presenting you with proof of something you can’t name. It shouldn’t affect you, but it does. There’s something about the way he moves, the quiet efficiency that makes your pulse quicken in a way you can’t explain, and it frustrates you that he can elicit this reaction without trying.

Before you can think to speak, his lips are on yours again, hot and insistent. He pulls you flush against him, his body radiating a heat that seeps into your skin. His hands are firm on your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you who’s in control now, and you moan against his lips. The sound seems to spur him on, his grip tightening as he angles your face to deepen the kiss. But the haze doesn’t last long. You break away, gasping, your hands pressing against his chest as you try to create distance.

“Jeno,” you whisper, your tone heavy with breathlessness, your lips still tingling from the contact. “We can’t do this.”

His response is immediate, his hand sliding beneath your shirt with a deliberate slowness that makes your back arch. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch sending sparks through your body as a moan slips from your lips, unbidden. You bite your lip hard, your head falling back as your eyes flutter closed. It’s maddening how easily he breaks your resolve.

“Why do you care so much about what this looks like?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, but the words cut deeper, each one precise and unforgiving. His thumb moves again, circling, teasing, drawing another shaky sigh from your lips. “Afraid people might think you actually like being here with me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a second, you can’t speak. The small hitch in your breathing betrays you, and you hate that he hears it, that he knows. But you recover quickly, your glare sharpening as you spit back, “What I care about is not letting you ruin this project—or my life.”

He laughs then, a low, intimate sound that makes the heat in your chest flare. “You’re so good at running away, Y/N,” he says, his tone laced with something almost tender. His fingers don’t stop, coaxing and persistent, and it’s impossible to think clearly. “Is that how you handle everything?”

Your glare sharpens. “Not everything is worth staying for.”

Before you can pull away, his hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against the desk. The papers you had so carefully arranged scatter across the surface, forgotten, as his other hand grips the edge of the table behind you. His chest is so close you can feel the heat of him seeping into your skin, his presence consuming, his voice dropping to a low whisper that slices cleanly through the tension.

“You’re so used to controlling everything,” he murmurs, his breath grazing your lips, the words curling darkly between you. “What happens when you can’t control me?”

Your heart stutters, the weight of his words sinking into you, twisting your pulse into something erratic. His hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, the firm press of his body against yours making it impossible to think. Your hands move without permission, trailing up his chest, fingertips grazing the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt before curling into the fabric, pulling him closer still. Your body betrays every ounce of resistance you’ve clung to, your hips brushing against his in a way that sends heat spiraling low in your stomach.

Your breaths are shallow, uneven, your chest rising and falling against his as you force out, “This doesn’t mean anything.” The tremor in your voice betrays you, cracking under the weight of the moment. His smirk sharpens, his grip on you tightening as he leans closer, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a way that makes the air between you feel unbearable.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, his touch maddeningly light, like a dare.

The last threads of restraint snap, breaking in the heat of his proximity. You surge forward, closing the distance with a fervor that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with release. His lips crash against yours, his grip on you tightening as he matches your intensity with his own. It’s hard, heated, the culmination of every sharp word and lingering stare between you, a clash that leaves no room for anything but this.

His hands glide firmly to your thighs, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric as he lifts you onto the desk with effortless strength. The sunlight cuts through the blinds in uneven slashes, casting fleeting shadows that dance over your skin, over the curve of your legs now bracketing his hips. The crumpled papers beneath you are a faint reminder of the order you once clung to, now buried under the weight of his body pressing into yours. Every shift of him is deliberate, the tension in his grip matched by the unrelenting push of his chest against you, each motion tightening the pull that coils low in your stomach.

“You gonna take charge this time,” he rasps against your neck, his voice rough and edged with heat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp. His fingers grip your thighs harder, digging into the flesh as he drags you closer, the space between your bodies dissolving until every inch of him presses against you. “Or are you gonna let me ruin you?” The words land like a challenge, heavy and dripping with intent, his lips trailing along your jaw to punctuate it.

Your breath catches, and instead of answering, your hands dive into his hair, threading through the strands with a force that makes him groan low in his throat. The sound rumbles against your skin, shooting straight to your core as you pull him closer, tilting his head to give yourself control for just a moment. Your lips find his, hard and demanding, as you shift against him, arching into the solid press of his body like you’re daring him to follow through.

“You don’t ruin me,” you gasp between kisses, the words sharp and cutting as your nails rake down the back of his neck, leaving him breathless for a moment. “I let you.” The way your hips roll against him contradicts the defiance in your voice, but the flicker of something darker in his eyes tells you he doesn’t mind the contradiction—it only makes him want more.

His response begins as a low growl, vibrating against your skin as his lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, along the column of your neck. Each kiss lingers just a moment too long, his breath warm and heavy, his teeth grazing with just enough pressure to send a jolt through you. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, fingers digging in as he shifts closer, the movement controlled yet rough, a silent demand for more.

Your back arches slightly against the hard edge of the desk, the papers beneath you crumpling further under the weight of your body pressing into them. His knee slides between your legs, forcing them apart, his body leaning into yours with an unrelenting heat that pins you firmly in place. One of his hands grips your hip, the other sliding under your top with a deliberate slowness that sets your skin alight. His thumbs brush over your sides, dragging upward until his grip borders on possessive, the fabric rising with him. Your breath catches as his lips find the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping lightly before he bites down harder, pulling a broken gasp from you.

The weight of him presses you further back, pinning you to the desk with an intensity that makes the air between you feel suffocating. But as his hands move higher, fingers skimming dangerous territory, a cold blade of clarity slices through the haze, sharp and unrelenting.

Your palms flatten against his chest, the pressure hard and purposeful, shoving him back with enough force to break the spell. His movements still, the heat in his gaze flickering into something darker as he meets your eyes. “No,” you say, your voice cutting through the air with a cold finality, steady and sharp, even as your heart races and your skin burns from where he touched you.

His eyes flash with frustration, the tension in his jaw tightening as his hands stay rooted on your waist, firm and unrelenting, like he refuses to let you go. Instead of stepping back, he leans in again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s rougher, more demanding, as if he’s trying to pull you under with him. His groan is low, guttural, vibrating through you as his fingers press harder into your sides, anchoring you against him. The kiss deepens, his tongue teasing yours with deliberate control, his breath hot and heavy as it fans across your skin.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, holding him close for just a second too long, the heat of his body searing through the thin barrier of fabric. His hands move, one sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you closer until his arousal presses against you, unmistakable and deliberate. The pressure sends a jolt through you, sharp and electrifying, his lips devouring yours as if he knows exactly how close he’s bringing you to unraveling.

But clarity cuts through the haze like ice against fire, snapping you back. With a sharp shove, you push against his chest, breaking the kiss. The sound of his breath catching—half a groan, half a growl—lingers between you, the tension snapping taut again as he stumbles slightly, his hands still reaching as though unwilling to let the moment go.

“I said no,” you snap, your voice sharp and unwavering, even as your chest heaves and your skin burns from the memory of his touch.

He doesn’t step back, his gaze dark and fixed on yours, daring you to take the next move. His chest rises and falls, his breath uneven, but he stays rooted, his hands reluctantly falling away as you slide off the desk with deliberate precision. You take your time, smoothing your top, running your fingers over your hair as though every detail must be perfect before you turn away.

“Figure out how to handle that,” you say, your voice cool and cutting as your gaze drops briefly to the tension still evident in his body. Your lips twitch into the faintest smirk, sharp enough to sting, before you meet his eyes one last time.

You turn, walking away without a glance back, your steps unhurried, your head high as if the entire room doesn’t still hum with the heat of what just happened. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving him standing there, breathless, frustrated, and impossibly hard, his composure crumbling in the wake of your absence.

“Wait, so you have to work with Jeno?” Mark asks, his tone cautious but laced with curiosity. He leans forward slightly, his eyebrows pulling together in that familiar way that makes you feel like he’s already assessing the situation too deeply.

You hesitate, the weight of your answer catching in your throat. That’s why you told him about the project in the first place—because if Mark ever saw you with Jeno, it would be easier to explain it as purely academic. You’d decided it was better to let him know upfront, to control the narrative before it spun into something else. Something dangerous. Something that could lead to the truth about the night you and Jeno shared—a night you’ve sworn to bury in the deepest part of yourself. A night that will not happen again.

Finally, you nod, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. “Yeah,” you reply, letting out a breath. “Coach Suh wouldn’t let me pick anyone else.” You cross your arms, forcing an unimpressed edge into your voice. “Apparently, it’s because he’s the captain.”

Mark’s eyes narrow slightly, and you know that look. He’s analyzing you, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the full story. “How’s that going for you?” he asks, his voice light but probing.

“It’s not that bad,” you say quickly, waving him off. You know Mark. He worries—too much sometimes—and the last thing you want is for him to dig deeper. “He’s not the most helpful person to be around, honestly. But…” You pause, the faintest flicker of a smile brushing your lips before you catch yourself. “He kinda makes an alright assistant. He’s actually organized a few things for me. And—” you shrug, playing it off as casually as possible— “he brought coffee the other day.”

Mark’s expression shifts slightly, subtle enough that you almost miss it. He’s listening carefully, but there’s something else there, too. Something questioning.

“You’re spreading yourself too thin with this project thing,” he says suddenly, his tone soft but firm. It’s not a question, and that’s what makes it land heavier than you expect. “I mean, you’ve already got so much on your plate.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Jeno…” The words catch briefly, and you pause, not quite sure what to say. “He’s not great, but he’s trying. And that makes it easier.” There’s an unexpected shift in your tone as you speak, quieter, more thoughtful, though you don’t notice. It’s a subtle softness, slipping in without your permission, a calm that feels out of place amidst the usual edge in your voice.

Mark notices.

He doesn’t comment right away, but you can feel his eyes on you as you start talking about your next session with Jeno—how you plan to structure it, what you think might actually help. Your voice is patient in a way it rarely is, a quiet care slipping in as you outline your thoughts. You don’t even realize the change in tone, but Mark does.

Mark knows you. You’re firm, unyielding, the kind of person who doesn’t take anyone’s shit. Not from students panicking about deadlines, not from people asking for shortcuts. But with Jeno, there’s something different. Something quieter, more deliberate. Mark sees it in the way you’re willing to explain things to him, in how you talk about the work you’re doing together like it matters, like you want to help him.

And it’s not just about the project. There’s something more. Mark can’t place it yet, but it’s there.

Mark tilts his head slightly, his brows furrowing as he studies you, confusion flickering in his eyes. “You’re really patient with him,” he says, his tone careful, more curious than teasing. “More than I thought you’d be.”

You glance at him, your eyebrows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, raising his hands in mock defense. But the look in his eyes lingers, a quiet understanding he doesn’t voice. Instead, he stores the thought away, filing it under the things he loves most about you—your sharpness, your strength, your ability to care in ways you don’t even realize.

And now, apparently, your willingness to be in Jeno’s corner, even when it surprises him.

The room had become quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, but your mind drifted to the scenes playing out just beyond the walls. You could almost hear it: the campus alive with energy, footsteps pounding against concrete, voices raised in excitement. Students would be weaving through the pathways, duffle bags in tow, their laughter cutting through the crisp air as they prepared for the Seoul Ravens’ first away game of the season. It was easy to picture the buzz of it all, but it felt like another world entirely—a world you had no interest in stepping into. Basketball had always been background noise to you, something you tuned out unless it involved Mark. The only game you’d ever bothered to attend was his first, and even then, it wasn’t about the sport. It was about him.

But this time, you couldn’t escape it. The project had pulled you into the fold, tethering you to a world you didn’t belong in. You’d have to watch the matches, take notes, and analyze the dynamics on and off the court. You’d have to observe the players, the cheerleaders, the crowd—people you normally avoided without hesitation. Just the thought made your stomach twist, the weight of obligation settling heavy in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at your suitcase, half-packed on the floor. The weekend stretched ahead like an endurance test, but at least Mark would be there. You’d endure it for him, like you always did, even if it meant sharing a motel with people you could barely stand.

You let out a small groan, leaning your head against Mark’s shoulder as you both sat perched on the edge of your bed. The faint scent of his cologne, familiar and grounding, filled the small space between you. Your eyes fluttered shut, and your voice came out muffled against the soft fabric of his hoodie. “I really don’t want to go,” you muttered, the words laced with resignation. “The thought of being stuck in the same motel as half these people makes me want to scream.”

His laugh rumbled softly under your cheek, a sound that made the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. You’ll survive.”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, but as your eyes opened, a sudden thought lit up in your mind. You jabbed his arm, sitting up straight. “Hey—”

“What?” he asked, feigning offense as he rubbed his arm. “What did I do now?”

“Have you submitted those documents I told you to submit an entire week ago?” you demanded, your tone sharp with authority. His silence was telling, and the sheepish look he gave you only confirmed your suspicion.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Mark Lee.”

“I was gonna do it,” he defended, though the guilty look on his face gave him away.

“Do it tonight, or I’ll move in with Shotaro,” you warned. “This apartment is a perfect contender—it’s in a great area, and the price is actually decent. But they’re not gonna wait around for us if you keep slacking on the documentation.”

He nodded quickly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it tonight. Promise.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I knew I’d lose my best friend to the shackles of college basketball and popularity.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “I’m still the same guy. Basketball hasn’t changed me.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but the sound lacked its usual lightness. The truth lingered unspoken between you. It wasn’t that Mark was slipping away—not exactly—but his world had expanded in ways yours hadn’t. His name seemed to echo everywhere now, woven into conversations you overheard on campus. It wasn’t just about his basketball skills, though those were undeniable; it was the way he carried himself. Mark had that unassuming charisma, the kind that made people orbit around him without him even realizing it. He wasn’t loud or flashy—he didn’t need to be. There was something magnetic in the way he smiled, the way he treated everyone like they mattered.

And yet, sitting here in the quiet of your room, he wasn’t the campus star. He wasn’t the guy everyone whispered about or cheered for. He was just Mark. The same boy who teased you relentlessly, who knew your favorite snacks, who’d always had your back no matter what. In moments like this, it was easy to forget how much he’d become to everyone else because, for you, he was still simply your best friend.

“I can’t believe you’re left packing until the last minute,” he teased, mock tutting as he gestured to the half-packed suitcase on your bed. “This is so unlike you.”

“I didn’t,” you argued, crossing your arms. “I didn’t even know I was coming on this trip until this morning. Coach Suh told me last-minute that there was space for me in the motel and on the coach.”

His laugh filled the room, warm and familiar, as the two of you got to work packing. There was an ease between you, a rhythm to your friendship that needed no explanation. He handed you a sweater, and you tucked it into the suitcase, glancing at him with a soft smile.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter, more sincere. “It’ll be nice to see a familiar face in the audience. It always helps me feel grounded—makes it feel more like the river court.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached out to hug him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. “I’ll always support you,” you murmured. “I’m always so proud of you, you know that, right?”

Before Mark could respond, the door burst open, and Donghyuck groaned loudly, flopping onto the bed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Can you two not?” he muttered, glaring at you both like you’d personally ruined his day.

You rolled your eyes, pulling away from Mark as you got back to packing. “Don’t you have your own packing to do?”

“I’m already packed,” Donghyuck announced proudly, stretching out like a cat. “I just came to see what you’re up to.”

Yangyang appeared in the doorway a moment later, grinning as he held up a neatly folded shirt. “Thought I’d come help too. I’m already packed, and, let’s be honest, you’re the most fun to hang out with.”

The room buzzed with an easy kind of chaos, the kind that came from familiarity and years of friendship. Donghyuck moved through your carefully arranged pile of clothes with a theatrical lack of care, pulling out random items and replacing them with things he deemed more “appropriate.” A ridiculous hat landed squarely on your bed, bright and obnoxious against the muted tones of your neatly folded sweaters. He didn’t bother to hide his smirk as he tossed it into the mix, his movements careless but full of intention. You shot him a pointed glance, shaking your head as you picked the hat up and flung it onto the floor, but your lips twitched despite yourself.

Yangyang lingered at the edge of the bed, his attention caught by something that had slipped through your usual meticulousness. The black lace thong and matching bra lay out in the open, striking against the practicality of the rest of your packing. His brow furrowed, his movements faltering as he caught sight of it. A flush crept up his neck as he glanced toward you, then quickly back to the lingerie. The moment stretched as Donghyuck’s eyes darted to the bed, his realization arriving a second later. His amusement bubbled to the surface, evident in the sharp rise of his shoulders and the quiet shake of his head.

You moved without a word, your face calm, betraying nothing. Folding the lace set with precise hands, you tucked it into your suitcase and resumed your packing, brushing away the moment as easily as you might smooth over a wrinkle in a shirt. The weight of their gazes lingered—Yangyang’s awkward but fond, Donghyuck’s teasing, and Mark’s quiet but steady—but you didn’t acknowledge it. Even as the room swirled with disarray—Donghyuck’s deliberate chaos, Yangyang’s awkward fidgeting, Mark’s steady presence—it all seemed to balance perfectly, as if each of you instinctively knew how to fill the space left by another. The warmth wasn’t in the words unsaid but in the way they didn’t need to be spoken, a kind of trust built over time, binding you all together in ways that felt effortless.

The door flew open with a sharp bang, and Chenle stormed in, his movements quick and frantic. His gaze darted to the scattered clothes across the bed and floor, eyebrows knitting together in visible disapproval. His sharp inhale filled the room as he threw his hands up, gesturing wildly at the chaos surrounding you. The tension in his posture was mirrored in his voice, which cut through the warm atmosphere with an exasperated edge.

“Unbelievable!” he barked, his eyes narrowing as he gestured at Donghyuck’s pile of discarded hats and Yangyang’s haphazardly folded clothes. He grabbed a crumpled sweater from the edge of your suitcase, shaking it like it offended him personally. His face twisted into a mix of frustration and disappointment as his hand flew to his hip, his stance the very picture of disapproval. Even his sigh felt heavy, weighted with the kind of authority that came naturally to him.

He didn’t need to say it, but he did anyway—his voice brimming with righteous indignation as he scolded the room like a parent catching their children misbehaving. “Just because we live on a budget,” he muttered, his tone biting as he surveyed the room with a dramatic sweep of his arm, “doesn’t mean we have to look like we’re off-brand!”

You bit back a grin as Chenle’s scolding reached its peak, his voice rising in mock outrage as he waved a shirt in Donghyuck’s direction. Donghyuck, unfazed, threw himself onto the bed with dramatic flair, claiming he was too exhausted to argue. Yangyang fiddled with the edge of his hoodie, pretending to listen while his eyes darted to you, amusement dancing in their depths. Even Mark, who rarely engaged in the theatrics, chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on the mess but betraying no intention of intervening. The chaos felt alive, wrapping itself around the room like an embrace, and you found yourself leaning into it, letting their voices and presence fill the space.

As you zipped up your suitcase, their attention shifted to you, casual but lingering, their expressions softening as the room quieted. They didn’t say anything, but their teasing, their fussing, and even their collective disarray spoke volumes. You could feel it—the way their focus settled on you like you were the thread that held the moment together. And you loved it, even if you’d never admit it outright. It was rare to feel this surrounded, this seen, even amid the chaos, and you let yourself bask in it for just a moment longer.

The early morning air felt colder than it should have, biting against your skin as you stepped onto the campus grounds. The golden light of dawn stretched long shadows across the pavement, softening the buzz of activity into something almost serene—if not for the way it all seemed so far away. You kept your distance, eyes flicking across the scene with an almost clinical precision. The basketball team was scattered across the lot, players moving in pairs or small groups, their laughter and energy bouncing off the concrete. Cheerleaders hovered nearby, bright and animated, their voices spilling over with chatter that didn’t concern you. It was all so performative, so obvious, as though everyone here knew their roles and leaned into them fully. You were only here because you had to be.

The trip wasn’t about camaraderie or excitement for you—it was about calculation. Observation. Jeno. He filled the edges of your mind, slipping into your thoughts despite how many times you tried to push him out. What would this weekend reveal? Would he try to take control, thinking he could have you the way he did before, or would he crack under the weight of knowing you wouldn’t let him? You weren’t interested in giving him anything, but the thought of watching him squirm, of seeing how far he’d go to try and get it, was enough to keep you curious, almost too curious for comfort.

Jeno wasn’t the type to handle rejection gracefully, and the thought of watching him navigate the boundaries you’d drawn intrigued you more than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t that you wanted to challenge him—it was more personal than that. You wanted to see him, understand him, even if it meant keeping yourself at a safe distance.

The sound of Yangyang and Donghyuck’s bickering pulled you from your thoughts. They were huddled together near the coach, their voices rising over something completely inconsequential—probably the seating arrangement or who got to bring what snacks for the ride. Yangyang’s face was a picture of exaggerated indignation, waving a packet of sour gummies like it was a weapon. Donghyuck countered with an equally dramatic point, gesturing to the coach and claiming that Yangyang’s choice of snacks was “unacceptable and borderline offensive.” It was the kind of chaos only they could create, and despite yourself, you felt the corners of your lips twitch into a faint smile.

“You good?” Donghyuck’s voice cut through, catching you off guard as he slung an arm around your shoulder. His tone was playful, but his glance lingered for a second longer than usual, a flicker of something more sincere in his eyes. Yangyang, now victorious in their snack debate, nudged your arm gently, his expression light but curious. “Yeah, you’ve been kinda quiet,” he added, leaning in just enough to study your face. They didn’t press further—never did—but their presence was grounding, pulling you back into the warm chaos of the group.

The moment settled, their laughter fading into the background as your focus shifted to Areum. She moved with a quiet kind of purpose, her steps measured but lacking the assertiveness of someone used to commanding attention. It wasn’t her presence that filled the space but the way she softened it, her gaze fixed solely on Mark like he was the only one there. Her shoulders were slightly drawn in, her movements careful, almost tentative, yet there was an undeniable intention in the way she approached. She passed by your group without so much as a glance, her voice low and steady as she called his name, “Mark,” a sound meant only for him, delicate but deliberate, like an offering.

Mark didn’t notice at first, lost in the steady rhythm of his music. He leaned casually against his car, arms crossed, his headphones still on. It wasn’t until Areum tapped him lightly on the shoulder that he startled, pulling one earbud out as he turned toward her. The moment their eyes met, you felt the shift. His usual guardedness melted away, replaced by something warmer, more open. His lips curved into a soft smile that reached his eyes, the kind of look you hadn’t seen him give to anyone in a while.

Areum handed him something—a mixtape. Even from a distance, you could see the care she’d put into it. His name was written across the case in looping script, surrounded by small doodles of guitars and basketballs. It wasn’t flashy, but it was intentional. Thoughtful. Mark’s fingers brushed hers as he took it, and though the moment was fleeting, it lingered in a way that made you pause.

Yangyang raised an eyebrow beside you, breaking your focus. “What’s going on over there?” he asked, his voice low enough to stay between the three of you.

Donghyuck leaned slightly forward, his expression somewhere between curious and annoyed. “Why does it look like they’re in some kind of rom-com moment?” he muttered, clearly unimpressed but equally unable to look away.

You didn’t answer, too focused on the small details: the way Areum tilted her head, her smile radiant and genuine; the way Mark’s thumb absently traced the edge of the tape as if committing it to memory. Their connection was private, unspoken, yet glaringly obvious. You fidgeted with your phone, pretending not to notice, but the tension in the air was impossible to ignore.

When Areum finally walked away, her expression content, Mark stayed by his car for a moment longer. His gaze lingered on the tape in his hands, his thumb brushing over one of the doodles as though it was something fragile. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pushed off the car and walked toward you, slipping the tape into his bag like it wasn’t a big deal.

Yangyang wasn’t letting it go. “Okay, what was that?” he asked, his tone playful but curious.

Mark shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “Nothing,” he said simply, though his eyes flicked toward Areum for just a second too long.

Donghyuck rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sure, nothing. Because mixtapes from pretty girls are totally casual.”

Mark laughed, his reaction too light, too natural, to be convincing. He didn’t say anything more, but the way his hand brushed the bag where he’d tucked the tape told you enough. Whatever it was, he wasn’t telling—but he wasn’t exactly hiding it either.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Nahyun’s expression as she stood with Shotaro and Chenle. Her gaze lingered on Mark, her lips pressed into a thin line as though she were trying to mask something. Shotaro noticed too, his eyes flicking between Nahyun and Mark briefly before he gave her a reassuring nudge. Chenle, meanwhile, was oblivious to the tension, busy ranting about how unprepared everyone was.

The energy of the group ebbed and flowed as always, but something about the way Mark stood, his easy laughter blending with Yangyang and Donghyuck’s teasing, left you unsettled. The tape hadn’t just been a gesture; it had been a message, one you weren’t sure you were meant to decipher.

The bus ride stretched endlessly, every bump and turn reminding you of how uncomfortable it was. You sat beside Mark, your notebook open in your lap, though your notes were barely touched. Your eyes kept drifting against your will to where Jeno sprawled out across the aisle, headphones on, his posture deceptively relaxed. His long legs stretched out into the walkway, his fingers drumming lazily against his thigh. He radiated an effortless arrogance, completely at ease in the cramped space that everyone else found unbearable.

Donghyuck and Yangyang’s voices rose in bickering tones nearby, pulling you into their trivial arguments now and then—something about snacks and music choices. You responded half-heartedly, your mind unable to pull fully away from the weight of Jeno’s presence just a few rows ahead. His confidence, his complete lack of concern, was maddening.

As the bus pulled into the motel parking lot, the team and cheer squad spilled out into the cool evening air. You hauled your bag from the luggage compartment, the atmosphere already tense. The cramped quarters and thin walls of the motel offered little privacy. You could hear teammates joking too loudly, cheerleaders laughing as they dragged their gear to their rooms, the occasional bark of Coach Suh reminding everyone to settle down.

Coach Suh’s voice boomed over the chatter, cutting through the noise like a siren. “Listen up! Opposite sexes in the same room? Not happening! This isn’t spring break—this is an away game, and I’m running a respectable program!”

A ripple of groans and snickers moved through the group, but Coach Suh pressed on, holding up a clipboard like it held the Ten Commandments. “I’ve already decided the rooming arrangements. No, you don’t get a say. No, you can’t switch. And no, Yangyang, bribery will not work this time!”

Yangyang raised his hands in mock surrender, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “What? I wasn’t even gonna try this time!”

Donghyuck snorted. “Yeah, sure. And I’m the starting point guard.”

“I should be the starting point guard!” Yangyang shot back, earning a chorus of laughs as Coach Suh glared at them.

The coach’s eyes narrowed. “You think this is funny? Let me remind you what happened the last time I trusted you all to sort it out. Jay and Sunghoon trying to fit five people in one room because they wanted ‘bonding time’ with the cheer squad? Yeah. Not on my watch!”

The laughter rose again, Mark shaking his head as he muttered, “We’re in college, for crying out loud.”

You couldn’t help but agree. Adults. All of you. Technically. Coach Suh’s micromanaging felt like an overreaction, bordering on parody. Were rooming arrangements really that serious? You thought about pointing this out but wisely stayed quiet, knowing full well the coach didn’t take well to being questioned.

Mark walked alongside you, your bag slung over his shoulder despite your insistence that you could handle it. “Thanks,” you murmured as you reached your assigned room.

“No problem,” Mark replied, his tone light, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if sensing the unease you hadn’t quite managed to bury. “Catch you later.”

You nodded and stepped into the room, greeted by the soft click of the door closing behind you and Nahyun’s quiet presence already filling the space. She was perched on the edge of one of the twin beds, her bag unpacked but untouched, her expression unreadable as she stared out the window.

Her silence wasn’t unusual, but tonight it felt heavier, as though the long day and unfamiliar environment weighed on her more than she was willing to say. You set your bag down on the other bed, glancing her way briefly before pulling out your notebook and laptop. The absence of words between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly warm either—more like a truce you’d both silently agreed upon without negotiation.

“I guess we’re stuck with thin walls and Coach Suh’s rules,” you said lightly, breaking the quiet as you unpacked your things. Nahyun turned her head slightly but didn’t respond, her focus still on the view outside.

You paused for a beat, debating whether to press her or let her be. Ultimately, you let the silence settle again, returning to your own task while the low hum of voices from the hallway seeped into the room.

The room was dim, the single overhead light flickering faintly as you shifted in bed. You hadn’t slept well, not even close. The motel’s walls were criminally thin, every sound from the hallway and neighboring rooms bleeding through. Laughter echoed faintly—teammates cracking jokes, their voices muffled but clear enough to keep you awake. Somewhere down the hall, the low murmur of a TV played, punctuated by bursts of canned laughter. You turned over for the third time, staring at the peeling wallpaper and trying to will yourself into rest, but the suffocating stillness of the room kept you tense, every creak and shuffle amplifying the unease that settled under your skin.

By the time morning came, you felt like you hadn’t slept at all. The pale light creeping through the thin curtains was an unwelcome reminder that the day had begun, and the tension of the previous night was now rolling into something new. At the gym, the energy was electric. The players moved across the court in synchronized warm-ups, their sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Their movements were sharp and rehearsed, the rhythm of the drill almost hypnotic as the coaches barked orders. On the sidelines, the cheer squad practiced their routines, their shouts echoing through the gym. You sat on the bleachers, laptop open on your knees, pretending to focus on the project. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, aimlessly tapping as your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

No matter how hard you tried, your eyes kept being drawn back to Jeno. He moved with a calculated arrogance, each motion deliberate, his body language exuding a confidence that bordered on cocky. His smirk lingered at the edges of his lips, subtle but undeniable, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on the room. It annoyed you—how effortlessly he commanded attention, how even the smallest glance in his direction seemed to draw you in. You caught him looking at you more than once. Each time, his eyes locked with yours, holding your gaze for just a beat too long before that infuriating smirk tugged at his lips. It wasn’t subtle. He wanted you to notice him, and the worst part was that you did.

“You okay?” Mark’s voice broke through your thoughts. You blinked, startled, as he dropped onto the bleacher beside you. His energy was jittery, his movements restless as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He leaned over slightly, peering at your screen. “How’s the project coming?”

You brushed him off lightly, closing the laptop with a snap. “It’s fine. Busy.” The tightness in your chest made it hard to sound convincing, and you knew he could sense it. His brows furrowed slightly, his concern palpable, but he didn’t push. Instead, he shifted back, offering a small, reassuring smile that you didn’t quite have the energy to return.

Karina stood nearby, her arms crossed as she chatted quietly with Areum. Her sharp gaze flicked between you and Jeno, narrowing slightly as if she were piecing together a puzzle you didn’t want her to solve. Her focus lingered on you, her expression thoughtful, the wheels in her head clearly turning. Areum, on the other hand, had her attention locked on Mark. Her soft, hopeful expression made something in your stomach twist uncomfortably. The contrast between her open affection and Karina’s analytical observation was jarring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you adjusted your posture, forcing your shoulders back, trying to appear calm and unbothered even as you felt Karina’s gaze prickling against your skin.

The controlled rigidity of your movements must have given you away. Karina’s eyes lingered for a moment longer, as if filing her observations away for later, before she turned back to Areum. You exhaled slowly, shifting your attention back to the court, but the unease stayed with you. The energy in the gym was alive, pulsing with tension, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were a thread being pulled tighter with every glance, every observation, every unspoken question.

The Busan Titans’ gymnasium buzzed with a restless energy, a perfect storm of anticipation and chaos. Local fans packed the bleachers, their cheers echoing off the high ceilings, mixing with the rhythmic bounce of basketballs and the sharp commands of the coaches. The Seoul Ravens, clad in their navy and gold jerseys, moved across the court in warm-ups, their intensity matching the electric tension in the air. Cheerleaders lined the sidelines, practicing routines with synchronized precision, their voices cutting through the din. The fluorescent lights overhead gleamed harshly off the polished wood floor, magnifying every squeak of sneakers and every thud of the ball hitting the rim.

Emotionally, the stakes were sky-high. The rivalry between the Seoul Ravens and the Busan Titans was infamous, a clash that always promised drama both on and off the court. For you, the stakes felt even higher. Watching Mark navigate the game with his usual precision and focus should have been your only concern. But your eyes, drawn like a magnet, kept drifting to Jeno. Every move he made exuded a deliberate attractiveness, his confidence bordering on provocation. Even in the chaos of the game, he carried himself like the gym was his stage, every dribble, pass, and smirk calculated to command attention—and maybe, specifically, yours.

“Number 23, Lee Jeno, refusing to play nice with his own teammate,” Donghyuck’s voice echoed through the gym, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. His commentary was sharp and unforgiving, gripping the microphone tightly as he assessed the game. “And oh, what’s this? Another missed opportunity because someone’s too busy showing off. Shocker.”

You tried to focus, your pen hovering over the notebook in your lap as you attempted to analyze the game’s dynamics. Control, cohesion, and intent—words you had scrawled across the top of the page as a framework for your observations. You were meant to be dissecting how the team worked as a unit, identifying the subtleties of leadership on the court, and understanding how individual players synchronized their movements to achieve a collective goal. But it was all slipping through your fingers. Every time you tried to focus on the broader picture, your gaze veered back to Jeno, who disrupted every carefully laid thought you tried to construct.

He was chaos in motion, but not in a way that could be dismissed. His presence had weight, an unavoidable pull that drew eyes to him no matter where he was on the court. Jeno moved with the precision of someone who didn’t just understand the game but who thrived on bending it to his will. His screens were deliberate, his passes selective, his plays edged with an arrogance that was almost antagonistic. You knew you should be noting how he communicated with his teammates—or failed to—but instead, your focus narrowed on the way his body moved, the sharp power in his shoulders, the way his jersey clung to the curve of his back. There was something magnetic about how he dominated the space, a kind of raw, unrelenting energy that drew you in, leaving you too aware of him in a way that made your breath hitch.

The roar of the crowd swelled as Jeno drove toward the basket, his every step purposeful, his smirk unshaken even as defenders closed in. It wasn’t just skill—it was an unrelenting confidence that seemed to ripple outward, forcing everyone, including you, to look at him. Your pen remained poised, unmoving, as if the sheer force of his presence had rendered you incapable of action.

“And he scores!” Donghyuck’s voice rang out from the announcer’s booth, his tone dripping with exaggerated awe. “Would you look at that? Lee Jeno, number 23, proving once again that teamwork is optional when you’ve got an ego bigger than this gym.”

The crowd erupted, a mix of cheers and groans, and your grip on your pen tightened as you tried to block out Jeno’s audacious smirk. He didn’t even try to hide it, his eyes flicking in your direction briefly, like he knew exactly where your attention was.

“Someone should remind Mark that he’s sharing the court with a one-man highlight reel tonight,” Donghyuck quipped, earning a few laughs from the bleachers.

Your chest tightened as you forced yourself to look away, scribbling half-formed notes that barely made sense. Control. Cohesion. Intent. You wanted to apply those words to the team, but the reality was they fit Jeno alone. His control was absolute, his cohesion with the team irrelevant, and his intent—well, that was clear in the sharpness of his plays and the occasional flicker of his gaze toward you. It was maddening, and yet you couldn’t stop tracking him, your pen faltering every time he moved.

The first half played out like a storm brewing in slow motion. Mark’s movements were sharp and purposeful, his coordination with the team seamless. He kept the ball moving, setting up plays with precision, his focus unwavering. Jeno, by contrast, was all flair and aggression. He pushed harder, played faster, and showed off with an edge that felt more personal than professional. It didn’t take long for the tension between him and Mark to seep into the game. Jeno refused to pass to Mark, setting screens that felt less like strategy and more like subtle digs, edging him out of key plays. The crowd gasped at some of the near-misses, their excitement feeding the fire on the court.

Midway through the second half, the storm broke. It happened fast—too fast for anyone to fully register. Jeno went in for the rebound, his body colliding with Mark’s as they both jumped for the ball. The shove wasn’t blatant, but it was enough to send Mark stumbling, his footing faltering as he fought to regain balance. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a wave of cheers from the home side, their energy feeding the already-tense atmosphere.

Mark froze for a split second, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. But then he turned, stepping into Jeno’s space, and shoved him back. It wasn’t calculated; it was raw, reactive, and completely out of character. Whistles pierced the air, shrill and unrelenting, as the refs rushed in to separate the players. The court erupted into a whirlwind of shouting—coaches yelling, teammates pulling them apart, fans roaring from the stands.

“Are you kidding me, Lee?” Coach Suh’s voice thundered from the sidelines, his tone cutting through the chaos. “Get your head in the game or sit your ass down!”

“Can you believe this?” Donghyuck’s voice rang out from the announcer’s box, dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “The captain of the Seoul Ravens, ladies and gentlemen. Always keeping it classy.” There was a pause, and then, in a quieter tone meant to sound like a stage whisper: “Mark’s definitely gonna feel that in the morning.”

You gripped your notebook tighter, your heart pounding in your chest. Your pen hovered over the page, forgotten, as your gaze locked onto the court. Jeno’s smirk lingered, subtle but unmistakable, though his eyes carried something sharper—something unreadable. His body language betrayed nothing as he let himself be pulled back by a teammate, brushing off the ref’s warning with a curt nod.

Mark’s shoulders heaved as his teammates guided him toward the bench, his frustration evident in every tense movement. His jaw was set, the muscles twitching as he clenched it tighter, his expression caught somewhere between anger and disbelief. You had seen him frustrated before, but this was different—it was raw, unfiltered, and far too personal.

Your gaze shifted to Jeno, your mind racing to piece together what had unfolded. He stood at his position on the court, adjusting his jersey with a calculated nonchalance that didn’t match the chaos of moments before. His face was unreadable, but when his eyes flicked toward the stands, catching yours for a split second, a jolt shot through you. There was something deliberate in that glance, a silent acknowledgment that made your chest tighten. You wanted to believe it was coincidental, but the heat rising under your skin told another story.

You started toward Mark instinctively, but the sight of Areum and Karina reaching him first halted your steps. Areum crouched beside him, her hand hesitating near his ribs as she asked if he was okay. Her voice was soft, laced with concern, and her expression was painfully earnest. Karina stood beside her, her sharp eyes assessing the situation as she passed Mark a water bottle. Their closeness—the natural ease with which they moved around him—twisted something inside you. You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to stay back as a wave of frustration and helplessness built inside you.

Jeno was gone. You scanned the gym, searching for his figure, but the bench where he had been moments ago was now empty. The final buzzer sounded, but it felt insignificant, the win overshadowed by the tension crackling through the air. Mark was surrounded by worried teammates and Areum’s quiet fussing, her presence steady and reassuring in a way that only made your irritation flare. Karina, ever observant, glanced between you and the empty bench, her expression unreadable but cutting all the same.

You turned on your heel, the weight in your chest pushing you toward the gym doors. Your strides quickened as you moved through the quiet corridors, your thoughts a mess of anger and confusion. Locker rooms, supply closets, empty hallways—you searched them all, each moment intensifying your need to find him.

The moment you caught sight of Jeno slipping into the empty classroom, everything inside you boiled over. You didn’t hesitate. The door slammed shut, the sharp sound reverberating through the room like the strike of a match, igniting the charged air. Jeno’s head lifted, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that made everything else dissolve into the background. His movements were deliberate, each shift exuding a languid control, his stillness pulling you in like a force field you couldn’t escape. He leaned back against the desk, his frame deceptively at ease yet humming with latent energy, a storm simmering just beneath the surface. His jersey clung to him in damp folds, the fabric tracing every defined line of his chest and shoulders, the sheen of sweat catching the sterile light and accentuating the heat radiating off him. His hair was disheveled, damp strands falling haphazardly across his forehead, lending him a careless, untamed allure that only heightened the pull between you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hissed, your voice trembling as fury and something deeper tangled together in your chest. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? You—” You stopped short, your breath hitching as his gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring your anger.

“Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?” he interrupted, his tone low and unhurried, every word curling around you like smoke. He tilted his head, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Guess that means I did something right.”

The audacity of it made you snap. You crossed the room in two quick strides, shoving him back against the desk with more force than you intended. His breath hitched as his hips hit the edge, his hands automatically gripping the surface for balance. The closeness sent a shockwave through you; your chest brushed his, and the heat radiating from his body only fueled your spiraling emotions.

“You don’t get to pull shit like that and then act like it’s nothing,” you seethed, your voice low and razor-sharp. “Mark—my Mark—could’ve been seriously hurt. You think this is a fucking game, don’t you?”

Jeno’s smirk wavered, but only for a moment. He leaned closer, his lips so near yours that you could feel his breath, warm and unsteady. “Maybe,” he murmured, his voice dropping, rough and charged, his breath skimming your lips. “But look at you—right here.” His hands moved with purpose, gripping your ass and pulling you flush against him, your bodies colliding like a spark meeting gasoline. “Exactly where I wanted.”

Something snapped, a tidal wave of want crashing over you, too powerful to fight. The fire surged, drowning out every rational thought, and your lips slammed into his. The kiss was feral, raw, teeth grazing as desperation spilled between you. Your hands clawed at his jersey, the damp fabric clinging to your fingers as his body responded in perfect sync. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh with a force that made you gasp against his mouth. He groaned low in his throat, the sound reverberating through you like a second heartbeat, setting your veins alight.

Your voice fell to a whisper, dangerous and commanding. “I’m doing this because I want to. Not because of you. Not because of Mark. Me. Do you understand that?”

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw breaking through before his smirk returned, softer this time, edged with a vulnerability that was almost pleading. “Then prove it,” he rasped, his voice rough and thick with need.

You didn’t hesitate. Your lips crashed into his again, your kiss a collision of frustration, anger, and unspoken hunger. His hands gripped your waist like a lifeline, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe, but you didn’t care. Your hips ground into his with a deliberate, punishing rhythm that made him groan, low and ragged, a sound that shot straight through you. Nails digging into his shoulders, you kept him exactly where you wanted him, your body moving against his like it was made for this. The room blurred around you, every sensation sharpened to the edge of unbearable as you lost yourself in him.

“You think you can fuck with me?” you snarled against his lips, your teeth catching his bottom lip in a sharp tug. “Think you can play these little games and walk away unscathed?”

His grip on your hips tightened, his breath ragged as he leaned into you, the desk biting into his thighs as your bodies pressed together. “You think I’m walking away now?” he shot back, his voice hoarse, strained. “You started this, baby.”

Your nails scraped against his chest as you shoved him back again, just enough to glare at him. “I’m not your baby,” you spat, though your voice faltered as his hands slid up the curve of your waist, deliberate and slow, like he was trying to brand the sensation into his palms.

“Then what are you?” he whispered, his voice dipping into something darker, hungrier. “Because you sure as hell don’t act like you hate me.”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Instead, your body moved instinctively, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pressed yourself closer. The heat of him against you sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as the tension between you snapped. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and you ground down onto him, the friction igniting a fire that burned through every rational thought.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his head falling back, exposing the curve of his neck, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The sound was raw, guttural, and it only spurred you on. Your hips moved with deliberate, punishing precision, grinding against him, feeling every inch of him through the thin barriers of fabric still between you. The desk creaked beneath the weight of your movements, but neither of you cared, lost in the heat that surged between you.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he pulled you closer, his breath catching as you thrust down again, rubbing yourself against him in a rhythm that left him gasping. “You’re fucking killing me,” he groaned, his voice low and strained, his fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t bear the space that still lingered between you.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The intensity in his eyes, the way his body responded to every roll of your hips, every deliberate grind—it was intoxicating. Your lips hovered near his ear, your breath hot and uneven. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you murmured, your voice dripping with challenge as you continued the relentless pace. His choked groan was all the answer you needed, and you smirked against his neck, your teeth grazing the skin there, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted.

He leaned in to kiss you, but you pulled back just enough, your breath scorching against his ear as you set the terms. “If this is going to work,” you murmured, your voice sharp and commanding, “then you’re all mine. Every inch of you. Your body, your time, your fucking focus—everything. No one else touches you, no one else gets this. Do you hear me?”

Jeno let out a choked gasp, his grip on your hips tightening as he looked up at you, his eyes blown wide with desperation. “Fuck—I hear you. I’m yours.”

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across your lips as you leaned in, your teeth grazing his bottom lip before pulling back. “Good,” you whispered, your voice dripping with dominance. “Because if you don’t keep up, I’ll find someone who can.”

His chest heaved, his gaze locked on yours like he couldn’t look away. “You won’t need to,” he growled, his voice thick with determination. “I’ll keep up. I’ll give you everything.”

Your lips brushed his again, softer this time, before pulling away just enough to murmur your final condition. “And you’re going to lay off Mark. That’s a given. If you fuck with him again, we’re done.”

Jeno nodded, his hands trembling slightly as they slid higher up your thighs. “I will,” he promised, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You have my word.”

Your hips rolled against his, each movement deliberate, teasing, as you dragged a hand through his damp hair and forced his gaze back to yours. “Good boy,” you hissed, your voice thick with command. “Because if you fuck with Mark again—if you even think about it—I’m done with you.”

“I won’t, you have my word,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his restraint shattered. His hands slid higher, tracing the curve of your body with a reverence that only made the fire burn hotter. “I’ll do whatever you want, just—fuck—don’t stop.”

“Good,” you murmured, the command slipping from your lips like molten steel, as you captured his mouth again. The kiss was devastating, like a fuse igniting the storm between you—hot, consuming, dangerous.

Breaking away just enough to catch the desperation in his gaze, you whispered against his lips, “No one else will ever feel this. Say it—say you’re mine.”

“Yours,” he groaned, the word dragged from his chest like a confession.

“No one else touches you,” you hissed, nails dragging down his back as his hands dug into your thighs, pulling you flush against him. “No one else gets to feel you. Every single time you’re hard, it’s for me. Only me.”

“Only you,” he choked out, his voice wrecked, his head falling back as you rolled your hips against him with deliberate, punishing intent.

The tension snapped like a live wire, your resolve shifting into something darker, more primal. You slid down from his hold, your palms grazing the hard muscle of his thighs as you knelt before him. Jeno’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively tightening at his sides before one shot forward, gripping your hair with a force that made your scalp sting and your pulse race.

Your eyes locked with his, a wicked glint in your gaze as you leaned in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the hard length of him through his jersey shorts. His hips jerked involuntarily, a groan ripping from his chest, low and guttural. “Mine,” you whispered, the word dripping with possession, your tongue tracing the outline of him through the fabric, leaving a damp imprint of your claim.

Jeno’s grip on your hair tightened, forcing you to stay there, his voice hoarse as he rasped, “Fuck—stay right there. Don’t move.”

You smirked, your lips brushing against him again, slow and teasing. “This is all mine. My rules. Do you understand?”

“Fuck—yours,” he rasped, his fingers tightening their hold like he needed the anchor to stay grounded.

You rose slowly from your kneeling position, the dominance in your gaze never wavering as Jeno’s hands immediately found your hips, lifting you with an ease that made your breath hitch. The desk creaked under your weight as he set you down, his body flush against yours, your legs wrapping around him like a vice. The friction was unbearable, delicious, as you rolled your hips against him, pulling another ragged groan from his lips.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear, your voice a low, possessive purr. “Every. Last. Drop,” you whispered, each word punctuated with a deliberate, punishing grind of your hips, your core dragging against the hard length of him in a way that made his knees nearly buckle.

“Your cock belongs to me, Jeno. Say it,” you demanded, your teeth grazing his jaw as you grabbed his chin, forcing his dazed eyes to meet yours.

His breath was uneven, his restraint unraveling with every roll of your body against his. “It’s yours,” he choked out, his voice raw, desperate, as his hands moved lower, pulling you impossibly closer. “Only yours.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the raw desperation in his voice igniting something deep and primal within you. His confession wasn’t just submission—it was acknowledgment, a surrender that stoked the fire coursing through your veins. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into the firm muscle as you pulled back slightly to look at him. The heat in his gaze mirrored your own, and in that moment, the air between you shifted.

There was no need for spoken words; the silent realization passed like a spark, instantaneous and irrevocable. The intensity in his eyes reflected the control and possession in yours, a mutual understanding that surged like a tidal wave, consuming and absolute. You were claiming him, and he was letting you—more than that, he wanted it.

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, challenging even in his surrender. “Oh, you wanna be exclusive, baby?” His voice was low, testing, as if daring you to hesitate.

“Yes,” you answered without a beat, your voice sharp and unwavering, the word heavy with certainty. You could feel his breath catch as your grip tightened on his shoulders, your body pressing harder against his. This was yours—he was yours. And there was no doubt in your mind, no second-guessing. Your instincts had never failed you, and they screamed that this was right, that this was yours to take.

The realization locked into place, sharp and intense. His hands, possessive and firm, slid lower, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. You both moved as if tethered to the same electric current, a rhythm of dominance and surrender perfectly in sync. This wasn’t just about desire—it was about claiming something unshakable, something undeniable.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone teasing, almost lazy, “I didn’t take you for the type to get off on claiming things, but now I can’t stop thinking about it.” He shifted his hips just enough for you to feel the full length of him pressing against you, his eyes dark and unrelenting as they locked onto yours. “You like knowing you own me? That every time I’m hard, it’s because of you?” his grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, his voice dipping to a husky whisper, “I’m starting to think you like me desperate for you.”

“Shut up,” you growled, your voice a low snarl before crashing your lips into his. The kiss was brutal, a collision of teeth and tongues that left no room for softness. It was hunger and anger rolled into one, a firestorm consuming both of you with no thought of the wreckage left behind. His hands moved down, gripping your thighs with a force that promised bruises, hoisting you up effortlessly. You felt the edge of the desk against your lower back, but it barely registered as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, locking him in place.

Clothes disappeared in a frenzy, fabric ripping and buttons scattering to the floor as neither of you cared for anything but the desperate need to feel skin against skin. Your nails raked down his back, eliciting a low growl from his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest as his cock pressed against your slick heat, thick and demanding.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head falling back as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch exquisite and overwhelming. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you up effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist. The first thrust was deliberate, a slow pull and push that had your toes curling and a moan spilling from your lips.

“Keep going,” you hissed, your voice laced with need as you began moving, fucking yourself onto him. The angle was perfect, every inch of him filling you as you rolled your hips with purpose, meeting his measured thrusts with equal desperation. His grip on your thighs tightened, his breath coming in ragged pants against your neck as he buried his face in your skin, groaning your name like a prayer.

The rhythm was maddening—deliberate, controlled, each thrust dragging against your walls in a way that made you see stars. The slick sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, each movement a testament to the tension that had been building for far too long. You clung to him, your nails biting into his shoulders as your lips found his, muffling the moans that poured from both of you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his voice rough and broken as he thrust deeper, the pace still agonizingly slow. “You’re perfect, every inch of you—fuck, I can’t get enough.”

You gasped, your nails raking down his chest as you leaned back, giving him a view of where your bodies joined. “You like that?” you taunted, your voice shaky and breathless as you ground against him. “You like watching me fuck myself on your cock?”

His response was a strangled groan, his hips snapping up instinctively as he buried himself deeper, holding you tighter as if afraid you’d slip away. His control was slipping, the deliberate rhythm giving way to something more desperate as your name spilled from his lips like a confession.

“Come on,” you urged, your voice dripping with command as you rocked harder against him, your body arching into his. “Give it to me—show me who I belong to.”

The words sent him spiraling, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with a ferocity that left you breathless. His thrusts were relentless, deep and punishing, each one hitting a spot that made your body arch against him, your nails raking down his back as you gasped out his name. The wet slap of your bodies meeting echoed in the room, your moans mixing with his deep, guttural groans, filling the air like a charged storm. You were so close, the pressure inside you winding tight, ready to snap, your whole body trembling with the need for release.

But just as you reached the precipice, he stopped. Completely. His movements slowed to a maddening grind, deliberate and unhurried, his cock dragging torturously against your slick heat without giving you what you craved. Your breath hitched, frustration crashing through you as you tried to grind against him, seeking any friction, any relief. His hands gripped your hips like iron, stilling you with infuriating ease.

“Jeno,” you hissed, your voice sharp and laced with desperation, your eyes narrowing as you stared him down.

His lips curved into that infuriating smirk, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer. “Come and meet me tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with command.

“What the hell?” you gasped, the haze of arousal battling the simmering anger that was quickly rising in you. “What are you talking about?”

“The old town center,” he said, his tone calm but charged with something darker, more deliberate. “Where the old gym and that creepy doctor’s office are.”

Your heart raced, both from the unrelenting tension in your body and the cryptic edge to his words. “Why there?” you demanded, your voice strained as you tried to move against his grip, but he held you steady, his smirk deepening.

“You’ll see,” he said, his dark eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in them enough to make your breath hitch. “Midnight.”

You glared at him, your nails biting into his shoulders as your frustration mounted. “You think I’m just going to drop everything and show up because you tell me to?”

His laughter was low, a rumble that made your body tighten further. “You will,” he said, his lips grazing your ear, his voice soft and taunting. “Because you want this just as much as I do.”

Your frustration boiled over, your body trembling from the denial and the unbearable pull of his words. “You’re not serious,” you managed, but the tension in your voice betrayed you.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his grip firm and unyielding. “Oh, I’m very serious,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “But if you want more, you’ll meet me. Midnight.”

Your breath came in uneven pants, the ache of unfulfilled desire burning through you as he held you there, his body still pressed to yours. His cock, hard and unrelenting, made it impossible to think straight, his deliberate refusal to let you finish a clear message.

Before you could argue, he shifted his hips one last time, a deliberate drag of his cock against your sensitive core that made you gasp, your breath catching in a sharp inhale. His voice was low and rough, each word grazing your skin like a touch. “Don’t make me wait too long,” he murmured, his eyes dark with purpose as they locked onto yours.

Your pulse thundered, your response sharp and immediate, cutting through the thick air between you. “Don’t make me wait too long.” The words were bold, biting, but your voice trembled with something more—a heat you couldn’t suppress, a need you couldn’t hide.

The corner of his mouth quirked, and then it came—a smile so rare, so devastatingly beautiful, it left you unsteady. It wasn’t the smirk he used to challenge you, but something softer, something dangerous in its vulnerability. His boyish grin curled into a tease, his breath warm against your lips. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it,” he said, his tone laced with promise, every word dripping with a heat that settled low in your stomach.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his hand trailing up to grip the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair, holding you firmly. His lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was heated, consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue pressed into your mouth, claiming you in a way that left you trembling. His body pressed against yours, solid and unyielding, his hand tightening in your hair to tilt your head and deepen the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, your chest heaved, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of it. His forehead rested against yours for a beat, his breath mingling with yours, hot and ragged. He pulled away slowly, his thumb brushing your jaw in a touch that felt almost tender, but the weight of his gaze was anything but soft.

And then he was gone, leaving the air heavy with his absence, your skin still burning where he’d touched you, your body thrumming with unspent tension. You were left wanting—aching—but the weight of his words, his kiss, and that damn smile lingered, igniting something inside you that refused to be extinguished.

Jeno was late.

The ache of unfulfilled desire still lingered in your veins as you stood in the abandoned town center, the cold air biting at your skin. The world around you felt eerie, as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting. You arrived before the appointed time, every step deliberate, your need for precision etched into the way you scanned the empty streets, unwilling to let even the thought of being late cross your mind. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about preparation. A part of you, restless and hungry, thrummed at the thought of seeing Jeno again. The memory of his hands pressing into your hips, the rasp of his breath against your neck, the weight of his body pinning you exactly where he wanted—every sensation still lingered in your muscles, alive beneath your skin, pulling you back to him with an ache you couldn’t ignore.

The town center stretched around you, dark and lifeless, the dim streetlights casting elongated shadows across the cracked pavement. You shifted your weight, arms folded tightly, both against the cold and the creeping frustration bubbling in your chest. You checked your phone again—still no messages. Still no sign of him.

The silence was deafening, your thoughts racing. What if he wasn’t coming? What if this was some kind of game, another way for him to hold the reins, to leave you hanging in the balance? Just as anger began to churn in your gut, a sound broke through the stillness—footsteps. Relief hit you first, sharp and immediate, only to fizzle into annoyance. But when you turned, it wasn’t Jeno.

It was Areum and Karina.

“What are you doing here?” Areum asked, her voice tinged with suspicion as her narrowed eyes searched your face.

You tried to school your expression into something calm, neutral, as if this wasn’t the most bizarre coincidence of the night. “Oh, I was just… exploring the area,” you said, forcing a casual shrug.

Areum didn’t look convinced, her gaze sharp as it flicked over you. Before you could come up with a better excuse, you found yourself sitting alone in the backseat of Areum’s car. Karina, slumped in the passenger seat, was a mess—her head lolling against the window, her lips curling into lazy smirks as she mumbled incoherently. The scent of alcohol clung to her, heavy and sweet, drifting back to where you sat, caught between irritation and a flicker of relief that her state left little room for questions.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and your heart jolted, hope flaring to life so suddenly it almost hurt. Jeno. It had to be him. You fumbled for it, already imagining his name lighting up the screen, the explanation he’d give, the way he’d make this right. But when you pulled it out, the screen was blank. No messages. The sharp sting of disappointment cut through your chest, and you shoved the phone back into your pocket, your jaw tightening.

Your gaze drifted to the window, trying to shake the restless unease pooling in your stomach. That’s when you noticed it—a faint, shuffling movement in the distance, barely visible against the darkened road. You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes, the shapes slowly coming into focus.

“Do you see that?” you murmured, your voice low but tense.

Areum, already alert, slowed the car, her brow furrowing as she leaned closer to the windshield. The headlights swept over two figures on the roadside, trudging through the darkness, their steps slow and weary. It wasn’t until the light caught them fully that recognition hit you like a punch to the gut. Jeno and Mark.

They looked rough, their clothes rumpled and dirt-streaked, their faces marked with bruises. Your heart pounded, confusion and anger mixing into a volatile storm. Areum beeped the horn, pulling the car to the side as the boys looked up, their expressions flickering with relief.

Mark climbed into the backseat first, collapsing against the far side with a groan, his exhaustion evident in the way his head fell back against the seat. “Y/N?” he muttered, his confusion clear as his gaze settled on you, surprise flickering in his tired eyes.

You didn’t respond, your body already shifting instinctively when the door on your side opened again. Jeno stood there, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure against the dim streetlights. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, and you quickly moved to the middle seat, your breath catching as he slid in beside you.

The air grew tighter, the space between the three of you suddenly feeling impossibly small. Mark leaned his head back, closing his eyes, while Jeno adjusted in his seat, his shoulder brushing yours as he settled. Jeno’s body was a furnace against yours, the heat of him sinking into your skin despite the layers of tension. He hadn’t looked at you, hadn’t said a word, but the energy radiating from him was impossible to ignore. You kept your face carefully neutral, determined not to let anything slip.

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked, his confusion evident as he glanced between you and Areum.

The flicker of confusion in his expression was fleeting, quickly masked, but you caught it anyway. And you understood why. It was unusual—you sitting here with Areum and Karina, the trio of you barely existing in the same circles. The sight of you in this context, in the backseat of Areum’s car, probably made no sense to him. But his confusion didn’t linger long. His gaze dropped to your legs brushing against his, the tension crackling like a live wire, and his breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.

Areum explained quickly, her voice brisk as she recounted how she’d found you wandering the town center. You nodded along, feigning calm even as your mind churned, desperately trying to process what was happening.

“What happened to you two?” Areum repeated, her gaze bouncing between the boys through the front mirror, sharp and insistent.

Mark sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Coach Suh threw us off the bus,” he admitted, his tone begrudging.

Jeno’s voice was low, almost clipped as he added, “Got picked up by some guys from the other team. It didn’t exactly end well.”

The story spilled out slowly—a ride gone wrong, taunts from the opposing players, and a humiliating deal that had forced Mark and Jeno to fake a fight to escape. The details were absurd, almost laughable if it weren’t for the bruises and the tension still hanging in the air.

You listened silently, two realizations sinking in like weights: Jeno hadn’t stood you up. And somehow, against all odds, he and Mark had worked together.

As the car jolted forward, Jeno finally spoke, his voice quiet but direct, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. “I don’t have my phone,” he said simply. “It’s still on the coach.”

The admission was a quiet olive branch, but it did little to soothe the storm inside you. You turned your gaze forward, forcing yourself to focus on the road ahead, even as every nerve in your body buzzed from the weight of his presence beside you.

The car ride back to the motel was suffocating, the silence heavy with things unsaid. It pressed against your chest like an invisible weight, filling the space between words and glances. Areum sat at the wheel, her focus steady, her hands gripping the leather as if she needed something solid to hold onto. Karina was beside her, illuminated by the occasional flicker of streetlights. Her phone screen cast a dim glow over her face as she scrolled aimlessly, occasionally looking up to exchange low murmurs with Jeno. Their conversation was muffled, inconsequential words about post-game plans, a party, and something about tradition.

Each syllable grated on your nerves, the casualness of it all digging under your skin like a splinter. Jeno’s voice was low, almost lazy, carrying that same maddening charm that always seemed to linger around him. He wasn’t trying, but that only made it worse.

You sat in the middle of the backseat, pinned between Mark’s exhaustion and Jeno’s restlessness. Mark leaned heavily against the window, his eyes closed, his hand rubbing absently at his temple as if warding off a headache. On the other side, Jeno sat too close, his knee brushing yours each time the car hit a bump. It wasn’t deliberate—probably—but the contact burned all the same, an unwanted distraction that you couldn’t shake. His leg bounced with barely contained energy, the motion vibrating through the seat and into your skin.

Karina twisted in her seat, her voice cutting through the quiet. “So, what’s the plan? You hitting the club tonight?”

Her words hung in the air for a beat, and then Jeno grinned. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of grin that made you tighten your jaw even as your chest constricted with something you didn’t want to name. “Of course,” he said smoothly, as if it was obvious. “It’s tradition.”

Tradition. The word made you scoff inwardly. Of course, Jeno would throw out something so shallow, so expected. You stared at the back of Areum’s head, pretending to ignore the way Karina’s laugh bubbled up in response to him. Beside you, Mark sighed, low and tired. “I need to sleep,” he muttered under his breath. But his words barely registered.

You were too focused on Jeno—on the low timbre of his voice, on the way his easy conversation with Karina seemed to underline everything he wasn’t saying to you. The jealousy simmered low in your chest, surprising and unwelcome. Why did it matter what he said or didn’t say? Why did he matter?

When the car finally pulled into the motel’s parking lot, Areum killed the engine with a click that seemed to echo louder than it should have. No one moved at first, the stillness almost heavier than the tension on the drive. Then Karina broke the silence, practically bouncing in her seat. “We should go. It’s been ages since I hit a club after a game.”

Mark groaned as he shoved his door open, stepping out into the cool night air. “You guys have fun,” he said, already halfway to the motel entrance. “I’m done.”

Areum followed, her steps measured as she rounded the car. She glanced at Jeno, raising a brow. “You sure you don’t want to come?” he asked, his tone casual, almost teasing.

Areum shook her head, exhaustion flickering in her eyes. “No, I’m tired.” She turned to you briefly, her voice softer now. “Goodnight.”

You nodded, managing a small smile as you watched her and Mark disappear into the building together. The air shifted, growing sharper somehow. The parking lot felt too open, too exposed, leaving you, Karina, and Jeno standing in a loose triangle under the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

Jeno’s focus shifted then, his dark eyes locking on yours for the first time all night. “You coming too?” he asked, the question tossed out like an afterthought.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as irritation curled hot and fast in your stomach. It wasn’t a real invitation—it couldn’t be, not when it came after Areum, not when his gaze felt so indifferent. But despite yourself, you nodded, lips pressing into a thin line.

Karina brightened, already turning toward Jeno to ask something about the club. Their words blurred together, a dull hum in the background as you stayed rooted in place, watching them. You hated the pang of jealousy that tightened your chest, hated that you cared enough to feel it.

But then Jeno moved, breaking away from Karina with a deliberate slowness that caught your attention. She kept walking ahead, distracted by her phone and mumbling something about finding Winter, clearly assuming Jeno was following. But he wasn’t. He lingered, his steps slowing until you caught up, your body humming with awareness as you closed the distance. He didn’t look at you—not once—but the tension in his posture was unmistakable, his presence pulling at you like a magnetic force.

When you were finally close enough, his head tilted slightly, his voice a low whisper that barely reached you. “Go back to my room.” The words sent a jolt through you, his tone laced with something darker, more commanding than before. His hand moved, slipping into the small of your back before his fingers brushed the waistband of your jeans. The cold metal of his room key slid into your back pocket, but his hand lingered, firm and deliberate as it shifted lower, cupping your ass.

The breath hitched in your throat, your chest tightening as his grip held you there, his fingers pressing possessively. The heat from his hand seared through the fabric, branding you in a way that made it impossible to think clearly. “Wait for me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Twenty minutes. No more.” His other hand came up, grazing the curve of your waist, and then the soft slap of his palm against your ass made your knees lock, a gasp slipping from your lips despite your best efforts to contain it.

“Go now,” he said again, his voice low and resolute, but his hands betrayed him, still gripping your hips tightly, keeping you rooted in place. The firmness of his hold wasn’t just possessive; it was deliberate, as if he needed you to feel the weight of his control before he let you go. You tutted softly, the sound barely masking your frustration, but when you tried to pull away, his fingers tightened, digging into your hips just enough to stop you entirely.

“You’re telling me to leave,” you said, voice sharp and teasing, “but you’re the one holding me here.” His eyes darkened at your challenge, his jaw tightening, and the flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips—one that sent a jolt of heat straight through you.

“You’re lucky I have something to handle first,” he murmured, his tone rough, charged, every word dragging like fire across your skin. His thumbs traced maddeningly slow circles into your hips, his grip deliberate and unrelenting. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t even make it to the room—I’d take you right here.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words igniting something feral inside you. He smirked, a flicker of triumph flashing in his dark eyes, but you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand—not ever. Without hesitation, you surged forward, crashing your lips into his with a force that left no room for doubt.

His response was instant, raw, and hungry. His grip shifted, pulling you flush against him as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, a low, guttural groan rumbling deep in his chest. The heat between you was suffocating, his body hard and unyielding as you pressed closer, demanding more. Your irritation twisted into something electric, every nerve in your body alive and humming with the undeniable pull of him. You kissed him harder, your nails digging into his shoulders as his hands tightened on your hips, holding you there like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The twisted side of you didn’t care who saw, the thought of an audience only adding fuel to the fire burning between you. But when your gaze flicked to Jeno’s car and caught sight of Karina slumped in the passenger seat, head tilted back and completely knocked out, a rush of relief coursed through you. It left you breathless, unguarded, and you kissed him harder, your nails digging into his shoulders as his hands tightened possessively on your hips, holding you like he never intended to let go.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your lips still grazing his, you couldn’t help the plea that slipped out, soft and desperate against the heat of his breath. “Come back to the room with me.” The words trembled between you, caught in the charged air before his hands moved lower, sliding over the curve of your ass. His grip tightened, firm and possessive, pressing you flush against him like he couldn’t let you go either, like leaving you now would physically hurt him. His dark gaze flickered with something primal, but he stayed silent, his body speaking louder than words as his fingers dug into your skin, keeping you tethered to him.

He sighed, his forehead pressing briefly against yours as his fingers tightened their hold. “I have to handle Karina first,” he rasped, his voice strained. “Make sure she’s not alone and that she’s safe. Then I'll come back to you.” He paused, his tone sharpening when your skeptical glare met his. “Don’t give me that look. Can you just trust me? Just wait for me in my room. I’ll be all yours. Tonight, tomorrow—whatever you want. Just go.”

His hands didn’t move even as he spoke, and you felt the weight of every word settle over you, tangible and undeniable. You hesitated, your pride and irritation warring with the pull of his voice, the heat of his body pressed to yours.

“Then let me go,” you said, voice low and teasing, but your breath hitched when his fingers dug in further, his smirk returning.

“I will.” He countered, his tone velvet and edged, fingers digging into the curve of your ass with maddening certainty. In a deliberate move, his hand slipped to your back pocket, grazing over the key already tucked there as if to remind you it was waiting, his touch branding you in a way that made your breath falter. Slowly, his palm trailed back to your ass, squeezing firmly, the pressure sending a ripple of heat up your spine that left you unsteady.

You gasped, but before you could react, his other hand came up to tilt your chin, his breath fanning over your lips. “Go,” he said again, his voice a low growl, and this time, you obeyed, your body humming with the echo of his touch as you walked away, the sting of his hand and the weight of his words leaving a mark you’d feel long after he was gone.

You stepped into his room, the heavy door clicking shut behind you, sealing you into a silence thick with unspoken tension. The air felt stifling, the quiet hum of the motel amplifying every restless thought circling in your head. You dropped onto the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under your weight as you pulled your knees to your chest. The knot of anticipation tangled with simmering anger, tightening with every second that crawled by. Twenty minutes felt like a lifetime, the ache of being kept waiting gnawing at your composure. The sting of earlier frustrations lingered, sharpened by the flicker of jealousy you couldn’t quite suppress.

The stillness shattered when the door swung open without warning. Jeno entered, shutting it with deliberate care, the soft click reverberating through the room like a starting gun. His eyes locked on you, dark and unreadable, and within moments, he crossed the space. Before you could speak, his hands were on you, firm and unrelenting, pushing you back against the mattress. His kiss was feral, bruising, unapologetically claiming.

Your fingers found his shoulders instinctively, nails biting into the muscle as you arched up against him. His weight pressed you into the bed, his lips moving against yours with a raw hunger that stole the breath from your lungs. His hands slid beneath your shirt, rough palms grazing your heated skin, each touch igniting a spark that burned through any lingering resentment. A muffled moan escaped you, swallowed by his mouth as the frustration and anticipation melted into a single, consuming need.

His hips pressed into yours with a slow, deliberate grind, the friction sparking through you like lightning in a storm. The heat between you was unbearable, and you gasped against his lips. His response was immediate—a guttural groan that rumbled through his chest, vibrating against your own. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your sides as though anchoring himself to you, as though letting go was never an option.

He pulled back just enough for his lips to brush against yours, like he might say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. Your head tilted, and your mouth found the curve of his neck, your teeth grazing the skin before you sucked a mark into it. He cursed sharply, his hips snapping forward in response, the motion dragging a ragged gasp from you.

“Do you think I’m letting you go now?” you murmured, your voice low, raw, and possessive as your nails scraped up his back, leaving trails that would linger on his skin.

His head dipped, his lips hovering over your ear as his breath fanned hot against your skin. “Let me go?” he rasped, his tone dark and teasing. “Baby, I’m the one who’s got you pinned right where I want you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching into his as his mouth crashed back onto yours. This kiss was fiercer, every movement saturated with unspoken apologies and a desperation that mirrored your own. His hands roamed lower, gripping the curve of your waist, his fingers sinking into your flesh as his hips rolled forward, dragging you into him in slow, maddening strokes.

The kiss unraveled you, leaving no room for thought as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, refusing to give him even an inch of space. His lips left yours to blaze a path down your jaw, his mouth dragging along your throat and collarbone, each touch setting your nerves alight. Every frustration, every unresolved emotion, was drowned in the electric storm between you, the tension morphing into something dangerous, undeniable, and utterly consuming.

Jeno’s breath was warm against your skin, his voice low and ragged as he finally spoke. “I didn’t stand you up,” he murmured, his hands pressing into your hips as though trying to anchor you in place. “I swear. Coach Suh threw me and Mark off the bus, and I lost my phone… I wanted to come to you. I needed to.”

The rawness in his voice caught you off guard, each word wrapping around your chest and pulling tight. His lips hovered just above yours, his closeness both suffocating and electric. Before you could respond, his hands slid higher, his grip possessive, his desperation bleeding into every inch of space between you.

Your hands pushed against his chest, forcing some distance. “Shut up,” you muttered, sharp but not cruel, your frustration brimming over. “You talk too much.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, soft and low, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The last thing I wanted was to get thrown off that coach,” he said, his tone dropping further, each word weighted with guilt. “And the whole time, all I could think about was getting back to you.” His jaw tightened, his breath hitching. “The thought of you waiting there… not knowing where I was… fuck, I felt like shit.”

The confession landed with a weight that you felt in your chest, like a stone thrown into still water, its ripples cracking the surface tension of your carefully held anger. Jeno wasn’t supposed to be like this—his edges were meant to be sharp, his fire untamed, a force that burned but never bent. Vulnerability didn’t suit the version of him you’d come to expect, yet here it was, raw and unguarded, shining through in the tremor of his voice and the way his dark eyes searched yours, not demanding but asking—pleading—for something unspoken.

It disarmed you. That honesty, unpolished and unexpected, melted through your defenses like heat seeping into ice. Your resolve fractured, splintering under the weight of his sincerity. And before your mind could catch up to the moment, your lips met his, a fleeting touch that felt less like a kiss and more like a bridge spanning the vast, unspoken chasm between you.

The kiss wasn’t what you meant it to be—softer, more intimate than you’d allowed yourself to imagine. It carried more weight than either of you were prepared for, an unspoken truth embedded in the way his breath hitched and the way your chest tightened. Time itself seemed to hold its breath, everything outside this fragile moment suspended, irrelevant.

When you pulled back, your forehead brushing his, the air between you shifted. The tension remained, but it had transformed—no longer jagged and cutting but heavy, like the calm after a storm when the world feels thick with promise, waiting for something new to take shape.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though your voice wavered, your brow still furrowed as the question lingered. “But why act like you were so eager to party on the way back to the motel?”

The words barely left your mouth before you leaned in again, your lips capturing his with a need that felt impossible to contain. You felt his breath catch before he exhaled against you, a low, drawn-out moan spilling into your mouth. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, your own soft sigh mingling with his as the kiss deepened, tongues meeting with a hunger that was as raw as it was unrelenting.

Then he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a beat, his breath mingling with yours as if grounding himself before speaking. “It’s tradition,” he finally admitted, his voice edged with reluctance. His fingers raked through his hair, leaving it a tousled mess that only deepened the regret in his eyes. “After every away game, we all go out. If I skip, people will notice. They’ll start asking questions I can’t afford to answer.”

You swallowed, the logic stinging more than it should. “You should go then,” you murmured, kissing him softly, the bitterness of the words lingering on your tongue. Your nails curled into his shirt, betraying your own resolve even as you tried to sound firm. “If it’s tradition, you should go. I don’t want people asking questions or having suspicions.”

The moment felt foreign, like slipping into someone else’s skin. You weren’t the type to bend to how others felt, let alone offer concern for what they might endure. But something about Jeno—about the way his shoulders tensed at the weight of unspoken pressure, the way his eyes flickered with something fragile he rarely showed—made you catch yourself. It wasn’t just the situation; it was him. The thought of him dealing with whatever fallout came from skipping a tradition he had with the rest of his friends lingered in your chest like a dull ache you couldn’t ignore. You hated it, hated that you cared, but you couldn’t stop the wave of unfamiliar protectiveness from settling in your veins.

His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer. “I’d rather be with you,” he murmured, his voice quiet but resolute, his gaze locked on yours like he needed you to understand just how much he meant it. The weight of his words hung in the air, soft yet unrelenting, as if daring you to argue with him.

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, your brow furrowing as you tried to hold onto your frustration. “That’s not what I asked,” you countered, your voice sharper than you intended. “I asked if it’s okay. If people are going to start questioning where you are and putting two and two together.”

His smirk flickered—just for a second—before his hand trailed up to cradle your jaw. “I’m not stupid, you know,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Most of them will be too high or wasted to even notice I’m gone. And Karina’s with Jaemin. He’ll make sure she gets back to the motel safely, and he knows to cover for me. If anyone asks, I ‘crashed early.’” His gaze softened as he leaned in just slightly, his tone dipping lower. “I’ve got this handled.”

You narrowed your eyes, unconvinced, the analytical part of your mind still cataloging potential risks. “And if they do notice? If Jaemin slips, or Karina says something, or—?”

“Jesus,” he groaned, tipping his head back briefly before meeting your gaze again, his patience fraying at the edges. “Do you ever stop overthinking? You’re acting like I haven’t thought this through.”

“Because I know you haven’t,” you snapped back, your nails curling into his shirt again, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re impulsive. Reckless. You don’t think about the consequences until they’re staring you in the face.”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you hard against him, the heat of his body searing through the minimal space left between you. His lips grazed your ear, his breath hot and deliberate as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with amusement. “Reckless? Baby, the only thing I’m reckless about is how badly I want you. Every second I’m here, every risk I take, it’s all because I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

His words sent a pulse of heat straight through you, undeniable and maddening. He shifted, pressing against you in a way that made your breath hitch, his smirk curling against your skin as he felt the reaction he pulled from you. “You think I care about their suspicions?” he continued, his tone dark and teasing, his hands sliding lower, thumbs stroking circles into your hips. “The only thing I care about is making sure you remember that you’re mine.”

A broken moan escaped you before you could stop it. “And you’re mine,” you murmured back, your voice trembling but laced with its own edge.

The words flipped something in you, a sudden need for control igniting as you pushed against him with just enough force to turn him onto his back. His breath hitched, his dark eyes narrowing in surprise and something deeper—arousal. The way his jaw clenched, his hands gripping your thighs to steady you as you straddled him, only fueled the fire building inside you.

You ground down onto him, your movements deliberate, your body working against his in a rhythm that was as maddening as it was desperate. His cock, hard and insistent even through the barrier of clothes, pressed perfectly into you, and the friction made your head spin. You could feel how turned on he was—how every shift, every bounce of your hips pulled a groan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice low and strained, his eyes locked on you with a mix of disbelief and raw hunger. His hands tightened their grip on your hips as though trying to steady both you and himself, the tension in his body palpable. He didn’t look away, his gaze drinking in every frantic roll of your hips, every desperate attempt to chase the friction that had you trembling against him.

There was a flicker of something deeper in his expression—shock, admiration, a realization that he’d never seen anyone unravel the way you did. The way you gave yourself over to the moment, unabashed and wild, was unlike anything he’d experienced. It caught him off guard, made his chest tighten and his jaw clench as though he couldn’t handle how much you consumed him. And yet, beneath the haze of lust, there was a quiet reverence in the way his hands guided your movements, as if claiming you with every breath, every touch, while silently marveling at the way you tore his control apart so effortlessly.

The heat in his voice made your movements falter for just a second, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world, sent a surge of power through you. But then his hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still, his strength unrelenting. You groaned in frustration, hissing as you pushed against his grip.

“Jeno,” you warned, your voice sharp as your teeth clenched in irritation.

He didn’t release you. Instead, he leaned up slightly, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a fleeting tease. “The reason I wanted to meet you earlier wasn’t just to fuck,” he said, his voice still thick with arousal but laced with something more deliberate. “I brought two tickets to something I think you’ll enjoy.”

Your movements stilled entirely, your annoyance melting into curiosity. “To what?” you asked, your brow furrowing. “Isn’t it too late for anything right now? It’s past midnight Jen.”

“Luckily,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk, “it’s a 24-hour exhibition.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth parting slightly in disbelief. “Exhibition?” The word was barely out before realization struck. You gasped, your hands flying to his chest, pressing against him as your body lit up with excitement. “No,” you breathed, almost squealing in disbelief, your emotions spilling over. “You didn’t? You got us tickets to the Neo Culture Archive?”

You weren’t the type to celebrate like this. Joy, for you, was a quiet, internal thing—measured, controlled, tucked away where no one could see. But this moment defied all of that. It poured out of you, raw and unrestrained, bubbling to the surface like an unstoppable tide. Before you could think, your arms were wrapped around his neck, and your lips found his in a breathless kiss that spoke of more than just happiness—it was gratitude, excitement, and something far more intimate. It was uncharacteristic, almost disorienting to feel so open, so vulnerable, but with him, it didn’t feel wrong. Against all odds, it felt inevitable, like he was the only person who could draw this side of you out and make it feel like it had always been there, waiting for him.

Jeno’s eyes traced over you, slow and deliberate, his smirk fading into something that held more weight, something far more intimate. His gaze drank you in, soaking up every flicker of excitement that radiated from you like sunlight breaking through a storm. The shift in his expression was subtle yet undeniable, the sharp edge of his usual cockiness softening into something rawer, something that made your stomach twist with heat.

“Smart girl,” he murmured, his voice low and honeyed, each word sinking into your skin and pooling somewhere deep. His praise wasn’t casual—it lingered, deliberate, like he wanted you to feel every ounce of it. The corner of his lip tugged upward as his eyes glinted with satisfaction, a spark of amusement flickering there. “How’d you figure it out so fast?” His tone dipped lower, teasing, as he leaned back against the headboard, his body relaxing into the space like he owned it. His teeth grazed his bottom lip, and the slow drag of it sent a shiver through you.

Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile as you leaned in slightly, your thighs tightening around his lap, the friction deliberate and maddening. “It wasn’t hard,” you murmured, your voice smooth, carrying just the right amount of tease to match his. Your hands skimmed up his chest, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his shirt as you traced lazy circles with your fingertips.

“The only reason I was excited to come to this city was the one-in-a-million chance I’d be able to visit it,” you continued, your voice dropping lower, softer, like you were sharing a secret meant only for him. “You couldn’t have picked a better surprise if you tried.”

He calls out your name, it spills from his lips in a way that sounded almost reverent, yet thick with something darker, heavier. His voice had dipped, huskier now, his breath catching as he spoke. “You’re turning me on.”

His hands slid over your thighs, palms warm and deliberate, the press of his fingers light enough to tease yet firm enough to leave a mark on your senses. You were straddling his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, your body so close to his that the tension in the air was palpable. His gaze wandered over you, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your neck, like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

The way his hands moved was almost mesmerizing, stroking up and down the length of your thighs, his thumbs pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver. He leaned back slightly against the headboard, his body a perfect contrast of tension and ease, his dark eyes glinting as they held yours. The restraint in his movements only amplified the electricity crackling between you, and the way his lips curved—just enough to show the faintest hint of teeth—set a fire low in your stomach.

The air between you felt heavier now, like the moment before a thunderstorm, and every small shift of your body against his sent heat spiraling through you. You could see the way his pupils darkened as he took in your reaction, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, a subtle but devastating blow to your composure.

“Isn’t it so hard to get tickets to this?” you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity.

He nodded, a flicker of pride flashing in his eyes. “Especially last minute.”

His words opened the floodgate of explanation, and he leaned closer, his voice low but steady. He described how stressful and spontaneous the plan had been, how it had consumed him. The Neo Culture Archive wasn’t something that could be bought with just money or dropped names—it was notoriously exclusive, especially for late-night entries. He told you about pacing his motel room for hours, the phone pressed to his ear, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion. “I know my family connections always help,” he admitted, his tone tinged with something uncharacteristically self-aware, “but that only got me so far.”

He painted a picture of determination: scouring his network for a lead, calling in favors with old friends who could pull strings, and enduring the frantic back-and-forth that followed. Was your name officially on the registry? Had the staff signed off on after-hours access? Every time his phone buzzed, his chest tightened, bracing for rejection. By the time he finally secured the reservation, he hadn’t slept a wink—but the thought of surprising you made it worth every second.

Your breath caught, his confession hitting you harder than you expected, leaving a warmth in your chest that threatened to overflow. “You didn’t have to,” you murmured, your voice trembling with something between awe and desire, “but fuck—it’s so hot that you did.”

Without a second thought, you leaned down, your lips crashing into his with a hunger that bordered on desperation. His breath mingled with yours, sharp and intoxicating, as if the air between you had turned electric. The taste of him—somehow both sharp and sweet—was maddening, pulling you deeper into the storm building between you.

Your hands tangled in his hair as his palms slid up your back, pressing you closer, his grip possessive. The way he kissed you, like he’d been starving for this moment, made your chest tighten and your body burn. Every deliberate touch, every lingering caress, screamed one undeniable truth—he wanted you. Only you. And the thought made your head spin.

He’d done this, planned this for you, and the realization hit harder than it should have. It wasn’t just the way his hands roamed your body or how his kiss made you tremble—it was the thought behind it, the care he’d taken. It made your pulse race and your body melt into him, unable to resist the overwhelming need to feel closer, to take more.

The Neo Culture Archive radiated an understated elegance, nestled into the heart of a well established district. Its glass facade shimmered under the soft glow of outdoor lighting, the sleek marble pillars giving it the appearance of a sanctuary for both history and innovation. Even at this late hour, the energy around the building was alive—visitors quietly flowing in and out, the low hum of conversations blending into the sound of faint traffic in the distance. The scene felt like it belonged to another world, far removed from the chaos of the day.

You walked beside Jeno, the cool night air brushing against your skin, grounding you in the moment. He moved with his usual effortless confidence, his hand brushing yours occasionally as he grabbed the passes from his pocket. “Ready?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a small thrill through you.

Instead of answering, you glanced at him, a teasing grin tugging at your lips. “Hold on,” you said, taking his pass and looping it around his neck, the lanyard resting against his chest. You reached up, your fingers grazing his cheek as he leaned into your touch, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting but tender kiss.

He straightened, reaching for your hand to lead you toward the entrance, but you tugged him back, shaking your head playfully. “Wait,” you said, lacing your fingers through his. “I need you right here for a second.”

Jeno quirked an eyebrow, letting out a soft chuckle as you pulled him into position. “What now?” he asked, though the faint curl of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Just stand there,” you instructed, raising your phone to capture the glowing facade of the building, with him in the foreground. You snapped a few shots, grinning as you angled the camera just right, while he stood there pretending to hate every second of it. But the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the slight shake of his head gave him away—he was enjoying this more than he’d ever admit.

“Happy now?” he teased, leaning closer as you put your phone away.

“For now,” you replied, slipping your hand back into his as he led you to the entrance. The security guard glanced at the passes Jeno handed over, nodding once before waving you both inside. The quiet relief in Jeno’s eyes didn’t escape you, though he covered it quickly with a soft smirk.

The moment you stepped inside, the grandeur of the archive stole your breath. The ceilings soared high above, crisscrossed with sleek beams that added a modern touch to the classical architecture. Polished floors gleamed under the warm, ambient lighting, reflecting the golden hues of the display cases scattered throughout the space. The atrium stretched before you like an intricate maze, with a sweeping staircase at its center leading to wings dedicated to various cultural influences. Everywhere you looked, there were glittering artifacts: Olympic medals, cultural texts bound in leather, interactive screens showcasing the evolution of sports.

“Wow,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you raised your phone again, snapping photos of the atrium and the glittering displays. You turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in, while Jeno hung back, watching you with an expression that was impossible to read.

When you finally glanced at him, his lips quirked into a soft smile. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and cupped your face, pressing a light kiss to your lips. “You like it?” he murmured, his words brushing against your mouth.

You nodded, your eyes wide as you looked around again. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” you admitted, your voice tinged with awe. “You didn’t tell me it’d look like this.”

Jeno’s smile widened, his teeth catching the soft glow of the lights. “Thought I’d let you have the fun of discovering it yourself,” he said, his tone conspiratorial.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face as you reached for his hand again, tugging him toward the staircase. “Come on, I need to see everything,” you said, your excitement bubbling over, and for a moment, the tension of the day melted away, replaced by the quiet thrill of exploring this world together.

Jeno laughed softly, letting you pull him along but slowing your pace as you reached a nearby interactive screen glowing softly in the atrium. “Hold on,” he murmured, tapping the screen to bring up the floor map. “You don’t even know where we’re going yet.”

You paused reluctantly, watching as his finger traced over the different wings of the exhibition. The Neo Culture Archive wasn’t solely dedicated to sports. There were entire sections for music, architecture, food, and global culture that would take separate visits to explore fully. But tonight, you were in the sports section, a deliberate choice he’d made, knowing it tied into your project.

“I knew this would be helpful,” Jeno said after a moment, glancing at you with a soft smile. “Sports history, player strategies, and the cultural impact of it all. I knew it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, though you masked it quickly, leaning over the screen as if to check his selection. But the proximity did nothing to help, when you glanced at him, your eyes caught on the way his black hoodie stretched across his shoulders, the tousled state of his hair that made him look effortlessly hot. His casual confidence felt like a slow burn, a magnetism that was impossible to ignore. Your teeth grazed your bottom lip before you could stop yourself.

If he caught you staring, he didn’t let on—truthfully because he was checking you out just as much. His gaze flickered down, tracing the curve of your sweater that hugged you in just the right way before dipping lower to where your jeans sat snug on your hips. You were dressed for comfort, the soft knit fabric of your top slipping slightly off one shoulder and exposing just enough skin to keep his thoughts wandering. The low light caught on the faint gloss of your lips and the way the strap of your bag crossed your body, highlighting the subtle shape of you. You carried your iPad and phone, occasionally snapping photos or jotting notes for your project, the professional focus in your expression clashing deliciously with the casual ease of your outfit.

His eyebrows arched, a flicker of amusement dancing across his face as you took his hand and led him toward the chess wing. The quiet stillness of the museum made every footstep resonate softly, the faint echo weaving through the expansive halls like a whispered secret. The emptiness wrapped around you both, amplifying the intimacy of the moment, the secluded atmosphere making it feel as though this vast, glowing archive existed solely for the two of you.

Halfway through the wing, a display caught your eye: an antique chessboard from the 15th century, complete with a description detailing its historical significance. Your eyes practically lit up, and before Jeno could say a word, you launched into an enthusiastic explanation.

“This board,” you began, gesturing animatedly, “was used during some of the earliest recorded matches. Back then, the rules were so different—bishops could only move two squares at a time, and pawns couldn’t advance two squares on their first move. It completely changed the pace of the game.”

Jeno’s brows furrowed slightly, curious, as you continued. “In the 1800s, there was this famous match—Anderssen versus Kieseritzky—that’s still studied today for its strategy. It’s insane how much of modern chess theory comes from games like that.”

You barely paused for breath, delving into anecdotes about players adapting to rule changes, referencing a dusty old almanac you’d read cover to cover years ago. When you finally glanced up, your cheeks warmed. Jeno was staring, his mouth slightly open, a slow grin tugging at his lips.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Did I lose you somewhere?”

Jeno coughed, masking the grin that threatened to spill. “It’s nothing, I’m just wondering how you manage to make chess sound so serious.”

You stopped, turning fully to face him, your eyes narrowing in disbelief. “It is serious. It’s a life-or-death situation, Jen. Do you even know the history of grandmaster matches in the ‘70s? Cold War politics, rivalries that lasted decades, careers ruined over a single move—”

“—You’re actually serious right now,” he interrupted, his smirk spreading into a full grin.

“I am,” you insisted, your tone firm, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a faint twitch of a smile. “Careers ended over a single wrong move, reputations destroyed forever. It’s the closest thing to battle without actual bloodshed.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer, eyes flicking over your face. “So, should I be worried you’re plotting my downfall next?”

You rolled your eyes, spinning back toward the exhibits. “You’re not even worth the effort,” you muttered, though the warmth creeping up your neck said otherwise.

“Good to know,” he teased, his voice low as he fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing yours just enough to send a flicker of heat through your chest.

As the conversation ebbed, your steps naturally carried you toward the basketball wing, it glowed under soft spotlights that illuminated rows of vintage jerseys suspended in sleek glass cases. Overhead, projectors looped footage of classic buzzer-beaters, the sound faint yet electrifying as familiar highlights filled the space. You and Jeno exchanged excited glances each time a play you recognized flashed on screen, the shared energy sparking like a live wire between you.

Jeno’s steps quickened as his gaze locked onto a rare pair of signed sneakers in one of the displays. His eyes gleamed with boyish excitement, and his voice dropped, rich with familiarity, as he leaned closer. “These are Russell’s,” he murmured, pointing to the signature etched into the sole. “He wore these during the ‘93 playoffs—broke three records that year. And he wasn’t even supposed to play after that ankle injury. It was unreal.”

You didn’t even glance at the plaque beneath the case—his words held more weight, more intimacy than any printed description could. He wasn’t reciting facts; he was reliving them. The way his voice softened when he spoke of the player, the sheer admiration woven through his tone, made something in you tighten, warmth spreading through your chest.

You moved toward another exhibit, snapping a quick photo of a commemorative jersey before turning to your notes app. You jotted down a few thoughts about the cultural evolution of basketball, your fingers hesitating as a subtle realization hit you. Here, amidst the artifacts of the game’s history, Jeno felt different. Calmer, less performative. Like the version of him you saw now—the one who talked about players like they were old friends, his passion raw and unfiltered—was closer to the truth than the smirking bravado he so often leaned on. Your gut told you this was him, behind the armor, and you found yourself scribbling a fragmented thought before pausing, stuck on how to finish it.

“Hey,” Jeno’s voice cut through your thoughts, soft yet curious as he joined you near the interactive screen. He tilted his head, glancing at the incomplete note glowing on your phone. “Can I write something?”

You glanced up, mid-thought, your brows furrowing slightly as you handed him your phone. “Yeah, sure. I can’t seem to finish this.” You gestured to the half-written line. “I’m trying to figure out how rivalries shape the game. You know, the way they add drama, raise stakes—how they’re a story in themselves.”

Jeno nodded, his eyes flicking between your words and the screen in front of him. His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he began typing, the faint sound of clicks filling the quiet space. You watched his expression shift—focused, thoughtful—as he added to your note.

“Rivalries are the heart of basketball culture. They aren’t just about the players—they’re about the fans, the cities, the history. Each matchup tells a story of loyalty, ambition, and redemption. They turn ordinary games into moments that feel bigger than life, where every second on the clock becomes a testament to passion and perseverance.”

When he handed the phone back, you scanned the words, your chest tightening. He hadn’t just finished your thought—he’d elevated it, put into words the exact feeling you’d been struggling to articulate. You swallowed, the intimacy of the moment hitting harder than expected.

When he handed the phone back, your eyes skimmed over the words, the weight of them sinking in with every passing second. It was as though he’d reached into your mind and pulled out the exact meaning you’d been grasping for, threading it together with a clarity you hadn’t been able to find on your own. The way the sentences flowed felt seamless, natural, like they’d been waiting to be written all along.

Your throat tightened, and you pressed your lips together, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. You shifted on your feet, gripping the phone a little tighter, trying to process the quiet impact of it. There was a gravity in how perfectly he’d completed your thoughts, an unspoken connection that left the air between you charged and fragile, like glass teetering on the edge of shattering.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your lips curving into a soft smile. He shrugged, leaning slightly closer, his presence steadying, magnetic.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice lower now, threaded with something that made your breath catch.

The two of you drifted further into the wing, the exhibits becoming sparser as the corridors stretched into quieter, dimly lit corners. Near a row of championship trophies, the museum seemed to exhale, its hum of distant voices and footsteps fading into an intimate hush. A digital highlight reel looped nearby, its golden light spilling over Jeno’s face, sharpening the angles of his jaw and casting his dark eyes in a warm, flickering glow.

Without a word, his arm slipped around your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your hip—subtle but unmissable, like a whisper that demanded to be heard. You felt the faint press of his lips against your temple, soft and fleeting. Without thinking, you turned into him, your arms looping around his neck as your lips found his. The kiss was soft at first, a whisper of affection, but it deepened quickly, the late-night solitude making every movement feel bolder.

The two of you stayed hidden in the corner, your lips meeting in shorter, softer kisses that only seemed to pull you closer. His fingers tangled in your hair as you kissed him over and over, a quiet laugh escaping your lips between breaths. You barely noticed the sound of soft footsteps until Jeno’s gaze shifted, his eyes darting to something behind you.

You froze, turning slowly to find an elderly woman standing a few feet away, a warm smile lighting her face.

“Oh, don’t mind me, sweethearts,” the older woman said, her voice soft and laced with a teasing warmth that made it impossible to ignore her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing how the two of you can’t seem to keep your hands—or eyes—off each other.”

Your stomach tightened at her words, awkwardness prickling at the edges of your composure. You stepped back instinctively, almost shrinking under the weight of her observation, but Jeno’s hand stayed firm on your waist, grounding you. You glanced at him, half expecting him to share in your discomfort, but instead, he looked completely at ease—almost like he belonged in this moment.

The woman’s chuckle was indulgent, her eyes twinkling. “You’re far too adorable to pass up. Please, let me take a photo of you. You’re such a beautiful couple.”

Your heart lurched at the word couple, your mind scrambling for a polite way to decline. But before you could say anything, Jeno’s calm, steady voice cut in. “That’s so kind of you,” he said smoothly, his charm effortless as he glanced at you. His thumb brushed over your hip, a subtle reassurance you didn’t realize you needed.

Caught off guard, you nodded, forcing a small smile as you tried to bury the awkwardness simmering inside you. Jeno’s ease with the interaction only heightened your surprise—he had this quiet knack for making moments like this seem completely natural, like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The first photo was simple—both of you stood side by side, smiling politely for the camera as the woman fussed over how “perfect” you looked. For the second, she instructed you to look at each other, and despite the flutter of self-consciousness, you turned to meet Jeno’s gaze. The sight of him smiling at you, his features softened in the warm light, made something twist in your chest.

Then came the third photo. “Lean in a little, dear,” the woman encouraged, her tone coaxing. Jeno didn’t hesitate, dipping his head toward you and pressing a kiss to your lips. His lips lingered longer than necessary, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, and the closeness sent your heart stuttering.

You blinked, caught in the heady mix of intimacy and the woman’s amused laughter. “Ah, treasure these moments, won’t you?” she said, handing the phone back to Jeno. Her gaze lingered for a moment, kind but knowing, before she shuffled off with a small wave.

Jeno’s smirk reappeared as he looked down at the photos. “Not bad,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to yours. “Think she caught my good side?”

You rolled your eyes, your lips curving in a slow, teasing smile. “You look the same from all sides.”

The grin that spread across his face wasn’t sly anymore—it was dangerous, a dare. He tilted his head, eyes dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch. “Yeah? I guess I should show you all my angles then,” he murmured, stepping closer, his breath warm against your cheek. You leaned in before you could stop yourself, stealing a kiss that was supposed to be quick.

It wasn’t.

The moment your lips met his, you didn’t let him take the lead. Your fingers curled around his jaw, pulling him closer as your mouth moved against his with deliberate, teasing intent. Jeno responded instantly, his hands gripping your waist as if to steady himself, but you didn’t give him the chance to dictate the pace. You kissed him harder, more insistent, and when he tried to press closer, you pulled back just slightly, leaving him chasing you.

His groan was low and frustrated, his lips parting against yours as if to protest. His fingers flexed against your waist, the grip possessive, grounding. But even as he leaned into you, letting himself get lost in the heat of it, you kept control, your kisses commanding, pulling him apart piece by piece.

When you finally pulled back, your chest heaving, his lips chased yours for a moment, like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill. His hands stayed firm on your waist, keeping you tethered to him. He looked at you, jaw tight, eyes burning with something possessive. “If you keep kissing me like that I’m not gonna let you walk away.”

His words lingered, low and warning, but you straightened your cardigan with trembling fingers, ignoring the way his gaze seared into you. When you stepped out of the hidden corner, you created distance, pulling your hand away the moment his fingers brushed yours. His hand caught air, and he let out a quiet, frustrated exhale, trailing behind you as you stopped to examine a nearby display.

Jeno didn’t say anything at first, but his narrowed eyes followed every flicker of hesitation in your movements. His jaw ticked when you avoided meeting his gaze, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. His frustration simmered, evident in the way he crossed his arms and watched you with something between amusement and disbelief. Then, deliberately, he closed the space between you, his chest brushing your shoulder as he leaned down, his lips close to your ear.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Jeno murmured, his voice cutting through the charged silence. It was low, rough, the kind of tone that slithered down your spine and coiled tight in your stomach. His breath was warm against your ear, close enough to make you tilt your head away instinctively, but he didn’t move back. Instead, his hand skimmed your arm, the light touch a deliberate tease, stopping just short of your wrist before retreating like a threat unfulfilled.

“You don’t want me to hold your hand because she saw us, right?” His lips curved into a smirk, humorless and sharp, his words heavy with unspoken challenge. He didn’t wait for you to confirm what he already knew, letting the pause stretch long enough for the tension to dig in deep, the weight of his presence pressing against you like a brand. “You think you’re being careful,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, more intimate, “but you’re killing me, baby.”

Your chest tightened at the sound of it, the raw frustration laced with something darker—something needy. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You stepped forward, ignoring the magnetic pull of his fingers hovering too close to yours, and led the way into another section of the cultural archive.

The arcade-style room greeted you with a burst of neon brilliance, the colors refracting off sleek walls in dizzying patterns. Digital displays blinked and hummed in rhythmic syncopation, filling the space with an electric undercurrent that felt alive. The energy here was different—lighthearted, playful—making it easier to let the tight coil of tension in your chest loosen, if only slightly. You let your gaze wander, tracing the vibrant edges of the room, careful to keep your focus on the displays and not the figure trailing close behind you.

Jeno’s presence wasn’t overwhelming anymore—not because you had withdrawn, but because you’d chosen to compartmentalize it, pressing his proximity into a corner of your mind where it could sit without suffocating you. He wasn’t the gravitational force here. Not now. You moved through the space deliberately, your pace steady, your hands brushing along smooth surfaces as you paused at a glowing screen, drinking in the details with detached curiosity. He lingered behind, his silence palpable, like he was waiting for you to crack under the weight of his attention.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you guided the moment as if it were yours to control. Turning briefly, you gestured for him to join you at one of the displays. The light from the screen caught on his face, softening the sharpness of his features and muting the intensity of his gaze. His eyes flickered between you and the display, but you didn’t let the moment linger. With a fleeting, purposeful touch—your hand ghosting over his arm—you adjusted his position for the photo you intended to take. The gesture wasn’t careless; it was precise, a reminder that you dictated the boundaries right now.

Jeno’s lips quirked, faintly amused, but he didn’t say anything. The lights framed him perfectly, and for a moment, you studied the image of him through the lens rather than the man himself. The soft lines of his smirk, the way the colors danced over his skin—it all made your stomach twist, but you buried the feeling beneath the pretense of casual interest.

The photo was for your collection, but the smile it drew from you wasn’t for the camera—it was for him.

“Hey, wanna play?” His voice broke through the moment, drawing your attention to a miniature basketball hoop game in the corner. “Think you’ve got what it takes?”

You narrowed your eyes, the teasing note in his tone lighting a competitive spark. “What, to beat you? Obviously.”

Jeno’s laugh was deep and mocking, the sound rolling through you like thunder. “Awfully confident for someone who’s never even picked up a ball.”

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin. “I’ve watched Mark play enough to know it’s not that hard.”

That earned you a sharp bite of his lip, the sight making heat bloom low in your stomach. He stepped back, his hands raised in mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes was anything but yielding. “Alright, then. Show me what you’ve got. First to eight wins.”

“Fine,” you said sharply, stepping up to the arcade hoop with a confidence that bordered on defiance. The machine was neatly nestled into the corner, its polished metallic frame gleaming under the assault of flashing neon lights. The digital scoreboard hummed to life, its blank display almost mocking in its emptiness, daring you to leave it untouched.

You inhaled, steadying yourself as you squared your shoulders. Your hands flexed around the small, rubber ball, the texture oddly foreign against your palms. You narrowed your eyes at the hoop, focusing on the target as if sheer determination alone could will the ball in. But your stance betrayed you—too stiff, too controlled. You hesitated for half a second before releasing the ball, and it hit the rim with a loud, hollow clang that echoed louder in your head than in the room itself.

Jeno leaned lazily against the side of the machine, his arms crossed and his grin cutting like a blade. The tilt of his head, the glint in his eyes—they all screamed amusement, and not the kind that was kind. “Tough start,” he drawled, his voice infuriatingly casual, the mock sympathy dripping from his words like honey laced with poison.

Your jaw tightened as his tone grated against your resolve. Without sparing him another glance, you snatched another ball, adjusting your grip and stance. This time, you softened your movements, loosening your shoulders, but the result was no better. The ball ricocheted off the rim with a defiant bounce, rolling away as your frustration clawed its way to the surface.

You turned toward Jeno sharply, your glare sharp enough to cut through the pulsing neon light that surrounded you. His expression hadn’t changed; if anything, his grin deepened, that infuriating mix of smugness and amusement making your fingers itch to throw something far less playful than a basketball.

He met your eyes, his expression hovering between smug satisfaction and quiet amusement, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something deliberate. Then he stepped closer, his frame cutting into your space, the faint hum of the arcade around you suddenly a distant murmur. The playful glint in his gaze sharpened, the warmth in his smirk dipping into something darker, something that made the air between you thrum with tension. “First to eight gets to dom tonight,” he murmured, his voice dropping low, the octave rich and heavy like a whispered confession meant only for you. “Loser has to buy lunch for the rest of the week.”

The words curled through you, molten and wicked, igniting something primal and consuming in their wake. But it wasn’t his promise that sent heat racing through your veins—it was the idea of reversing it. Of having him at your mercy. Your breath hitched, sharp and telling, as images flooded your mind unbidden—his body tense but yielding under your touch, his lips parting to plead for more even as you dictated the pace. The fantasy gripped you with the kind of visceral pull that left your resolve sharpening, your focus zeroing in on him with renewed intent. You nodded once, the movement sharp and deliberate, already imagining the way his name would sound falling from your lips—not in surrender, but in command.

But when you took your next shot, the ball betrayed you again, rolling off the rim and bouncing to the side with a cruel, mocking defiance. Your jaw clenched, the sting of failure biting harder now with the weight of his challenge hanging over you. Every missed shot felt like it was peeling away at the edges of your control, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of showing it.

From the corner of your eye, you could feel Jeno watching, his presence heavy and unrelenting, but you didn’t dare meet his gaze—not yet. The room felt tighter, warmer, the neon lights now blurring into a backdrop for the tension settling thick in the air between you. You reset your stance, but the echo of his words stayed with you, that dark promise replaying itself in your mind like a dare you couldn’t back down from.

Before the frustration could fully settle in your chest, you felt him step closer, his warmth at your back before his arms came around you. His hands found yours, his grip firm but deliberate as he guided your movements, his chest pressed flush against you. The solid weight of him was grounding, but the proximity sent a charge skittering across your skin, your pulse quickening in response.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and impossibly smooth, the kind of tone that seemed to slip beneath your defenses without effort. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, light and fleeting, but the touch left a trail of heat in its wake. You froze for a moment, not expecting the gentleness in his tone, the quiet reassurance layered beneath the teasing edge. “You’re too tense,” he said, his hands shifting yours into position with a measured patience that felt at odds with the intensity of his presence. “Shoulders down. Legs apart. Loosen up.”

His breath was steady, an anchor against the rising heat coursing through your body. His hands slid along yours, careful yet insistent, guiding you like you were something fragile but worth steadying. His chest was firm, his movements purposeful, and despite yourself, you followed his lead, letting the tension bleed out of your shoulders as his fingers adjusted your grip.

“Bend your knees a little,” he whispered, his voice softer now, dipping into something dangerously intimate. It wasn’t just instruction; it was layered with something more, a quiet pull meant just for you. “Let your body move with it. Stop trying so hard to control it.”

His lips grazed your cheek, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. The gentleness of the gesture caught you off guard, the contrast against his usual sharpness making it land deeper. You didn’t know why, but you hadn’t expected this side of him—the way he seemed to savor the process of steadying you, of teaching you with a patience that felt far more intimate than teasing.

“If you make this one,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, his breath brushing against your skin like a quiet promise, “I’ll reward you later.” The words were a slow burn, seeping into your chest and igniting something molten and unsteady at your core.

You exhaled, the tension in your body softening as you released the ball. It sailed cleanly through the hoop, and the sound of it swishing sent a surge of triumph rushing through you. You turned to him, your grin breaking through the heat still lingering in your chest, and without hesitation, you cupped his jaw, pulling him into a kiss that was hard, unapologetic, and filled with all the energy you’d been holding back.

He laughed against your lips, a rich, low sound that vibrated through you as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. His response was instant, matching your fervor with his own, the kiss deepening into something that teetered on the edge of control. You broke away first, your breathing unsteady, but he didn’t let go, his fingers pressing into your hips like he wasn’t ready to relinquish the moment.

But when it was his turn, the shift was immediate. He stepped to the hoop, his confidence practically radiating off him, and he didn’t miss—not once. Each shot was accompanied by a cocky comment, his voice dripping with mockery as the scoreboard climbed higher in his favor. You could do nothing but glare, your earlier triumph dissolving under the weight of his growing smirk.

When the final ball sailed through the hoop, Jeno turned to you, his movements unhurried, his victory dripping from every line of his body. His smirk was slow, deliberate, and sinful, his eyes meeting yours with a heat that made the air between you feel heavier. He stepped closer, the proximity making it impossible to ignore the tension crackling between you.

His lips hovered just above yours, the heat of his breath brushing against your skin, each exhale deliberate, teasing, maddening. His gaze held yours, dark and unwavering, and the smirk that curled at the edges of his mouth was nothing short of predatory. “I’m gonna have fun tonight, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with triumph, but the glint in his eyes promised more than victory—it promised chaos. He let the moment hang, his head tilting slightly, his lips brushing yours so lightly it wasn’t even a kiss.

His fingers stayed at your chin, tilting your face just enough to keep you in his line of fire, his smirk deepening when he saw the challenge flicker behind your stare. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction he expected, not now, not later—not on his terms. He might have claimed the game, but the space between you was still up for grabs, and you had no intention of letting him think he’d won everything.

The sharpness in your gaze softened, just barely, as you reached for his hand. Your fingers slid against his deliberately, wrapping around his palm, guiding him through the crowd and away from the arcade’s glowing chaos. Jeno let you take the lead without a word, though you felt the quiet tension in the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he was testing the limits of your touch.

The hallway outside the exhibit felt quieter, the hum of neon giving way to a more subdued rhythm, though the energy between you remained just as charged. You could feel his presence close behind you, the occasional brush of his shoulder against yours a silent reminder of the space you weren’t allowing him to close.

The idea of heading back to the motel crept into your mind, an unwelcome thought that made your steps falter for just a moment. You didn’t want the night to end—not yet. Everything about it had been perfect, from the playful banter to the electric pull that lingered between you both. It was the kind of night that felt rare, like holding onto a thread of magic that could slip away at any second. You weren’t ready to let it dissolve into something as ordinary as rest and silence.

That was when you noticed the sign. 24-Hour Gift Shop. The bold lettering stood out in the dim lighting, and before you could react, Jeno’s expression lit up, a flicker of boyish excitement breaking through his usual composed demeanor. “We’re going in,” he said simply, his voice resolute as he steered you toward the entrance.

The gift shop was a curated mess of basketball-themed treasures, gaudy trinkets, and charming absurdities. Shelves overflowed with novelty keychains, trading cards, and oversized bobbleheads that teetered on their bases. You found yourself laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all—a foam finger shaped like a basketball hoop, mugs emblazoned with cheesy slogans, and a glitter-covered snow globe with a miniature player frozen mid-dunk.

You caught Jeno watching you as you picked up a particularly hideous bobblehead, your laughter spilling out in soft waves. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, the kind of smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t help himself. It lingered, warm and unguarded, and you felt it settle low in your chest, right alongside the bittersweet ache of knowing the night was slipping away too quickly.

Eventually, the two of you began to wander back toward the exit. Your phone buzzed in your hand, the battery icon flashing a warning, and you realized just how much you’d captured—the notes, the photos, the videos. The weight of the night lingered in every detail saved to your phone, but the memories etched themselves even deeper, impossible to forget.

As you passed the gift shop one last time, Jeno paused, his gaze flicking toward the entrance. “Hold on,” he said, already heading back inside. “I forgot something.”

You waited outside, arms crossed, your curiosity simmering as the seconds stretched into minutes. You glanced at the clock on your phone, then back toward the shop, the glass doors giving you only the faintest glimpse of his movements inside.

When he reemerged, his steps were purposeful but casual, a faint smirk playing on his lips. You didn’t press him, though the spark of suspicion in your gaze was impossible to hide. “Ready to go?” he asked, his tone light, but there was something else beneath it, a quiet undercurrent that made you tilt your head, studying him.

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you walked toward the parking lot. The air was cooler now, brushing against your skin like a reminder that the night was winding down. But just before you reached the car, Jeno stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“Here,” he said, his voice quieter now, his hand slipping into his pocket.

When he handed you the small box, you hesitated, your brow furrowing as you turned it over in your hands. It was unassuming, light, and you glanced up at him, confused.

“Open it,” he murmured, his eyes steady on yours.

The lid lifted with a soft creak, and the sight inside stole the breath from your lungs. Nestled against the fabric was a tiny basketball charm, delicate and carefully crafted, its polished surface catching the faint light like a spark.

“For your bracelet,” he said, his voice softer still, the weight of the moment pressing into the quiet space between you.

Your gaze lifted to his, startled and unsteady, the weight of the moment pressing against you in ways you couldn’t quite name. The bracelet had been nothing more than a fixture, its emptiness a quiet, unnoticed echo of things you’d grown used to—spaces unfilled, gaps you stopped questioning. But here he was, standing in front of you, holding a piece so small yet so deliberate, it felt like he’d reached into the silence you carried and tried to give it shape. Something tightened in your chest, sharp and unfamiliar, as if his gesture had revealed just how long you’d been wearing something incomplete, and how you might never have realized it on your own.

“Jeno…” you started, your voice unsteady, but he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

“It’s okay,” he said simply, his fingers brushing yours as he reached for the bracelet. “I wanted to. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how empty it looked. I knew what I had to do.”

He worked in silence, the soft clink of the charm against the bracelet barely audible over the quiet rhythm of your breaths. His fingers moved with a careful precision that felt almost reverent, as though this small act demanded every ounce of his focus. His brow furrowed, his lips pressed in a subtle line of concentration, and you couldn’t look away. There was something unguarded about the way he approached this—so deliberate, so painstakingly unhurried—that it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t prepared for. It wasn’t just the act itself, but what it meant, what it revealed.

When he finished, he didn’t say anything at first. His hand lingered at your wrist, his thumb brushing over the newly attached charm, and then his eyes met yours. The sincerity in his gaze hit you like a blow, unraveling something carefully stitched together inside you. It wasn’t just a charm, wasn’t just a thoughtful gift—it was him, offering you a piece of himself, quiet and unspoken, but there. It was the way he saw you, not as you pretended to be, but as you truly were. The realization both warmed and unsettled you, leaving you feeling laid bare in the softest, most excruciating way.

You reached for him before you could think better of it, your hand cupping his jaw, your thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone. He stilled, his breath catching, but he didn’t pull away. When you kissed him, it wasn’t hurried or eager. It was soft, lingering, a kind of communion that words couldn’t reach. Beneath it was a current of gratitude, quiet and raw, and the unshakable knowledge that this moment was more than a gesture. It was a shift—subtle, seismic, and irreversible.

His hands found your waist, his touch steady and grounding, as though he needed to anchor himself to you in the same way you found yourself clinging to him. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs tracing over the fabric of your shirt like he was memorizing the feel of you. The space between you ceased to exist, and yet, the weight of what had just passed between you seemed to fill every corner.

The bracelet rested against your wrist, no longer just a hollow adornment. It felt heavier now, but not with emptiness—it carried meaning. A weight you hadn’t realized you’d been missing, one you hadn’t asked for but found yourself reluctant to let go of. It didn’t just fill the space; it transformed it, leaving something behind that you knew would linger long after this moment ended.

The second you shoved him onto the motel bed, Jeno knew he was done for. Not just because you had the upper hand, but because of the look in your eyes—wild, unyielding, and utterly determined. His cocky grin faltered for a split second, his usual confidence wavering as you towered over him. His back hit the mattress with a dull thud, and his lips parted, ready to retake control, to say something. But you didn’t give him the chance. The moment you climbed onto him, your movements calculated and deliberate, he realized he was no longer in charge.

It wasn’t just the weight of you pinning him down—it was the absurdity of the situation. You’d lost the bet. By all rights, this was supposed to be his moment of victory, his chance to bend you to his will. He should have been the one in control, making you squirm beneath him. Instead, you were on top, commanding every inch of him like you’d won, like it had been his loss, not yours. The irony of it hit him hard, but the thought dissolved into nothingness the second your hands moved to his waistband.

You stripped him of his pants and boxers in one smooth motion, and his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, standing stiff against his stomach. The sight of it, heavy and desperate, should’ve made you pause—but you didn’t. You wrapped your hand around him, gave him one hard, teasing stroke that left him gasping, and then lined yourself up and sank down without ceremony.

The stretch was overwhelming, your walls clenching around him with a tightness that ripped a groan from both of you. His hands flew to your hips instinctively, but you smacked them away, your nails dragging down his chest as you pressed him back against the mattress. “Stay,” you demanded, your voice sharp and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

He stared up at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted in disbelief. He wanted to say something, maybe even fight back, to remind you of the terms of the bet—but when your hips started to move, slow and deliberate, every thought in his head vanished. Every roll of your body was purposeful, your thighs flexing as you lifted yourself off him only to slam back down, the force of it sending his head tipping back against the pillows.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white as he tried to keep himself in check. The sight of you above him, taking what you wanted with a confidence he hadn’t expected, had his mind spinning. “You don’t—fuck—you don’t fight fair.”

A wicked grin spread across your lips, your hands braced against his chest as you leaned forward, letting your nails leave faint trails in his skin. “I never said I would,” you shot back, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction. The angle shifted slightly, driving him deeper, and the sharp intake of his breath only spurred you on.

He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was here, pinned to the bed, completely at your mercy. He’d gone into this thinking he’d be the one in charge, the one to call the shots—but from the second you’d shoved him onto the bed, he’d known. He’d lost all control over you, and it wasn’t just the way your body moved against his, the way you commanded him. It was the confidence in your eyes, the way you held him down like he belonged to you.

His groan was guttural, his hands twitching at his sides, his entire body screaming for him to grab you, flip you over, and fuck you into the mattress. But he didn’t. He stayed exactly where you told him, his restraint hanging by a thread as you worked him over with precision.

The feral rhythm of your hips slamming down onto his cock was unrelenting, a raw, primal display of desire that left no space for control or reason. Each bounce sent a lewd, wet slap echoing through the room, the obscene sound underscoring the way your body moved with unrestrained abandon. You were riding him like you owned him, chasing your own pleasure with every brutal drop of your hips, and the way his cock twitched and pulsed inside you only pushed you further into the madness of it all.

Your ass was relentless, the soft curve of it clapping against his thighs with every downward thrust. His gaze was glued to the way it moved, hypnotized by the ripple of your flesh and the raw power in your movements. Each bounce made his thighs tighten beneath you, a reaction that drove a smug smirk to your lips even as your own breath caught. The force of your descent made the head of his cock hit that devastating spot inside you over and over again, leaving you gasping, moaning, completely undone. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers twitching like he was barely holding himself back from grabbing your ass and forcing you to move even harder.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice cracking as his hips jerked involuntarily, desperate to meet your movements. “Look at you. You don’t even need me to move. You’re—” His words died on his tongue, swallowed by a guttural moan as you sank onto him harder, faster, riding him with a wildness that left no room for anything else.

Your breasts moved with the same intensity as your hips, bouncing wildly with every thrust, catching his attention like a predator locked onto prey. He couldn’t stop staring, his mouth falling open as he groaned low in his chest. When his hands finally shot up, cupping them roughly, his fingers molded to your curves, squeezing hard enough to draw a gasp from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice wrecked as his thumbs dragged across your nipples, rolling the stiff peaks under his fingers. The roughness of his touch made your back arch, your lips parting as a choked moan spilled out. He stared up at you, his dark eyes wild with want, before his lips parted again, his tone more desperate now. “Let me taste them.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His hands gripped your waist, dragging your chest down to meet his mouth. His tongue flicked against your nipple with an intensity that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, your walls clamping tighter around his cock as you cried out. The wet pull of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the way his tongue circled and lapped at your sensitive skin—it was maddening.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growled against your skin, his teeth grazing the hardened bud before he sucked it deeper into his mouth. “Can’t stop making those pretty sounds when I do this.” He switched to the other breast, his tongue lashing against the peak as his hands held your hips in place, forcing you to keep moving, to keep riding him.

Your moans grew louder, more broken, as his mouth worked in perfect rhythm with your hips. The wet slide of his cock dragging against your walls combined with the heat of his tongue and the sting of his teeth sent you spiraling. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping hard, pulling him closer as you gasped out, “More. Fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His lips latched onto your nipple with more force, his tongue flicking faster, his teeth scraping just enough to make your thighs tremble. The way he worshiped your breasts—hungry, unrelenting, like he couldn’t get enough—left you wrecked. Your control faltered, your rhythm becoming erratic as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation of his mouth and the thick length of him stretching you open.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” you panted, your voice trembling as your body arched into his touch. “Shit, Jeno, you feel so—” Your words dissolved into a desperate moan as his teeth caught your nipple, the sting sharp and electrifying before it melted into heat.

He pulled back for a moment, his lips shiny, his chest heaving as he stared up at you like he’d never seen anything so devastating. His hands slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided you back down onto him, the force of his thrust meeting your descent. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned, his voice low and ragged, his grip tightening as he buried himself deeper.

The rhythm picked up again, rougher, harder, the sound of your ass clapping against his thighs filling the room. His lips returned to your chest, his mouth devouring you with renewed hunger, leaving marks that would linger on your skin like a brand. His tongue flicked and swirled, his teeth scraping just enough to leave you trembling, and the low, filthy sounds he made against your skin only pushed you closer to the edge.

“You’re mine tonight,” you gasped, your voice raw as you clutched his shoulders, your nails dragging down his chest. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” he rasped, his head tipping back as his body tightened beneath you. “Fuck, I’m all yours.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails dragging down his chest hard enough to leave faint red lines. The sight of him beneath you, flushed and wrecked, his lips parted as he panted for air, made your stomach tighten with satisfaction. Jeno had always been the one in control, the one who dictated the pace, but tonight, you’d stripped him of every ounce of dominance, leaving him at your mercy.

He didn’t try to wrestle control back, didn’t even fight it; instead, he let you guide him, his eyes glazed over with lust as you worked him over with brutal precision. The slick slide of him inside you made your head spin, every thrust driving deeper, hitting spots that made your entire body tremble. His hands gripped your ass firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, helping you keep your rhythm steady despite the way your thighs burned with exertion.

“Look at you,” you whispered, your voice a mix of awe and mockery as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. “So fucking pretty like this—completely under me.”

Jeno let out a choked groan, his hips bucking up into you, but you pushed him back down with a firm hand against his chest. His eyes widened slightly when your other hand slid up to his throat, your fingers wrapping around the column of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking to yours, dark and wanting, but also laced with surprise. You squeezed gently, testing, and the low, guttural sound he made sent a shiver down your spine.

“Like that, huh?” you murmured, tightening your grip just enough to make his breath hitch. “I knew you’d let me do anything to you.”

He didn’t respond, couldn’t, the pressure of your hand cutting off his words and leaving him gasping. His lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, and the sight of him like this—submissive, needy, utterly at your mercy—made you clench around him, drawing a strangled curse from his lips.

You leaned down, your mouth hovering just above his, and spit, slow and deliberate, watching as it dripped past his parted lips and onto his tongue. He groaned loudly, his eyes fluttering shut as he swallowed without hesitation, the act sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

“Good boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”

“Fuck, yes,” he rasped, his voice raw as he strained against your hand on his throat, his hips jerking up desperately. “Anything. I’ll take it—please.”

His plea made your head spin, your control wavering for a moment as you slammed your hips down harder, faster. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with the broken moans spilling from both of you. His cock throbbed inside you, the stretch overwhelming, and the way he looked up at you—wide-eyed, desperate—left you teetering on the edge.

Your hand left his throat, sliding down his chest, and you dug your nails into his skin, making him hiss through his teeth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers bruising as he pulled you down onto him with every thrust, matching your rhythm with a force that had you gasping.

“You’re gonna come for me,” you demanded, your voice shaking as you ground your hips against him, your walls tightening around his cock. “You don’t come until I say.”

“I—fuck—I’m so close,” he choked out, his head tipping back, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to hold himself together. “Please—let me—”

“Not yet,” you cut him off, leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip, your teeth dragging against the soft skin before you kissed him deeply. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth, your control slipping as his hands moved to your ass, pulling you down harder, deeper, until you couldn’t think straight.

His lips left yours, trailing down your neck to your chest, and he latched onto your nipple again, his tongue flicking and swirling with a desperation that made your thighs tremble. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, the sting sending shocks of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

“Fuck, Jeno,” you gasped, your head falling back as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation. “You’re gonna make me—oh, shit��”

“Do it,” he groaned against your skin, his voice low and wrecked. “Come on me. I want to feel it—want to feel you lose it on my cock.”

His words pushed you over the edge, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your walls clamping down around him tightly. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode out your orgasm, your movements erratic and frantic.

Jeno wasn’t far behind, his hands gripping your hips almost painfully as he thrust up into you one last time, his body trembling as he spilled inside you. His groan was deep, guttural, his head tipping back against the pillows as he let himself go completely.

You collapsed onto his chest, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as you both lay there, utterly spent. His hands moved up your back, his touch surprisingly gentle as he traced lazy circles against your skin.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Jeno moved, flipping you onto your back with a strength that stole whatever control you had left. The room spun, your legs tangled with his as he pressed you into the mattress, his body hovering over yours, heat radiating from every inch of him. His hand slid beneath your thigh, gripping it firmly and hooking your leg around his waist, his eyes burning as they locked onto yours.

“You really think you can wear me out?” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips. Before you could answer, his hips rolled forward, the thick length of him sliding back into you in one unrelenting thrust.

Your gasp caught in your throat, your fingers scrambling for purchase against his damp skin as he set a rhythm that was slower now but no less consuming. His gaze never left yours, the intensity in his eyes pinning you in place as his body moved against yours, deliberate and devastating.

The weight of him, the heat of his body pressed so tightly to yours, made it impossible to think, impossible to do anything but feel. His hand found your wrist, pinning it above your head, his fingers lacing with yours as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.

“You think you’re in charge,” he breathed, his voice rough and teasing, his hips snapping harder, pulling a broken moan from your lips. “But look at you now. Look at how I have you.”

The words sent a shiver racing through you, your back arching as his free hand traveled down your body, his touch rough and possessive. His fingers dug into your hip, holding you in place as he drove deeper, his pace unwavering, his movements so precise it left you trembling beneath him.

“You’re not getting away from me tonight,” he continued, his tone shifting, darker now, filled with a raw, undeniable need. “You’re staying right here, under me, on me, wrapped around me, all night.”

The promise hung heavy in the air, wrapping around you as his lips crashed against yours, the kiss all-consuming, a clash of teeth and tongue and desperation. He kissed like he fucked—intense, unrelenting, like he wanted to take every last piece of you and leave nothing behind.

He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin as he shifted, grabbing your other leg and pushing your knees higher, opening you up further. The new angle sent a shockwave through your body, your nails biting into his forearm as your head tipped back, your lips parting on a gasp.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice tight as he moved with slow, grinding precision, the drag of him inside you overwhelming. His eyes drank in the sight of you—your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your body moved beneath him like it was made for this, for him. “You have no idea how fucking good you look right now.”

Your hands slid to his shoulders, clutching him tightly as you pulled him closer, your lips grazing his jaw. “Jeno…” His name was a breathless plea, your voice trembling as he thrust harder, sharper, the intensity of it leaving you shaking.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he murmured, “I hope you know I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve had you in every way I want. Every way I can.”

Your body arched beneath him, the heat between you building again, the tension coiling tight in your stomach as he fucked you with a pace that was both punishing and purposeful. His mouth was everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your lips—leaving a trail of heat that only added to the heady, dizzying haze you were drowning in.

Time blurred, your senses overtaken by him: the strength of his hands on your body, the weight of him pressing you into the bed, the sound of his ragged breaths mixing with your moans. The room was heavy with heat and desperation, and you knew, without him saying a word, that he meant every promise he’d made.

There would be no rest, no reprieve. You weren’t getting out of that bed, not when he had you like this, not when he looked at you like he could devour you whole. And as his hand slipped behind your knee, hitching your leg higher, his pace relentless and unyielding, you surrendered completely.

This wasn’t a single moment; it was the entire night, a relentless give-and-take where neither of you held back. It wasn’t just him breaking you apart and piecing you back together—it was you doing the same to him, both of you locked in a desperate, all-consuming rhythm that blurred the lines between control and surrender. His thrusts were brutal, his grip unyielding, but the way your nails raked down his back, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, left him just as wrecked.

Every time he pushed you closer to the edge, you dragged him down with you, your bodies moving in perfect sync as though you were made to unravel each other. The air between you was heavy with heat and need, the sounds of your shared moans and gasps filling the room as the motel bed creaked beneath you. You arched beneath him, your body meeting his with equal force, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull his lips back to yours. The kiss was messy, open-mouthed and desperate, your teeth clashing as you devoured each other, tasting sweat and sin.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment as you clenched around him, your walls gripping him so tightly it stole the breath from his lungs. “You’re ruining me.”

“Good,” you panted, your voice trembling but firm as you ground your hips against his, dragging him deeper, harder. “Because you’re ruining me too.”

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and uneven as he stared into your eyes, his expression caught between awe and disbelief. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked, his hands roaming your body like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to convince himself you were real.

You didn’t let him hold onto the moment for long. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, harder, forcing a broken curse from his lips. Then you flipped him, using his own momentum to pin him beneath you. His eyes widened briefly, but the grin that spread across his face was pure, dark delight as he watched you take control again, your nails dragging down his chest.

“You think I’m perfect?” you teased, rolling your hips as his hands flew to your thighs, squeezing tightly. “Prove it. Show me.”

And he did. Even from below, he took every opening to push you further, his fingers digging into your hips to guide your movements, his cock driving into you at a devastating angle that left you gasping. The two of you were locked in a battle for dominance, each of you giving as good as you got, neither willing to let up.

By the time you both collapsed back onto the bed, bodies trembling and slick with sweat, it wasn’t over—it couldn’t be. He pulled you back against him, his lips trailing down your spine as he pushed back inside you, a low groan rumbling in his chest. You twisted to face him, your fingers threading into his hair as you tugged him into another kiss, your bodies already moving together again, unstoppable.

This wasn’t about control. It was about destruction—mutual, beautiful destruction. You weren’t just losing yourself to him; you were taking him with you, pulling him into the same chaos that consumed you. Every moan, every gasp, every desperate touch left its mark, the line between where you ended and he began disappearing entirely.

And as the hours passed, as the night stretched on, there was no thought of rest, no thought of stopping. It was you and him, burning each other to the ground, only to rise again in the next moment, ruined and whole all at once.

It had been a few days since you returned from the motel, but the haze of that weekend hadn’t lifted. Campus life had swallowed you whole again—assignments piled on top of deadlines, projects competing for your attention, tutoring sessions eating into your free time. Even the collaborative project with Jeno, which you were determined to excel in, loomed over you like a silent predator. You thrived on being busy, juggling your responsibilities with practiced ease. But Lee Jeno, as he had proven time and time again, was amazing at derailing every plan you meticulously crafted.

He had spent every night at your apartment since you got back, always finding a way to pull you away from your work, from your thoughts, from everything but him. He spent more time inside you than anywhere else. The boundaries you had drawn between you had long since dissolved, leaving only raw want and insatiable need in their place. Case in point: his head buried between your thighs as you gasped and writhed against the pillows.

This morning, like every other, he’d woken you up before your alarm—not with a whisper, not with a soft touch, but with the shocking heat of his mouth between your thighs. You jolted awake at the first swipe of his tongue, a soft gasp escaping your lips as the sensation flooded your half-asleep mind. The duvet was heavy over your body, cocooning you in warmth, and you hadn’t even realized where he was until you felt his hands gripping your hips, pulling you further down the mattress to meet his mouth.

“Jeno,” you whispered, your voice still thick with sleep, but he didn’t answer. His grip tightened, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your hips as his tongue moved with maddening precision, flicking and circling in a rhythm that left your thighs trembling. The muffled hums he made against you sent shivers through your body, each one a reminder that he wasn’t stopping until you were fully awake—and thoroughly ruined.

You couldn’t see him beneath the covers, but you didn’t need to. You could feel the heat of his mouth, the deliberate way his tongue dragged against you, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing the sting with gentle, wet kisses. Your hands clutched at the sheets, twisting them as the pleasure built steadily, your body arching despite your best efforts to stay still.

“Good morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice muffled and teasing as he paused just long enough to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. The sound of his voice, low and gravelly with sleep, made your chest tighten, and before you could respond, he was back at it, his tongue dipping into you with a groan that vibrated through your core.

“Jeno,” you gasped again, your head falling back against the pillow as the sensations overwhelmed you. “You’re—God, you keep on distracting me.”

He chuckled softly against you, his lips curling into a smirk you could feel. “You don’t seem to mind.”

And he was right. You didn’t mind—not one bit. The way his mouth worked against you, the way his hands gripped your thighs to keep you exactly where he wanted you, the way he seemed to know exactly how to undo you with nothing but his tongue—it was impossible to resist.

You were reaching for him, fingers itching to dive into the messy strands of his hair and tug him up, desperate to kiss away the smug grin that had been teasing you all morning. But the sharp knock at your door stopped you cold. The sound sliced through the hazy warmth of the moment, replacing it with a jolt of panic that spread through your chest like ice.

“Yo! Y/N! Open up. Are you decent?”

The knock was sharp, cutting through the charged air like a blade, and the voice that followed was unmistakable. Mark. Of course it was him. Hearing his name didn’t surprise you—Mark’s presence in your life was as constant as it was chaotic. What did surprise you, though, was when he chose to appear. He didn’t live here, but the spare key you’d given him months ago—a decision you regretted more often than not—meant he strolled into your apartment with the ease of someone who did. Mark was so comfortable in your space that he acted like it was his own, and right now, that particular habit made your stomach drop.

“Oh, my God,” you hissed, your voice low and panicked, your mind already racing.

Your heart dropped as you watched the door knob begin to turn in agonizing slow motion. Every nerve in your body fired off at once as you realized Jeno was still sprawled on top of you, his broad shoulders, tousled hair, and completely bare torso making it painfully obvious what had just been happening.

You didn’t have time to think, let alone properly hide him. Panic fueled your movements as you grabbed Jeno’s shoulders, shoving him down under the massive duvet with all the force you could muster. His muffled laugh against your skin made you glare, but he complied, slipping beneath the covers just as the door cracked open.

Your wide eyes met his under the thick, plush fabric, and you shot him a silent look—sharp, warning, do not fuck this up. He raised a brow in return, his lips curling into a faint smirk, but thankfully, he stayed still.

You glanced down at the bed. Thanks to your oversized duvet, the scene didn’t look suspicious. The blankets were big, fluffy, and completely swallowed Jeno’s frame beneath their layers. As long as he stayed quiet—didn’t shift, didn’t make a sound—Mark wouldn’t know a thing. All you had to do was keep him unsuspecting. You exhaled quietly, bracing yourself as the door opened wider.

You inhaled deeply, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen. If you didn’t play this right, everything would unravel in seconds. Jeno was still beneath the duvet, his mouth working relentlessly against you, his hands gripping your thighs with quiet insistence. You knew Mark didn’t suspect anything—how could he?—but the thought of even the slightest misstep made you clench with unease.

“Mark!” you called, pitching your voice higher, layering it with just enough grogginess to sound convincing. “What time is it? I’m still in bed. What do you want?”

You were banking on the early hour to sell your act, and from his exasperated sigh, it seemed to work. “You’ve been super weird and distant since the motel, and I’ve been really meaning to tell you something,” Mark replied, his voice insistent. “This can’t wait.”

Your fingers gripped the edge of the duvet, tugging it tighter over Jeno as your mind raced. You knew exactly what he was going to say, every word of it. That he’d hooked up with Areum at the motel. That it just happened. That he couldn’t stop thinking about it. You knew it all because you were his best friend and you knew everything about him even when he didn’t outwardly tell you.

But he couldn’t say it now. Not with Jeno right here, between your legs, his tongue dragging slow, devastating circles against your clit like he had all the time in the world. If Mark said it—if those words left his mouth—you were sure Jeno would lose it. He’d push himself out from under the duvet, his anger sharp and immediate, the tension snapping like a live wire. Jeno wouldn’t think rationally. And then Mark would see him. See you. Together.

It wasn’t just about Jeno’s reaction. It was about what would happen next. Mark knowing about you and Jeno would be a disaster, not just for you but for everything you’d carefully managed to keep in balance. The dynamic would shift; questions would spill out faster than you could answer them. Why Jeno? How long had this been going on? What did it mean? You hated the thought of losing control, of letting things spiral beyond your grasp. This wasn’t about jealousy, about Mark and Areum. It was about you—about maintaining the delicate, perfect equilibrium you’d worked so hard to build.

“Mark, seriously, can’t this wait?” you said, your voice tight but still playing at sleepy. “I really don’t have time right now.”

Mark groaned, clearly annoyed. “Y/N, come on. This is important. You won’t believe what happened—”

“I already know!” you blurted, desperate to cut him off before the words could leave his mouth. “You fought Jeno back at the motel, didn’t you? He totally deserved it—ow!”

The sharp sting of Jeno’s teeth on your folds sent a jolt through your entire body, making you yelp involuntarily. His bite wasn’t harsh, but it was pointed, deliberate, a silent reprimand for dragging him into your lie. Your thighs clenched around his head instinctively, but he didn’t stop, his tongue following immediately to soothe the bite, the sensation sending a wave of heat coursing through you.

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice sharpened with concern. “Are you okay? What’s happening in there?”

You swallowed hard, biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as Jeno’s mouth moved with maddening precision. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking with a force that made your hips jerk against him, your fingers twisting the blanket in a desperate attempt to maintain composure.

“Nothing!” you squeaked, the strain in your voice obvious. “I—I just stubbed my toe or something. Seriously, Mark, this can wait.”

Jeno’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading you wider beneath the duvet as he buried himself deeper, his groan vibrating against you. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the dual sensations of pleasure and panic tangling in your chest as you tried to think straight.

“Y/N, you’re acting so weird,” Mark pressed, clearly unconvinced. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” you snapped, your frustration spilling over as you glared down at the lump under the covers. Jeno, the absolute menace, didn’t pause for a second, his tongue swirling and flicking in ways that made your breath hitch. “Just—just give me five minutes, okay? Wait downstairs. I’ll make us breakfast, and we’ll talk then. Just not now.”

There was a long, excruciating pause, the kind that made your heart hammer in your chest as you braced for Mark to say something else, to push further, to step inside despite your protests. You could feel the weight of his hesitation through the door, the way he lingered just long enough to let his suspicion settle into the room like a thick fog. Mark wasn’t stupid—he could sense something was off. Your clipped tone, the way your voice wavered, your refusal to let him in—it wasn’t like you, and you knew he’d noticed.

But Mark was your best friend, and that counted for something. Despite his doubts, despite the fact that he had every reason to question you, he didn’t. That unspoken trust, that bond forged over years of shared secrets and unwavering loyalty, held him back. He gave you the benefit of the doubt because that’s what you did for each other. It was the silent agreement between you: when one of you acted weird, the other let it slide, knowing there was always a reason, even if it wasn’t immediately clear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him sigh, the sound heavy with irritation and resignation. “Fine. But don’t keep me waiting, Y/N. I’m serious.”

You stayed frozen, every muscle in your body taut as his footsteps retreated down the hall. The sound of the front door closing echoed through the apartment, and you exhaled sharply, the tension draining from your shoulders all at once. Relief washed over you like a wave, the morning’s chaos finally giving way to a fleeting moment of calm.

Your head fell back against the pillow, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing. But Jeno didn’t stop. He doubled down, his tongue dragging slow, deliberate strokes against you, his hands holding you in place as he worked with a single-minded focus that left you trembling.

“Jeno,” you hissed, his name spilling from your lips like a warning. You lift the blanket to glare down at him. He looked up, his lips glistening, his expression infuriatingly smug.

“What?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “You’re the one who shoved me down here.”

“You were supposed to behave,” you shot back, but your voice lacked bite, your body still humming with the lingering pleasure of his relentless attention.

“And yet,” he said, dragging his tongue slowly over you one last time, his grin widening as he felt you shudder, “you’re not complaining.”

You groaned, letting the blanket fall back over his head, resigned to the chaos of your life—and the man underneath it.

That moment of relief didn’t last long. You shoved the duvet back, grabbing Jeno by the arm and dragging him up with a mix of urgency and frustration. “You need to go,” you whispered harshly, glancing toward the closed door as if Mark might come back any second. Jeno didn’t argue, though the glint of amusement in his eyes made your blood boil. He moved slowly, deliberately, grabbing his clothes from the floor and pulling them on with maddening ease. When you motioned toward the window, he chuckled under his breath, leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, and slipped out quietly.

By the time you made it downstairs, Mark was already there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and his jaw tight. His posture screamed impatience, the subtle tap of his fingers against his arm only adding to the tension in the air. But when he saw you, the irritation melted away, replaced by something softer, almost nervous. You caught the shift immediately—it wasn’t like Mark to hesitate. He opened his mouth, the words spilling out before you even had a chance to settle into the kitchen.

“You won’t believe what happened at the motel,” he said finally, his voice tinged with both hesitation and a flicker of excitement—the kind that always preceded one of his big revelations. His eyes darted to yours briefly, gauging your reaction, before they flickered away again, the nervous energy rolling off him in waves.

“I mean… it’s kind of insane when I think about it,” he added, letting out a soft, uneasy laugh as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. That familiar habit, the one he always fell back on when he was working up to something big, told you this wasn’t just casual news—it was something significant, something he’d been holding onto for days, waiting for the right moment to spill. You could see it in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his excitement barely contained beneath his lingering nerves.

“I’m seeing Areum,” he said, his voice quick, almost rushed, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “We fucked for the first time at the motel.”

You turned to the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them as you forced a smile. “Wait—what?” you said, playing your part perfectly. “Areum? Seriously?” You made a show of being surprised, glancing over your shoulder at him with wide eyes as you heated the pan, adding a knob of butter that sizzled immediately. “You and Areum? I mean, wow, I didn’t see that coming.”

Mark laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned against the counter, clearly relieved by your reaction. “Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It just… happened. At the motel. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

You poured the eggs into the pan, watching them bubble as you stirred slowly, letting him take the lead. “You don’t have to explain,” you said gently, your tone warm and supportive. “If it makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.” And he was happy—so happy. It was written all over his face, in the way he couldn’t stop smiling, the way his voice picked up when he talked about her. You listened intently, asking questions at the right moments, your kindness and enthusiasm carefully measured.

“She’s just… different, you know?” he said, his voice softer now as he opened up. “I mean, Areum’s always been kind of quiet, you know? But spending time with her at the motel… she’s so shy, but it’s this cute kind of shy that makes you want to keep talking just to see her smile. She’s got this way about her—she’s so sweet, so caring. Like, she notices everything. She’ll remember the smallest things I’ve said, even when I forgot I mentioned them. And her heart…” He paused, his lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s so big. She’s one of those people who makes you feel like you’re the only one that matters when she’s looking at you.”

You smiled softly as you slid the plate toward him, the eggs perfectly scrambled and creamy, the toast golden with slices of sautéed mushrooms glistening on top. Mark reached out to take it, his fingers brushing yours for a moment in a gesture so familiar, it was second nature. You settled into the chair across from him, resting your elbows lightly on the table, your hands loosely clasped together as you tilted your head, studying him. “It sounds like you really like her,” you said, your voice warm, unhurried, like you were coaxing him to open up without him realizing it.

He looked down at the plate for a moment, almost like he needed the pause to collect himself. When he glanced back up, there was a faint flush climbing his neck, just enough to make you smile wider. “I do,” he admitted, his tone quieter, more reflective than you’d expected. His fork hovered over the food, but he didn’t eat yet, his focus fully on you. “I really, really do. But promise me you won’t say anything to anyone else. Areum doesn’t want people knowing yet.”

You leaned forward slightly, the sincerity in your voice unshakable. “Of course I won’t. You know I’d never do that.”

The relief that washed over his face was palpable, softening his features in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish. He let out a breath he must not have realized he was holding, and his smile widened as he relaxed into his chair. “Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours in that quiet, grateful way that reminded you exactly why he was your best friend. “I couldn’t not tell you, though. I just… I had to. She’d probably kill me if she knew I was telling you, but…” He trailed off, shrugging with a quiet laugh that made you laugh, too, the sound filling the room in a way that felt like sunlight on an otherwise ordinary morning.

Mark started eating as he spoke, and you watched as he eased into the moment, the way his words came more freely now, like a floodgate had opened. He described her in pieces, in tiny details that painted a picture only someone who truly cared would notice. He talked about the way her voice softened when she spoke to him, the way her shyness made her stumble over her words sometimes, only to immediately apologize in that sweet, almost flustered way she had. He told you about how she touched his arm when she laughed, her fingers light, tentative, as though she wasn’t sure she could take up that space.

“She’s got this way of looking at me,” he said, his voice softening further as he spoke, almost like he was confessing a secret he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet. “Like… like I’m someone worth noticing, you know? Like she sees me—really sees me.” His fork clinked against the edge of his plate as he set it down, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar, nervous habit of his. “I don’t know how to explain it. She’s just… she’s so kind. So thoughtful. Like, she’s always paying attention, even to the smallest things. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like her before.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way his voice softened as he spoke, the way his words carried this quiet wonder, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. But beneath that smile, a pang of guilt twisted in your chest, sharp and heavy. He trusted you completely, enough to bare this part of himself without hesitation, and you were lying to him.

As he fell quiet for a moment, he leaned back in his chair, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you with a faint frown. “What about you?” he asked suddenly, his tone casual but his eyes sharper than you’d expected. “Is there anything going on with you that you want to tell me about?”

Your heart jumped in your chest, and for a split second, you froze. The thought flashed through your mind, quick and insistent—what if you told him? What if you told him about Jeno? About the nights you’d spent together, about the deal you’d made, the exclusivity, the date. What if you told him about the way Jeno made you laugh, made you feel light in a way you hadn’t expected? About how, against all odds, he made you happy.

But just as quickly, the thought vanished, and you shoved it down with practiced ease. No. You couldn’t tell him. Mark would never be able to forget something like that. He wouldn’t look at you—or Jeno—the same way again, and it would change everything. It wasn’t worth the risk. You recomposed yourself quickly, forcing a small, easy smile onto your face. “Nothing exciting,” you said lightly, waving a hand. “Just the usual.”

Mark studied you for a beat, and for a moment, you thought he might press further. But then he nodded, his frown easing into something softer. “Okay,” he said after a moment, his tone gentle. “But if there is something, you know you can tell me, right?”

“Of course,” you replied, the words coming out steady, even though the weight in your chest grew heavier with every syllable.

He smiled, that familiar, warm smile that had always been so easy for him. “Everything feels like it’s falling into place,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Areum… basketball… even Jeno. I never expected him to start being nice to me, but he has. He’s starting to feel more like my brother. He’s actually been… decent. Maybe even more than decent.”

Your smile wavered for just a moment, but you caught it, nodding as you clasped your hands tighter in your lap. “I’m happy for you, Mark,” you said softly. You really were—but you also knew he’d never realize how much of this was because of you. Jeno’s promise to treat him better, to keep the peace—it all came back to you and the invisible strings you’d been pulling behind the scenes.

Mark leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he spoke, but you barely heard him. The guilt weighed heavier now, pressing against your chest, curling around your ribs. Lying to him felt like trying to hold sand in your hands, the truth slipping through the cracks no matter how tightly you tried to grasp it.

As Mark kept talking, his voice filled with hope and excitement, you couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at your chest. You were lying to him. Every word you didn’t say was another thread unraveling between you, pulling the balance tighter and tighter. It was like building a house of cards, delicate and precarious, where even the softest breath could bring it all crashing down. But instead of stopping, instead of stepping back, you kept stacking higher, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t collapse under the weight of everything you were hiding.

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xiuriii · 21 days ago

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need a hit rn cant lie

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xiuriii · 21 days ago

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‘ THROUGH THE YEARS ’ | j. suh

summary : you and johnny’s relationship told in your birthday posts over the years pairing : johnny suh x gn!reader genre/s : one-shot smau, non-idol au, pure fluff

*note : pics are not chronologically accurate + likes are a lil all over the place but let me have this i thought it would be cute and i reordered the pics after writing hahaha

from reese, with love <3

feel free to guess at which bday post they started being together hehe anyways, happy johnny day!! johnny was my bias when i first got into nct and he’s still my bias to this day! he is so dear to me, he deserves the world and i hope he had the best day.

thank you for reading, i’d love to know what you think! hope you’re doing well and taking care :)

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xiuriii · 23 days ago

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ahh! i’m here! sorry i’m late… but i brought peppermint bark! and more movies! go ahead and pick the next movie, i’m going to make a cup of hot cocoa while you decide

➥ want from me ── 1.7k

strangers to coworkers to lovers, sleeping with a stranger at the office holiday party and oops! they're your new coworker trope, fluff ── in which you did not plan for the handsome stranger that you took home from the office holiday party to end up also being the new transfer to your team. you also did not plan for a repeat of that night. but you had also never planned for park jisung.

⏯ play movie

➥ mistletoe while you work ── 6.9k

established relationship, secret relationship, meddling coworkers & equally unhinged reader & jisung, fluff, humor ── in which you and jisung truly had only meant to keep your relationship private from your colleagues until jisung's new employee evaluation. then two of your coworkers tried to convince you to sleep with jisung for his own good. and how could you pass up the perfect opportunity for some office shenanigans?

⏯ play movie

➥ out of left field ── 16.3k

college au, brother's best friend trope, baseball player!jisung, rich kid!reader, fluff, slowish burn ── in which a missed connection in the library during finals week turns into two weeks at your family's winter home with your brother's cute friend on the baseball team. as long as you and your brother don't kill each other before you even get there, this could be the best christmas ever.

⏯ play movie

➥ 2023 hallmark movie marathon

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xiuriii · 27 days ago

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Title: Breaking Point a/n; sequel to almost

The words hung in the air, jagged and cruel, long after you threw them. You hadn't meant to snap, but Jeno had this way of pushing you to the edge, of standing so close to what you wanted but never giving it to you. And tonight, after weeks of silent yearning and half-truths, you finally broke.

"Why do you keep doing this to me?" Your voice trembled, a sharp edge to your tone. You didn’t bother to hide the way your hands shook.

Jeno froze mid-step, his hoodie halfway unzipped as he turned to look at you, confusion furrowing his brow. "Doing what?" he asked, too casually for the storm brewing between you.

"This!" you exploded, gesturing wildly at the space between you. "Coming here, acting like you—like we—mean something, and then leaving like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing."

He flinched, the impact of your words visible in the tightening of his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened. "That’s not fair," he said quietly.

"Isn’t it?" You took a step closer, your chest heaving as the anger poured out of you, the frustration and heartbreak you’d swallowed down for months finally bubbling to the surface. "You keep me here, Jeno. Right here." You pointed to a spot inches from his chest. "Close enough to hope, but not close enough to hold. Do you even care what that does to me?"

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, he stepped forward, the distance between you evaporating in a heartbeat.

"You think this doesn’t kill me, too?" he snapped, his voice low and rough. "You think I don’t lie awake at night, wondering if I should just tell you—if I should risk ruining the one good thing in my life because I’m too scared you’ll walk away if I ask for more?"

You blinked, his words hitting like a punch to the chest. "Then why don’t you?"

"Because I don’t want to lose you!" he shouted, his voice breaking at the end. The rawness in his tone made your breath hitch. "Because if I ask for too much, if I mess this up, I don’t know how I’d survive without you."

The air between you felt electric, your emotions sparking off each other in a way that felt both dangerous and inevitable.

"Jeno…" Your voice cracked, softer now, your anger bleeding into something warmer, heavier. "I’m already yours. You just never claimed me."

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with your words. Then, as if something inside him snapped, he reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you close.

"Say that again," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips, his voice desperate.

"I’m yours," you repeated, the truth of it unraveling something deep inside you. "I’ve always been yours, Jeno."

He kissed you then—fierce, messy, and full of every unsaid word, every buried feeling that had built between you. It wasn’t gentle or perfect, but it was real, and it was enough to leave you breathless.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his voice a whisper. "You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that."

"Then don’t make me wait anymore," you said softly, your hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

"I won’t," he promised, his voice steady now. "I’m done running from this. From us."

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xiuriii · 29 days ago

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I need a bf so bad

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xiuriii · 1 month ago

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new me — lee jeno smut

pairing — soft dom! jeno x reader, strangers to lovers

genre — smut, fluff

word count — 12.5k

synopsis — moving to a new college mid-term wasn’t part of the plan, but neither was jeno. all it takes is one tour guide, one party, one shared look, and suddenly you’re in his bed, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock stretching you so perfectly you forget why you ever hesitated. he’s addictive, and the way he fucks you—slow, deep, like he’s already yours—makes it impossible not to fall apart beneath him.

authors note — happy new year’s eve, my loves 🖤 this is my final fic of 2024, and what a year it’s been. my first on tumblr, and i’m so grateful to have found this community and shared my works with you all! consider this a little gift to celebrate the new year and hitting a follower milestone <3. honestly, this isn’t my best work, but who cares—I’m in a full-on jeno head rot. it’s just smut, with a little build-up, but the smut is so soft, so warm, it’s ridiculous. soft dom jeno is at a solid 10000/10 here. yes, oc and jeno just met. yes, they’re already stupidly possessive over each other. enjoy! also this is not proof read.

listen to this song whilst reading !

December 23rd,

The campus was unnervingly quiet, the kind of quiet that made the crunch of your boots against the frosted ground sound louder than it should. Snow-dusted trees lined the sprawling stone paths, and the chill in the air felt heavy, pressing against your chest. Your breath curled visibly as you approached the grand administration building ahead, its towering columns and arched windows casting long shadows against the gray sky. The facade, a blend of historic elegance and modern design, loomed cold and uninviting, its grandeur only making the campus feel more deserted. The email inviting you for an early induction had sounded welcoming, even reassuring, but as you walked through the silent, snow-covered grounds, a quiet unease began to settle in your chest. Without the usual hum of students rushing past, every step made the sense of not quite belonging sink a little deeper.

Transferring to a new college in the middle of the term was far from ideal, but the opportunity had been impossible to pass up. This wasn’t just any institution—it was one of the most prestigious in the country, known for its groundbreaking research and distinguished faculty. Among them was Professor Doyoung Kim, a name spoken with reverence in academic circles. As head of the engineering department, he was a pioneer in his field, renowned for his contributions to sustainable design and innovative technology. His work had been published in journals you’d once pored over late into the night, dreaming of a future where you might cross paths with such minds. This wasn’t simply a college; it was a launching pad for the kind of career you’d always envisioned. Despite the awkward timing, despite the upheaval, the chance to study here—under the guidance of someone like Kim—was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The anxiety you carried was undeniable, but so was the quiet, determined thrill that you were here, stepping into a world you’d only imagined.

Inside, the warmth was faint, and the echo of your footsteps only deepened the emptiness of the halls. When your eyes landed on him, you almost stopped in your tracks. Professor Doyoung Kim greeted you at the main office, standing tall in a perfectly tailored suit that seemed to amplify his presence. His composed demeanor and sharp features radiated authority, a stark reminder of the name you’d read about countless times in academic journals. He wasn’t just an acclaimed professor; he was a pioneer, a mind you had long admired from afar. Seeing him in person left you momentarily stunned, the reality of his stature hitting you harder than you expected. Yet, despite his intimidating reputation, there was a kindness in his sharp gaze that softened the edges of your nervousness, making it hard to feel entirely overwhelmed.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and professional, “I’m glad you came in today so we could make you feel welcome and show you around—especially on such late notice.”

You nodded, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. “Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.”

Doyoung smiled faintly, gesturing for you to follow him down the hall. “You’re an exceptional student,” he added, his tone factual rather than complimentary. “It’s not every year we get someone with your academic track record. We’re excited to have you join us next term.”

You nodded again, your throat tightening as you fell into step beside him. His words didn’t feel like flattery—they felt like a challenge, a subtle reflection of the expectations you carried with you. Years of meticulous effort had built your academic reputation, but the thought of starting over, proving yourself in an unfamiliar environment, pressed heavily on your chest. Confidence in your abilities wasn’t the issue—it was the weight of living up to the opportunity you’d been given.

As Professor Kim walked you through the structure of the semester, your nerves began to shift, settling into a focused hum. He spoke about the program’s intensity, the emphasis on collaboration, and the resources available to students with the kind of precision that made his words reassuring. His voice was calm, steady, even soothing in its way. But just as you started to feel more at ease, you turned a corner and collided with someone, the impact snapping you out of your thoughts like a jolt.

“Oh—sorry!” you stammered, stepping back quickly as your bag nearly slipped from your shoulder.

The person you bumped into barely moved, his tall frame unyielding as he glanced down at you with an expression that was impossible to read. His dark hair fell into his eyes, brushing against furrowed brows, and his lips pressed into a firm, unimpressed line. He looked like he had better things to do, like your clumsiness had interrupted something far more important.

But then his gaze lingered, his sharp eyes catching on the curve of your face, the hurried apology spilling from your lips. The tension in his brow eased, the faintest shift in his expression betraying a flicker of interest. His gaze softened as it traced over you—curious now, lingering just a second too long. His disinterest cracked, just enough to reveal something more, as if you’d momentarily pulled his focus away from whatever had consumed it before.

“Great,” Doyoung interrupted smoothly, stepping between the two of you. “Jeno, meet Y/N. Y/N, this is Jeno. He’s one of our top students in the department. Jeno, would you mind showing her around? Make sure she gets the full tour.”

Jeno exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression settling into something impassive, though his jaw twitched slightly. He pulled his headphones down to rest around his neck, the movement deliberate as his eyes flicked from Doyoung to you.

“Sure,” he said, the word falling flat, edged with reluctance, though the weight of his gaze told a different story. His eyes swept over your face, sharp and deliberate, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. The curve of his mouth twitched, the barest hint of a smirk playing there, like he knew exactly what his presence did to you. “I’ll show you around. Try not to bump into anyone else, though.”

Doyoung nodded approvingly, clapping Jeno lightly on the shoulder. “Good. I’ll leave you two to it. Y/N, if you have any questions, feel free to reach out.” With that, he walked away, his footsteps fading into the stillness, leaving the two of you standing far too close in the empty hallway.

You couldn’t ignore the way Jeno’s gaze lingered, his posture relaxed but his eyes anything but. He didn’t look thrilled to be stuck with this task, but there was something else beneath the surface—an intensity in the way his gaze dipped briefly to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. It made the air between you feel heavy, charged, like it held secrets you weren’t ready to name.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, though it felt deafening in the quiet.

He tilted his head slightly, his dark hair falling just into his eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirked up, almost imperceptibly. “Hi.”

The single word wasn’t warm or overly friendly—it was casual, almost dismissive—but the way his voice dropped made it feel personal, intimate. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unwavering, as though he was studying you, searching for something unspoken in your reaction.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice low, his fingers adjusting the strap of his backpack in a slow, deliberate motion that somehow drew your attention. “Where do you want to start? Library? Labs? Or are we just walking aimlessly?”

“The library,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “If that’s okay.”

He nodded, the slight tilt of his head carrying an ease you couldn’t replicate, then turned without another word, gesturing for you to follow. You fell into step beside him, your heartbeat quickening with every silent second that passed. His pace was slow, unhurried, the sound of his boots on the stone path matching your own as the quiet between you deepened—not awkward, but charged, as if even the spaces between his words carried weight.

The campus looked entirely different with Jeno leading the way. The snow-dusted paths that had felt cold and uninviting now seemed softened, the towering stone buildings framing your surroundings rather than looming over them. But it wasn’t just the campus—it was him. The faint brush of his arm as he walked too close, the subtle warmth of his presence despite the icy chill of the air, the way his voice resonated low and steady, grounding you in the unfamiliarity of the moment.

“That’s the dining hall,” he said, his tone casual, though a subtle rasp in his voice made the words feel heavier. “Food’s decent most days. Breakfast is worth getting up for, but lunch and dinner… well, you’ll survive.”

You nodded, your throat dry as you tried to focus on his words, but your attention was pulled elsewhere—drawn to the way his lips moved when he spoke, the casual flick of his hand as he gestured toward the building. His tone wasn’t unfriendly, but there was a distance in it, like he wasn’t fully invested in the conversation. Yet, every so often, his gaze would flick to you, quick and sharp, as though he was studying the way you reacted to him, the way your breath caught or your steps faltered.

When you reached the engineering labs—a sleek glass building that gleamed even under the muted winter light—his voice softened, the shift so subtle it was almost imperceptible. “You’ll probably spend most of your time here,” he said, his words slower now, his gaze flicking briefly to yours before continuing. “Professors are good, but they don’t mess around.”

“Sounds intense,” you said, your voice lighter, though the slight tremor betrayed you.

“It is,” he replied, but his gaze lingered, dark and steady, his eyes tracing the curve of your face before meeting yours with a heat that made your stomach twist. His lips curved slightly, the faintest smirk appearing as though he’d noticed your reaction and found it amusing. “But you look like the type who can handle it.”

The words hit harder than they should have, his voice low and deliberate, laced with something that felt heavier than casual observation. His eyes stayed on yours, unyielding, as if daring you to deny it. The air between you seemed thicker, his presence pressing into the space in a way that made your chest tighten and your breath falter.

You looked away quickly, your cheeks warming despite the icy air, but the weight of his gaze lingered, wrapping around you like a thread you couldn’t quite untangle. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you, in the way his voice dipped just for you, and it left your pulse pounding in your ears as the moment stretched on, charged with a tension neither of you dared to name.

When you reached the library, the sheer scale of it stole your breath. Rows of books stretched endlessly in every direction, the warm glow of the lights above casting a golden hue across the polished wood floors. High ceilings arched overhead, their grandeur somehow both awe-inspiring and calming. Jeno stepped ahead of you, pushing the heavy door open with one hand, his other casually stuffed into his jacket pocket.

“Best place on campus,” he said, his voice carrying an unbothered confidence that seemed to come naturally to him. He stepped aside, holding the door open for you as though it required no thought, just instinct. “Quiet, warm, and the coffee’s decent—if you know where to get it.”

You stepped inside, the subtle warmth of the space enveloping you immediately. The scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air, grounding you in a way that felt almost nostalgic. Even though the library was nearly empty, the quiet hum of central heating and the faint rustle of a page turning somewhere in the distance made it feel alive. You glanced around, taking it all in, and found yourself speaking before you’d even realized.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, the words falling softly into the stillness.

Jeno’s lips curved, faint amusement flickering across his face as his eyes followed your reaction. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful as his gaze moved across the room—but not for long. His eyes returned to you, lingering, as though drawn back against his will. “It’s not bad,” he added, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk that felt deliberate, though his gaze seemed far more interested in you than the grandeur of the space.

He led you deeper into the library, his steps measured, his voice low as he pointed out various sections. His explanations were quick, almost perfunctory, as though he’d done this routine countless times. But there was something about the way he moved, the way his occasional glances seemed to linger on you before snapping back to the shelves, that made your heart skip.

“This is where most people camp out during finals,” he said, gesturing to a cluster of study tables near a large window. Snowflakes drifted outside, soft and slow, the courtyard below blanketed in white. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find a spot without someone snoring next to you.”

The dryness of his humor caught you off guard, and you let out a quiet laugh, the sound surprising even yourself. His smirk widened slightly, and for a moment, the distance he carried seemed to fade, replaced by something easier, more comfortable. There was a steadiness about him, an unspoken confidence in the way he occupied space, and though your nerves still hummed beneath the surface, his presence made you feel oddly grounded in the vast unfamiliarity of the moment.

Jeno led you out of the library and back into the chill of the afternoon, his steps unhurried as he gestured toward a path branching off to the left. The cold nipped at your cheeks, but his presence kept you anchored, the warmth of his voice cutting through the bite of the wind.

“There’s a café just ahead,” he said, glancing over at you briefly. “If you ever need a break between classes, it’s a decent spot to hide out. Quiet enough most of the time, though it gets crowded around finals.”

The path wound past a small courtyard, snow blanketing the benches and casting a soft glow under the pale sunlight. You followed him, falling easily into step beside him, and for a moment, you let yourself settle into the calmness he seemed to carry.

“It sounds perfect,” you said, your voice lighter now, the tension in your chest easing with each step.

“It’s not bad,” Jeno replied, his tone casual. Then, as though letting you in on a secret, he added, “The hot chocolate’s better than the coffee, though. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected confession, a quiet laugh slipping past your lips. “Noted. I’ll keep it between us.”

The café came into view, a cozy space nestled between two older campus buildings, its wide windows fogged with the warmth inside. Jeno held the door open for you again, his hand resting lightly against the frame as he gestured you in. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside, and the soft hum of conversation made the space feel alive but not overwhelming.

“This is probably my favorite spot,” he admitted as he followed you in, his voice dropping slightly, as though the quieter surroundings demanded it. “I usually come here before late lectures. Keeps me sane.”

The warmth of the space settled over you, and for the first time since arriving on campus, you felt yourself fully relax. You glanced around, noticing the mix of students tucked into booths and perched at small tables, their heads bent over laptops and textbooks. A few of them glanced up as you walked by, their eyes trailing not you, but Jeno.

At first, you thought they were curious about you—your unfamiliar face drawing attention in a space that likely had its regulars. But the looks lingered, darting to Jeno with recognition and, in some cases, something like admiration. You caught snippets of whispers as you passed, words you couldn’t quite make out but felt like they weren’t about you at all.

Jeno, however, seemed oblivious—or maybe just unaffected. He moved with the same easy confidence he’d shown since you first bumped into him, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. If he noticed the way people looked at him, the way their conversations quieted as he passed, he didn’t let it show.

“Want to grab something?” he asked, nodding toward the counter.

You shook your head, still distracted by the way the atmosphere shifted around him. “No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

Jeno only gave you a faint glance, his brows lifting briefly as if to say sure you are, before turning toward the counter. A few quiet words exchanged with the barista, and he returned moments later with a pistachio muffin and a steaming cup of hot chocolate in hand. He held them out to you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips when you hesitated.

“Take it,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for refusal. “Trust me—you don’t want to miss this.”

Flustered, you accepted the muffin, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping through the paper cup as you cradled it in your hands. Your cheeks warmed as you tore off a piece of the muffin, the soft, nutty sweetness melting on your tongue.

“It’s good,” you admitted quietly, looking up at him as he leaned against a nearby table.

“Of course it is,” he said, taking the other half of the muffin and popping it into his mouth, chewing with a casualness that only added to the ease he carried. His gaze flicked to you briefly as you sipped the hot chocolate, your eyes widening slightly at the rich, velvety flavor.

“This is…” you trailed off, unable to find the right word, but the awe in your expression said enough.

He chuckled softly, his voice low as he leaned in just enough to make the moment feel conspiratorial. “Don’t tell anyone about this hot chocolate. It’s my secret weapon during finals, and if word gets out, I’ll know who to blame.”

You giggled, warmth curling in your chest at his tone. “I’ll treasure it, I promise,” you said, holding the cup up as though swearing allegiance to the drink.

His smile widened just slightly, a flicker of something warmer passing through his eyes before he straightened. “Good,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

The cold hit you again as you stepped back outside, the sharp air a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of the café. Jeno slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head toward another path.

“Next stop,” he said, his breath visible in the chill, “the engineering building. Probably the place you’ll end up hating most by the end of the semester.”

You followed him down a narrow walkway, the sleek glass exterior of the engineering labs coming into view ahead. Inside, the air was hushed, the long corridors lined with lecture halls and labs that hummed faintly with the buzz of equipment left running. Jeno’s voice softened as he showed you around, pointing out the key areas with an easy familiarity that made you feel less overwhelmed.

“That’s the main lab,” he said, gesturing through a glass panel at a sprawling space filled with machinery and workstations. “If you’re lucky, you’ll end up with a professor who doesn’t believe in piling on assignments over the weekend. If not…” He gave you a knowing glance, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’ll survive,” you said, smiling back.

“You will,” he agreed, his tone warmer now. “It’s not all bad. Once you get into a rhythm, it’s… almost fun. Almost.”

His dry humor caught you off guard again, and you found yourself laughing softly as he continued walking. The tension you’d felt earlier in the day had almost entirely faded, replaced by a quiet sense of ease you hadn’t expected.

Yet, as you passed by groups of students, you noticed the stares again—subtle at first, but growing more frequent. Heads turned as Jeno walked by, some students offering nods of acknowledgment, others sneaking glances that lingered just a second too long. You felt the weight of their gazes and assumed it was because you were new, someone unfamiliar walking through spaces they knew so well. But then you realized their focus wasn’t on you at all.

It was on Jeno.

He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t change his stride or posture, but the quiet magnetism he carried seemed to draw people in without him needing to say a word. The way he moved—confident but not cocky, approachable yet distant—held an effortless allure, and the attention he received seemed so natural, so ingrained in the fabric of who he was, that he didn’t even notice it anymore.

But you did. And it left you wondering just how much more there was to Jeno than what he was letting you see.

The thought lingered, settling into your chest like a spark waiting to catch. He slowed as you reached a fork in the path, turning toward you with that same effortless composure, his hands still tucked into his pockets. His gaze held yours briefly, steady but unreadable, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier than the quiet around you.

“Do you need me to show you anything else? Or…?” he asked, his tone calm, neutral, yet carrying an undercurrent that made your stomach twist.

You shook your head quickly, not trusting yourself to say much. “No, I think I’m good,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

“You sure?”

You nodded again, though the look in both of your eyes felt unreadable—something almost feral and dangerous simmering just beneath the surface. The intensity of it made your chest tighten, your breath catching slightly as you managed a soft hum of confirmation.

He smiled then, slow and deliberate, and something about the curve of his lips made the tension between you feel impossibly sharp.

You never imagined your first day at a new college would end like this—naked beneath a man whose body pressed so intimately against yours, his heat swallowing you whole.

Lee Jeno.

His bare skin was warm and firm against yours, the weight of his body grounding you as though he was the only thing tethering you to reality. His face hovered just above yours, dark eyes soft but intent, holding a depth that made your breath catch. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was taking you in, like every detail mattered. A faint smile played on his lips, teasing but tender, as though he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than either of you could admit.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing your lips. His words weren’t rushed or rehearsed—they spilled out like a confession, a secret meant only for you. “Since the second I saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

The sound of his voice sent a soft shiver down your spine, your body arching slightly toward him before you could stop yourself. His gaze flicked to yours, his smile widening just enough to show he noticed. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentle at first, testing, like he was savoring every second. But as you pressed into him, your hands sliding up to his neck, fingers threading into his hair, the kiss deepened.

You moaned softly against his mouth, the sound escaping before you could stifle it, but Jeno didn’t hesitate. He tilted his head, kissing you deeper, slower, his lips moving against yours with a rhythm that felt intoxicating. His hands slid along your sides, his touch featherlight but warm, steadying you, grounding you in the heat building between you.

“I don’t do this,” you murmured, your words breaking softly against his lips as you pulled back just enough to speak.

His brows furrowed slightly, his expression shifting as his gaze locked onto yours. “Do what?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with curiosity.

“This,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the weight of the admission sinking into the space between you.

Jeno’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through his seriousness, but there was no mockery in his expression—only tenderness. “What are we doing?” he murmured, his tone dropping lower as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours. “I’m not even—fuck—I haven’t even been inside you yet. All we’re doing is kissing.”

“That still means a lot to me,” you admitted, your voice quiet but firm, your eyes meeting his with a vulnerability that left you feeling bare in a way his touch never could.

His smirk softened, his expression melting into something warmer, more open. “Me too,” he said softly, his voice brushing against your skin as his hand moved to cradle your jaw. His thumb swept along your cheek as he kissed you again, slower this time, pouring everything unspoken into the touch of his lips against yours.

You kissed him back, your hands slipping down to rest against his shoulders, tracing the curve of his muscles as your lips moved together. “Can we just… kiss for now?” you murmured between breaths, your voice tinged with hesitance but steady. “I’m not—I’m not ready for more yet.”

Jeno pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours as his hand slid down to rest against your waist. “Of course,” he said, his tone soft and filled with understanding, the words settling between you like a promise.

A faint laugh escaped his lips, the sound low and warm, as his forehead rested lightly against yours. You swallowed, your cheeks flushed as you took in the softness in his gaze, his warmth grounding you.

“I thought I was ready to fuck,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice was quiet, trembling slightly, but the truth of it lingered heavily in the space between you. “But I’m not.”

Jeno paused, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that softened almost immediately into understanding. His thumb brushed gently against your jaw, his touch steady and comforting.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “that’s okay.” His lips curved into a faint smile, and he leaned in, brushing the lightest kiss against your forehead before returning to hover just above your lips. “I get it. We’ll go slow. Whatever you want.”

The two of you melted into each other, the weight of your bodies pressed together as you kissed deeply. Jeno’s hands roamed lightly over your skin, not demanding, but exploring, each touch deliberate and careful. His fingertips grazed your sides, his palms warm against your waist as his lips moved against yours in a rhythm that felt unending.

Soft moans escaped both of you, the sounds mixing with the faint rustle of the sheets as you shifted closer, your bodies aligning instinctively. His lips traveled down to your jaw, brushing kisses along the curve before returning to your mouth, capturing you in another deep kiss that left your head spinning.

He pulled back slightly, his lips brushing yours as he smiled—a soft, almost shy smile that felt intimate in a way words couldn’t capture. And when you smiled back, his eyes flicked to your lips, his breath catching as though he couldn’t look away.

Time faded as you made out with him, your hands exploring the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, while his touch mirrored yours with the same careful reverence. It wasn’t about rushing toward something more—it was about this, the closeness, the heat, the way his lips felt like they could drown out the rest of the world.

Between kisses, his lips brushed against yours in a pause, his voice soft and low. “I hope I’ve helped you settle in,” he murmured, the words carrying a quiet warmth that sent a shiver through you.

Your breath hitched, and you managed a faint, breathless laugh, leaning into him as your fingers tangled in his hair. “You have,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you kissed him again, pouring the weight of your gratitude and everything unspoken into the connection.

December 31st

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the apartment’s sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You sat cross-legged on your bed, staring at the few clothes you’d pulled from your closet and thrown across the mattress. None of them felt right, and the familiar swirl of hesitation churned in your stomach.

Chaewon, your roommate, was perched on the arm of the couch in the corner, flipping through her phone but stealing occasional glances at you. She’d been patient—so sweet and supportive since you moved in—but her enthusiasm for the night ahead was clear.

“You know,” she began, her voice light and playful, “you’ve been staring at the same pile of clothes for the past ten minutes.”

You groaned softly, leaning back on your hands. “Nothing feels… right. I don’t know what to wear.”

Chaewon set her phone down and came over, her steps light against the hardwood floors. “It’s just a party,” she said, sitting at the edge of your bed and reaching for one of the sweaters you’d discarded. “You’re overthinking it.”

“I know,” you admitted, sighing. “I just—I don’t want to feel out of place.”

“You won’t,” she said, her tone reassuring but not dismissive. She pulled out a plaid skirt you hadn’t touched in months and held it up, eyeing it critically. “What about this? With that cardigan you wore last week—the cute one with the buttons?”

You tilted your head, considering it. “You think that’s okay?”

“More than okay,” she said, smiling as she laid the pieces next to each other. “It’s adorable, but not over the top. It’s perfect for New Year’s.”

You hesitated, your hands brushing over the fabric of the skirt. “I don’t know… it feels like a lot.”

“It’s not,” she insisted, her voice warm but firm. “It’s fun and cute and still very you. Trust me on this.”

Something about her tone made you relax a little. Chaewon had a way of making things seem easier, simpler, like the world didn’t have to feel so complicated all the time. You nodded, picking up the skirt and standing to hold it against yourself.

“Okay,” you said, glancing at her. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good choice,” she said, grinning.

The next half hour passed in a calm, comfortable rhythm. You changed into the outfit she’d suggested, smoothing the hem of the skirt and adjusting the cardigan over your shoulders. The warmth of the wool felt grounding, and when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you didn’t hate what you saw.

Chaewon was busy slipping into her own dress, a sleek black number that hugged her frame perfectly. She paired it with boots that gave her just enough height to make her stride commanding but not intimidating.

“You look amazing,” you said without thinking, and Chaewon laughed, a soft, genuine sound.

“Thanks,” she said, running her hands over the fabric. “You do too, by the way.”

You smiled, fiddling with the buttons on your cardigan. “I don’t know if I feel ready for this.”

“You don’t have to be ready,” she said, her voice gentle as she stepped closer. “You just have to go. Try to have fun. That’s all that matters tonight.”

The simplicity of her words made you pause. She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding anything of you—just encouraging you to take a small step out of your comfort zone.

“Thanks, Chaewon,” you said softly, your voice carrying more gratitude than you could put into words.

She shrugged, her smile easy and warm. “That’s what roommates are for.”

You both finished getting ready in companionable silence, the occasional murmur of shared thoughts filling the space. When you sat on the edge of your bed to lace up your boots, Chaewon glanced over at you again.

“Okay, be honest,” she said, tilting her head as she studied you. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about it, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your skirt. “Yeah,” you said after a moment, surprised by how true it felt. “I think I do.”

“Good,” she said, her grin widening. She grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair and threw it on. “Because tonight is going to be fun. I promise.”

Her optimism was infectious, and as you grabbed your own coat and followed her to the door, you found yourself starting to believe her. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You needed optimism. You needed something to distract you from the quiet storm that had been swirling in your mind ever since that night. You hadn’t told Chaewon about Jeno, about how he’d stayed at your apartment, how the two of you had crossed boundaries you hadn’t even known you were capable of crossing. It wasn’t something you did—hooking up with someone you’d barely met felt entirely too intimate, too raw, too unfamiliar.

And yet, it had happened. You could still feel the weight of his hands on your hips, the way his lips moved against yours like he was trying to memorize every second. It had been so much more than you expected—charged, overwhelming, and impossibly tender.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t reached out to him. The feelings it stirred in you were too intense, too complicated to sort through. You didn’t even know where you would begin if you tried to explain it to Chaewon. So, you’d kept it to yourself, burying it under the routine of settling into your new life here.

But as you walked out the door into the crisp evening air, you couldn’t help but wonder if the memory of him would follow you tonight. Would the warmth of his voice, the heat of his gaze, creep back in when you least expected it? You shook the thought away, determined to focus on the present, to let Chaewon’s easy laughter and excitement pull you into something lighter, something that didn’t weigh so heavily on your chest.

For now, you just needed to keep moving forward.

The Uber ride was quiet except for Chaewon humming softly to her playlist, tapping her fingers against her thigh to the beat. You stared out the window, the dim city lights reflecting faintly in the glass, a small pit of nervousness forming in your stomach. Chaewon had been so excited about tonight, her enthusiasm almost contagious, but as you neared the house, the faint pulse of music vibrating through the cold air made you grip your coat tighter.

“You’ll be fine,” Chaewon said suddenly, breaking the silence. She turned to you with a knowing smile, as if she could read your thoughts.

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, glancing at her.

“Your face did,” she shot back, her tone light but laced with warmth. “Look, it’s just a party. You don’t have to love it, but you do have to at least pretend to try.”

You sighed, sinking back into your seat. “You sound like my mom,” you muttered, earning a laugh from her.

“Good. Then maybe you’ll listen,” she teased, nudging your arm gently.

By the time the car pulled up in front of the house, the music was pounding, loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Chaewon opened her door eagerly, stepping out and holding it open for you as she gestured toward the sprawling house.

“Here we go,” she said brightly.

The house was chaos. People spilled out onto the lawn, some holding red cups, others perched on the porch steps laughing or smoking. Inside, the energy was even more overwhelming—music thumped from every corner, the floor vibrating with the bass as a sea of bodies danced, talked, or hovered around the kitchen counters stacked with bottles.

“This is insane,” you murmured, your eyes darting around the packed living room.

Chaewon grabbed your arm gently, steering you through the crowd. “It’s college. Welcome to your first real party.”

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and faint traces of weed. Every corner seemed occupied—people were dancing with abandon in the middle of the room, making out in the dimly lit hallway, or lounging on the staircase like they owned the place.

You felt entirely out of place, gripping the plastic cup Chaewon had handed you so tightly that your knuckles whitened. She, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease, weaving through the crowd like she belonged there, greeting people with quick hugs and easy smiles.

“Relax,” she said over her shoulder, noticing your stiff posture. “You’re not going to bite anyone.”

You tried to force a smile, the knot in your stomach tightening as you glanced around again. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted.

“Of course, you can,” she replied, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “Just breathe. Parties are about letting loose—not thinking too much. You’ve got this.”

“Whose party is this, anyway?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Lee Jeno’s,” she said casually, but her grin widened as she saw your expression shift.

“Jeno,” you both said at the same time, though your voice was softer, more disbelieving.

Your eyes scanned the room again, and then you saw him.

Jeno stood near the staircase, his presence commanding without even trying. His dark hair was effortlessly tousled, framing sharp features that seemed almost unfairly perfect under the dim lighting. He wore a plain white shirt, the fabric clinging slightly to the defined lines of his chest and shoulders, the faint outline of muscle visible every time he shifted. His black trousers hung low on his hips, loose but just fitted enough to hint at the lean strength of his frame, his entire demeanor radiating a casual confidence that made it impossible to look away.

He was surrounded by people, their laughter too loud, their smiles too eager, as though just being near him was enough. And yet, his gaze seemed distant, uninterested in the crowd orbiting him like moths to a flame, making his magnetism even harder to ignore.

The room around you seemed to dissolve the moment his gaze found yours, the faintest flicker of recognition sparking in his dark eyes. His smile pulled at the corner of his lips slowly, as if he was savoring the moment, deliberate and laced with something you couldn’t name. He leaned closer to the group he was with, murmuring a few words that had them nodding, though his focus didn’t waver from you.

Each step he took in your direction felt unhurried yet purposeful, his frame cutting through the crowd with an ease that drew glances and whispers. His shirt clung lightly to the defined curve of his chest, his shoulders moving fluidly under the fabric. When he stopped in front of you, his eyes lingered, sweeping over your face in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Hi,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, yet his lips twitched, like he’d heard every syllable.

“Hi,” he replied, his tone soft, the single word brushing the air between you like a touch. His gaze flicked to your mouth for a brief second before returning to your eyes, a question hanging unspoken.

He tilted his head, his expression calm but intent, the faintest crease forming between his brows. His voice dipped lower, quieter, as he spoke. “You haven’t answered any of my messages.”

Your heart jumped, the guilt bubbling up before you could stop it. “I know,” you murmured, looking down at your drink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to say.”

Jeno’s expression softened, though the intensity of his gaze didn’t waver. “You could’ve started with ‘hi,’” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You let out a shaky laugh, lifting your eyes to meet his again. “I guess I could have,” you admitted quietly.

His eyes moved over you slowly, unhurried but purposeful, as though he was trying to memorize every detail. When his gaze finally met yours again, his teeth caught his bottom lip, a subtle movement that only emphasized the tension etched into his expression. There was no smirk, no teasing glint in his eyes—just something raw and unfiltered that made your heart lurch.

“You look pretty,” he said, his voice low and steady, each word carrying a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. His lips parted slightly as though he might say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he held your gaze, his eyes locked on yours like he was waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to understand just how much he meant it.

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the compliment. “Mmm, you look good too,” you said, your tone soft and unsteady as your eyes roamed over him.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth tugging upward just enough to reveal a hint of mischief. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice quiet but deliberate.

“Me too,” you replied, though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

He chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “You sure? Doesn’t sound like you’re having fun.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “This party isn’t really… my thing,” you admitted.

Jeno placed a hand over his chest, feigning a dramatic wince. “Ouch.”

“No!” you said quickly, laughing nervously. “I’m sure your parties are great. I just—I’m not a party person.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his tone light, teasing.

“Yeah,” you said firmly, though your voice still wavered.

He studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “Stay here, okay?” he said finally, his tone gentler now. “I’ll be back. Give me five minutes.”

You nodded, your breath catching as you watched him disappear into the crowd. The space he left behind felt stark, like the absence of him created a vacuum you couldn’t ignore. The buzz of the party pressed back in slowly, but the air felt different now—charged with the weight of unspoken questions and quiet murmurs that seemed to ripple outward.

You became hyperaware of the stares. People’s gazes flicked between you and the direction Jeno had gone, their whispers barely audible over the music but unmistakable. Girls leaned into one another, exchanging quick glances and hushed words, their eyes darting toward you before quickly looking away. The weight of their attention made your chest tighten, heat rising to your cheeks as you struggled to process the shift.

“Y/N.”

Chaewon’s hand closed around your arm, her grip firm but not harsh as she turned you to face her. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and something that bordered on awe, her eyes wide as she searched your face.

“What just happened?” she demanded, her voice louder than you expected, cutting through the noise of the party.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as you struggled to find the right words. “Me and Jeno met before,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the thumping bass.

Chaewon blinked, her jaw slackening as she processed your words. “You what?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising slightly. “When? Did you—did you sleep with him?”

Your face flushed, the heat spreading down your neck as you shook your head quickly. “No, we only made out,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. “It was after I met him on campus, and he showed me around.”

Chaewon stared at you like you’d just confessed to something outrageous, her mouth opening and closing as though she couldn’t decide what to say first. Her grip on your arm loosened slightly, but her expression only grew more incredulous.

“Y/N,” she said finally, her tone slow, deliberate, like she needed to make sure you understood the gravity of what you’d just said. “Do you even know who Lee Jeno is?”

You gave her a blank look, unsure where she was going with this. “What do you mean?”

She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, rolling her eyes dramatically before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s, like, the most well-known guy on campus. Everyone knows him. He’s smart, he’s hot, he’s on the basketball team, and he’s practically impossible to get close to. People talk about him like he’s some kind of campus legend. And you’re telling me you just… made out with him?”

Her words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking into your chest as you replayed that night in your head. Jeno had been all of those things—charming, confident, and entirely out of your league—but in the quiet of your apartment, he hadn’t felt untouchable. He’d felt real, grounded, like he wasn’t the larger-than-life figure Chaewon was describing but just… Jeno.

“I didn’t know,” you admitted, your voice small, almost drowned out by the pounding music.

Chaewon shook her head in disbelief, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you. “Of course you didn’t. That’s why this is insane. You’re just sitting here like it’s no big deal when half the girls in this room would kill to be you right now.”

You looked away, your gaze drifting to the crowd as the whispers continued to ripple around you. The weight of their attention was suffocating, but it wasn’t their stares or even Chaewon’s words that lingered. It was Jeno—his calm, deliberate presence, the way his voice dipped when he spoke to you, the way his eyes lingered like he was seeing something no one else could.

Before you could respond, Jeno reappeared, a black jacket now draped over his shoulders, zipped halfway up to combat the chill of the night. The stark contrast of the dark fabric against the white of his shirt only made him look more striking, the clean lines of his lean frame framed perfectly. A bag was slung casually over one shoulder, his fingers curled loosely around the strap. His dark eyes, calm yet intent, settled on you with an ease that made your stomach flip.

“Wanna come?” he asked, his voice low, the casual tone of his question at odds with the intensity of his gaze.

You blinked, startled by the suddenness of his words. “What?”

“You think that the party’s dead,” he said simply, his lips curving into a faint smirk that felt more intimate than playful. “So let’s leave.”

Your heart raced as you stared at him, the heat of his attention making it hard to focus. The room around you seemed to blur, the noise fading into the background as his hand extended toward you, steady and certain. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers slipping into his warm grasp.

You didn’t question it. Instead, you smiled softly, the corners of your lips twitching upward as you let him pull you closer. The smell of his cologne—a faint, woodsy scent with an edge of something sharp—lingered as he leaned in, his lips brushing so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, the words barely audible over the thrum of the party, but they landed squarely in your chest, making your breath catch.

Your eyes darted around quickly, taking in the crowd of people that still lingered nearby, their whispers and glances now tinged with curiosity. You bit your lip, your gaze flicking back to his as heat rose to your cheeks.

“Later,” you promised softly, your voice trembling just slightly, though the smile you gave him was steady.

Jeno’s lips twitched into a knowing grin, his dark eyes holding yours for a moment longer before he nodded. He tightened his grip on your hand gently, leading you toward the door with a quiet confidence that felt impossible to resist.

As the two of you weaved through the crowd, the whispers grew louder, people openly staring now as they watched him leave—watched you leave with him. The thrum of the music seemed almost muffled compared to the pounding in your chest, and as you reached the door, the cool night air washed over you like a sharp inhale.

“Wait,” you said suddenly, a gasp slipping past your lips. “You’re leaving your own party?”

Jeno glanced back at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said easily, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s my party. I can do what I want.”

His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity in the way he looked at you—like he meant every word. And before you could question it further, he squeezed your hand, pulling you closer as the two of you stepped into the night.

Jeno had taken you to a secluded spot along the riverbank, where the city lights shimmered faintly on the water and the distant hum of the party was little more than a memory. The air was crisp, the faint scent of the river mingling with the promise of snow, but Jeno seemed entirely unbothered by the chill. He led you to a cozy bench overlooking the river, the kind of spot that felt impossibly picturesque, where a blanket and a small bag of snacks were waiting.

“I told you, best view of the fireworks,” he said, his voice calm yet confident, as if the quiet intimacy of the moment had been crafted just for you.

You smiled at the gesture, settling onto the blanket he’d spread over the bench. Before you could fully take in the setting, Jeno’s attention shifted to a nearby vendor, where a small cart steamed with the rich scent of hot chocolate. Without asking, he stood and wandered over, returning moments later with two cups in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing one to you, his hand brushing yours in a way that made your breath hitch. The warmth of the cup seeped through your gloves, but it was his quiet, thoughtful gesture that really sent a shiver down your spine.

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing up at him as he settled back beside you.

He smiled, soft and easy, before taking a sip of his own. “Hot chocolate always makes the cold easier to deal with,” he said lightly, the nonchalance in his tone almost making you laugh.

You took a tentative sip, the rich, velvety taste warming you from the inside out. “You’re right,” you admitted, nodding slightly as you turned to look at him, your breath visible in the cold night air.

Jeno’s gaze lingered on you, dark and steady, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Told you,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, quieter, as though the space between you had just shrunk.

Conversation had come easily after that, the hot chocolate warming your hands while Jeno’s presence seemed to settle the nerves that had been simmering since the night began. You talked about the most mundane things—classes, favorite foods, what New Year’s resolutions you’d already broken—and yet, the simplicity of it all felt impossibly intimate.

Still, it wasn’t long before the conversation gave way to something quieter, something heavier. Jeno’s hand brushed yours as he set his cup down, and the warmth of his touch lingered, sparking a need for closeness that you hadn’t anticipated.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was as gentle as the snow beginning to fall around you. At first, it was soft, exploratory, his hand cupping your cheek as though he was afraid to break you. But as you leaned into him, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, the kiss deepened, his lips pressing firmer against yours with a hunger that felt both cautious and consuming.

The fireworks began to crackle faintly in the distance, but you hardly noticed, your focus completely on the way Jeno’s mouth moved against yours. His breath hitched as you tilted your head, your lips parting just slightly, and he took the opportunity to pull you closer, his hands settling on your waist with a confidence that made your heart race.

Every time you tried to pull back, his gaze would catch yours, his eyes dark and intense, as though he couldn’t let you go even for a moment. And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t rushed—it was deliberate, a quiet exploration that left you dizzy and clinging to him.

“Jeno,” you murmured against his lips, though you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say.

He smiled into the kiss, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck. “Yeah?” he whispered, his tone playful but weighted, like he already knew the answer.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping as your fingers tightened slightly on his jacket. “Nothing,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, unwilling to let the moment break.

The fireworks continued overhead, lighting the sky in bursts of color, but neither of you paid them much attention. Every touch, every kiss, every soft sigh seemed to pull you deeper into the warmth of each other, the cold night air fading into irrelevance.

The plan had been to stay here until midnight, to watch the fireworks and celebrate the New Year together. But somewhere in the middle of his kisses, his hands sliding carefully along your sides, his breath warm against your cheek, your resolve shifted.

You didn’t want to wait for midnight.

You wanted him.

And now, somehow, you were here, pressed beneath him on his bed, your body trembling as his warmth consumed you.

The soft cotton of his sheets grounded you, but it was Jeno’s weight above you that anchored you completely, his warmth pressing into every inch of your body like it was made to fit against him. His broad shoulders framed the space above you, his lean, muscled frame draped over yours with a control that made every inch of your skin hyperaware of him. The planes of his chest, taut and warm, brushed against your trembling hands as you clung to him, your fingers curling instinctively into his skin.

His dark eyes stayed locked on yours, a quiet intensity softening into something tender, something that left you breathless and uncertain. His lips hovered close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, each exhale ghosting across your cheek as his forehead dipped closer, brushing yours with infinite care.

“You need to ease up for me, okay, pretty girl?” he murmured, the gravel in his voice softened by the steady, soothing cadence of his words.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, trembling and unsure, as the stretch of his cock forced a fresh wave of shivers through you. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips, your body tensing despite his careful pace. Each inch he gave you felt impossibly overwhelming, the fullness of him a constant, steady ache that bordered on too much.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the weight of him pushing the air from your lungs with each shift of his hips. A tear slipped free before you could stop it, the overwhelmed sniffle that followed breaking the stillness between you.

“Hey, hey,” Jeno cooed, his hand finding your cheek like it belonged there, cradling you with infinite care. His thumb brushed the tear away before it could roll any further, his gaze softening even as his own breaths grew heavier. “I know, baby. I know it’s a lot.”

His words were gentle but steady, his tone so unwavering it felt like a tether, something to hold onto as your body struggled to adjust. He leaned closer, brushing his lips over the corner of your mouth in a kiss so soft it made your chest ache.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, the heat of his breath grazing your trembling lips. “Just trust me, yeah? I just want to make you feel good. That’s all I want, pretty girl.”

Your breath hitched again, the sound breaking unevenly as you tried to steady yourself beneath him. The weight of his words, the tenderness in his tone, melted into the vulnerability pressing heavy on your chest. You nodded hesitantly, your fingers tightening against the curve of his shoulders as though you needed to anchor yourself to him.

But when you glanced away, embarrassed by the flush of heat crawling up your neck, his hand caught your chin gently, tilting your face back toward him.

“Hey,” he whispered, the warmth in his voice curling around you like a blanket, quiet but unyielding. “Talk to me, baby. I need to know you’re okay.”

Your lips trembled, the words caught somewhere between the lump in your throat and the butterflies swarming in your stomach. “It’s… it’s my first time,” you finally admitted, the words barely audible, your voice breaking under the weight of them.

Jeno’s movements stilled immediately, his broad frame freezing over you as the confession settled between you. His jaw clenched briefly, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by something warmer, softer.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, the reverence in his voice making your chest tighten. His thumb stroked along your cheekbone, his touch steady and patient as though he was trying to tell you everything he felt without saying a word. “I’m so lucky.”

The way he said it, low and aching with sincerity, sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching toward him before you could stop yourself. He kissed you then, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so slow, so deep, it felt like time itself had slowed to accommodate it.

When he pulled back, his breath was heavier, a faint tremor running through him as he studied you. “How are you a virgin?” he asked softly, his voice dipping low enough to send heat curling through your stomach. “If I’d met you sooner… I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off you.”

His words sent a flush of warmth cascading over your skin, your breath stuttering as you tried to respond. But the sincerity in his gaze held you, steadying you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Until now,” you whispered, your fingers curling into his shoulders like you needed to hold on to something solid.

His breath hitched, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss so tender it made your chest ache. “Until now,” he echoed, the reverence in his tone making your stomach flip.

He shifted slightly above you, his hips tilting forward just enough to press deeper, and the stretch sent a sharp gasp tumbling from your lips. His movements stilled instantly, his hand sliding to your waist to steady you as his lips hovered close to your ear.

“Too much?” he asked softly, his voice so gentle it nearly undid you.

You shook your head, your breath catching as you murmured, “Just… just go slow.”

The corners of his lips tugged upward, a faint smile breaking through the intensity of his expression. “I’ll go as slow as you need, baby,” he murmured, his tone steady and sure. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

His lips found yours again, capturing the soft sniffle that escaped as he began to move, each thrust measured and deliberate, his cock dragging against every sensitive part of you. His hands roamed gently over your body, his touch light but grounding as he whispered praises that melted into your skin.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “Taking me so perfectly. My good girl, always.”

The tenderness in his tone, the heat in his gaze, the deliberate care in every movement—it all combined into something overwhelming and impossibly sweet, a connection that felt far too intimate to put into words. Your walls fluttered around him, the stretch easing as pleasure began to bloom low in your stomach, each gentle thrust coaxing you further into the rhythm of his body.

His forehead pressed to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he murmured, “You’re mine, baby. All mine. No one else gets to see you like this.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach, your hips shifting tentatively against him as the ache dulled into something deeper, sweeter. His hand slid down to cup your hip, guiding you gently as his movements grew slightly more deliberate, the drag of his cock drawing soft whimpers from your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his lips trailed along your jaw. “You feel so good. So perfect for me.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your breath catching as his words melted into your skin, the heat of him overwhelming in the best way. Every inch of him, every touch, every whisper felt like a steady hum of electricity coursing through your veins, and as his lips found yours again, you felt yourself melting into him completely. But the burn was still there—sharp and all-consuming—and before you could stop yourself, your teeth pressed into the curve of his shoulder, a desperate attempt to muffle the whimper that escaped you. Tears slid down your cheeks, your breath trembling as you sniffled, your body shaking beneath him.

Jeno stilled instantly, his voice soft as he cooed at you, the words a balm against the ache. “Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, catching the tears as they fell. “You’re doing so good for me, angel. I’ll go slow, okay? Just the tip, just for you. You’ve got this.”

His thumb swept across your jaw, tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze, dark and molten, filled with nothing but care. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised again, the words dripping with reverence. “You’re my girl. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.”

Your breath hitched as he began to move again, slow and deliberate, every inch of him dragging against the tender stretch inside you. Your hands fumbled for purchase on his shoulders, sliding up to his neck, your touch shaky and desperate. “Jeno,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible, trembling with every word. “You—you feel so good.”

His lips curved into a soft smile, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice thick with warmth, his hips tilting forward in a way that made you gasp.

“So good,” you whispered, your words tumbling out unbidden as heat flushed through your body. “You’re so big—so perfect. God, you fit inside me so well. I don’t—” You broke off, blinking up at him, your lips trembling as your thoughts scattered into a mess of heat and pleasure. “I don’t ever want you to leave. Jeno, your cock—it’s so good. You’re stretching me so perfectly. I can feel every part of you.”

A whimper caught in your throat as you babbled on, your head tipping back against the pillow. “I love it, Jeno. I love how you feel inside me. You’re so deep, so thick—I don’t want it to stop.”

His chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through your chest as he leaned in to press a kiss to your nose. “You’re such a sweet thing,” he murmured, his voice teasing but tender. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. So perfect. I’ll take care of you.”

Your thighs tightened around his waist as he shifted, the motion deliberate, deep, coaxing another broken cry from your lips. His hand slid along your side, pausing to cup your cheek as he brushed his thumb across your skin. “Look at you,” he said softly, his tone filled with awe. “Fucking perfect.”

The words melted into you, your chest tightening as you whimpered again, the sensation of him overwhelming and grounding all at once. “Please don’t stop,” you whispered, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “Please, Jeno.”

“Never,” he murmured, his lips finding yours in a kiss so soft it made your stomach flutter. “I’ve got you, angel. Always.”

The promise in his words, in his tone, wrapped around you like silk, but even as you nodded, sniffling softly, you could feel the deliberate way his cock edged deeper, the fullness stretching you beyond what you thought possible. It was slow, so slow you could feel every ridge, every vein, and it made your breath hitch, a soft cry escaping your lips as tears slipped free.

“Shh,” he cooed, his forehead pressing harder against yours. “You’ve got this, angel. You’re so fucking perfect.” He shifted his weight slightly, tilting his hips in a way that made the stretch just bearable enough to keep going. “Fuck,” he groaned, the sound low and guttural as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt. “Baby, you feel so fucking good. Like heaven.”

Your walls fluttered around him instinctively, the sensation pulling a soft, broken moan from your lips. “I—it’s so much,” you whimpered, your thighs trembling as you gripped him tighter, your nails digging crescents into his skin.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, kissing the tears from your cheeks, his lips impossibly soft. “I know it’s a lot, but look at you—look how well you’re taking me. God, you’re so good for me.”

Your breath hitched as his hand cradled your face, thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. His gaze stayed locked on yours, warm and consuming, his expression so unguarded it made your chest ache. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, each word dripping with reverence. “I want to see you, baby. Every part of you.”

You sniffled softly, blinking up at him, your lashes wet, your lips trembling as you melted further into his touch. His thumb lingered against your cheek, slow and gentle, before he leaned in and kissed your temple, soft and lingering.

“There she is,” he murmured, his voice warm and filled with awe. “That’s my girl. So beautiful. So perfect for me.”

When he moved again, it was torturously slow, his cock dragging against every inch of you, the stretch deep and unforgiving, yet impossibly good. Your nails dug into his back, desperate for an anchor as his hips rocked forward, every motion deliberate and controlled. It burned, but the way he filled you, the way his body molded perfectly against yours, had your breath catching.

A soft whimper escaped, your lips parting on a shaky moan. “Jeno…” you breathed, the words trailing off as heat flooded your body, the fullness overwhelming but addictive.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. His hips rolled deeper, and he gritted his teeth, the sound low and guttural. “You’re so tight—so perfect. Like you were made for me.”

Your laugh was light, bubbling out unbidden, and his gaze flicked up, curious but amused, his lips curving into the smallest smile. “What’s funny, huh?” he teased, his tone playful, his hand shifting to cradle the back of your neck.

You shook your head, breathless and flushed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Nothing—nothing. You’re just… God, you’re so sexy.” Your voice cracked on the last word, your thoughts spilling in a soft, frantic rush. “The way you feel, the way you fuck me—it’s so good. You’re so good, Jeno.”

His smile widened, his eyes darkening as his hand slid up to catch yours, lacing your fingers together. “Yeah?” he murmured, kissing you with quiet intensity before guiding your joined hands above your head, pinning them against the pillow. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice dipping lower, filled with something possessive and raw. “I want you to be mine.”

Your breath hitched as he kissed your knuckles, slow and reverent, his other hand tracing your side, holding you steady as he pushed deeper. “I’ll never let go,” he promised, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “I’ll always take care of you, angel.”

His hips rolled again, a deliberate press that made you gasp, your head tipping back against the pillow as tears spilled freely. “You feel so good,” you whimpered, your voice breaking, your chest tightening with every drag of his cock. “You’re so perfect. So thick—fuck, you stretch me so good, Jeno.”

He groaned softly, his lips brushing yours in a fleeting kiss. “You love how I feel inside you, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but tender all the same.

“I love it,” you admitted, the words slipping out in a trembling rush. “I love your cock—it’s so big, so perfect. I never want you to stop.”

His grip on your hands tightened, his forehead dropping to yours as his lips curved into a smile. “You’re something else,” he murmured, chuckling softly, his breath fanning across your lips. “You’re incredible, baby.”

Your body trembled beneath him, every motion, every word sending a ripple of warmth through you. The intimacy of it, the way his hands never left yours, the way his eyes held yours, made you feel like you were falling deeper into him with every passing second.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth before his lips trailed to your jaw, his hips moving in a slow, devastating rhythm. “So fucking perfect, angel. My perfect girl. You’re all I’ll ever need.”

And when his gaze found yours again, dark and filled with unspoken promises, you knew he meant it. His movements stayed soft, measured, every drag of him a reminder of just how much he wanted you—how much he adored you. His hand never left yours, his grip steady and unwavering, as if to say he’d never let go. You believed him. In every touch, every word, every breath, you believed him completely.

The rhythm of his thrusts slowed, each one deliberate, the deep press of him inside you stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body arched against his, desperate to meet every movement, and the sound of his name fell from your lips in broken cries that only seemed to spur him on. His cock dragged against every sensitive part of you, and the stretch—sharp at first, now addictively sweet—had your thighs trembling around his waist.

“Fuck,” Jeno groaned, his forehead pressed to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every ragged breath. His hand slid along your side, tracing the curve of your waist as if he needed to feel every part of you. His other hand tangled with yours, pinning it above your head, his grip steady and possessive. “You’re so perfect, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so warm. God, you feel like heaven.”

Your fingers curled around his, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. “Jeno,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as you struggled to find the words. “You—oh my God—you feel so good. So deep. I never—” Your breath hitched, your head tipping back as his hips rolled again, deeper this time, hitting a spot that sent white-hot pleasure spiraling through your body.

“Never what?” he teased softly, his lips brushing over your jaw, his tongue flicking against your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Tell me, baby. Never what?”

“Never felt like this,” you admitted, your voice cracking as a moan slipped free. “Never had anyone… like you. Fuck, you’re so perfect, Jeno. You fit so good—so big. I don’t ever want you to leave.”

He groaned, the sound vibrating through your chest as he captured your lips in a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, languid strokes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “You’re mine, angel. Always.”

The intimacy of it, the way his body moved against yours, the way his eyes never left yours, made your chest ache with something deeper than desire. His movements were slow but devastating, every thrust deliberate, his cock dragging against your walls with a precision that had you clinging to him, your nails scraping along his back.

“Jeno,” you whimpered again, your voice a desperate plea as the pressure built low in your stomach, coiling tighter with every second.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over yours. “Let go for me, baby. I’ll catch you. Always.”

And then, just as the tension inside you reached its breaking point, the faint sound of fireworks filtered through the room, muffled but distinct, a symphony of crackles and booms that seemed to echo the chaos in your body.

Jeno chuckled softly, the sound warm and low in your ear. “Happy New Year, beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You giggled, the sound mixing with a soft, breathless moan as your body tightened around him, the pleasure too much to contain. “Happy New Year,” you managed to whisper back, your voice trembling with affection and something deeper, something bigger than either of you.

His hips rolled again, the deep, steady rhythm pushing you over the edge, and when your release hit, it came in a wave that left you trembling beneath him. Your walls clenched around him, pulling a guttural groan from his throat as his movements faltered, his body shuddering with his own release. He buried himself deep, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer as you clung to him, your arms tightening around his neck.

The fireworks outside crackled louder, their light seeping faintly through the curtains as his lips found yours again, soft and lingering. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, his grip firm, as his other hand smoothed over your side, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

“You’re everything,” he murmured against your lips, his voice steady now, filled with quiet reverence. “Everything I’ve ever wanted.”

And in that moment, as his warmth surrounded you, his touch anchoring you in a way no one else ever had, you knew you’d never forget this. The way he fit against you, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go, the way he made you feel like you were everything.

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xiuriii · 1 month ago

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▬▬ڪ smoke signals . . . p.js

childhood friend! jisung x gn! reader themes: fluff, getting together, first time smoking tgt, getting high, high confessions, high kissing, best friends to lovers, very minor sexual references(?)

in which: you teach a man how to smoke, take a vow of celibacy, and discuss your future children's bedroom designs before the first date. or: weed makes you lose your filter around jisung, which just so happens to be exactly the push you needed.

word count: 1773

smoke billowed up around you two as he exhaled, blowing a cloud out smoothly— until his cough. just one, short burst before he was done. you giggled helplessly as he watched on in confusion. nothing had hit him yet, even after his second hit. you hadn’t watched him when he took his first, but now that you did, you could pinpoint exactly the cause behind his normalcy.

“jisung you have to— oh my god, you aren’t hitting it right.” you grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his face as he looked on at the cart in confusion and tried to raise it to his mouth again.

“i’m doing it the same way you did. seriously, how could i be doing it wrong.” he pouted, far too dramatically for the situation, eliciting another round of quiet giggles from your lips.

“no you aren’t! you’re just letting the smoke sit in your mouth. listen to me closely jisung: you have to breathe in again after you hit the cart, before you blow it out.”

“you have to— what!? what are you talking about?”

you took both of his hands in yours, turning your expression into one demanding the utmost level of seriousness.

“take one more hit.”

“what?”

“take another hit. but listen to me as you do it, mmkay?”

“i guess…” he sounded so defeated, it was adorable.

he raised the cart to his lips again, holding down the button as he hesitantly sucked in a hit. his gaze met your own, seeking direction, as he lowered the cart from his mouth slowly.

“okay. now gasp like i just confessed my undying love for you.”

his reaction did not disappoint, a violent gasp effectively moving the smoke from his mouth to his lungs. this time, when he coughed, it was more of a coughing fit. that was more like it. you knew it was complete bullshit when he insisted he had to be “a natural” since he didn’t cough at all the first time.

“there you go. attaboy!”

“i still don’t feel anything.”

“that’s because it takes time, silly. you don’t get high off your ass from one proper hit after 3 seconds have passed.” you laughed in his face, taking the cart from where he had left it between his pointer finger and thumb. your stupid, horny weed brain decided to freeze your eyes on jisung’s hand, staring like a creepo as thoughts of “wow.. nice hands. wow…. how have i never noticed” began to flood your brain. it took a muffled “what the fuck” falling from jisung’s lips to break you out of your trance.

for a moment, your heart stopped, thinking his comment had been about your sudden interest in his hands.

instead, what was waiting for you when you finally raised your eyes, was a jisung with very dilated pupils and big round eyes. you smiled.

“feeling it yet?”

“jeez. i feel like i’m levitating right now.”

this time, your own giggles were mirrored with jisung’s fit of laughter.

“hold on— i can help.”

without a second thought, you adjusted to swing a leg over his hips, effectively placing yourself— guess where— directly on jisung’s lap. the same jisung that you had been irrevocably in love with since the 7th grade? yeah. that one.

stupid, stupid weed brain. you were never going to smoke again. that was it. you’re taking a vow of celibacy. but, like, weed celibacy. was there a weed equivalent to alcohol anonymous, you wondered. you were about to reach for your phone to google “weed wanonymous near me” until you remembered— oh yeah, you were sitting on your best friend’s lap right now.

as you exited the little room you were occupying in your mind, consciously using your eyes to see again, you were met with a face of wide eyed shock: jisung. his body was completely frozen, hands hovering hesitantly above your waist. but he wasn’t pushing you off. he wasn’t reacting immediately with disgust.

“is… is this okay?” even if his immediate response didn’t show signs of clear discomfort, you had to make sure. you loved him too much to let impulsive thoughts ruin the friendship you had built up over years of knowing each other.

a desperate nod of his head told you all you needed to know, a bright smile lighting up your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug.

“you’re the best. you’re so warm.” his arms around you filled you with warmth, fighting the chill of the a/c.

you had no idea how much time passed like that, your rhythm completely obscured by the effect the weed had on you. all you knew is how warm, and comfortable you felt in his embrace.

suddenly, the little demon in your mind woke up again. the weed demon.

well, the horny weed demon. the weed sex demon. the high sex demon. that one. that little demon woke up again. “ask to blow smoke into his mouth” it said. no, it demanded. demands were a bigger deal than “said”s. you had to do it now. that held the same weight as a triple dog dare. and you could never turn down a triple dog dare.

“hey jisung?”

“mmm?” oh. that boy was high. he was in the barely verbal stage. when the fuzziness became the main player.

“jisung, wake up.” you shook his shoulders once, twice, until you saw the awareness return into his gaze.

“oh my god. this is crazy, i feel like i’m going insane.”

“you’re cute. can i try something?”

he looked at you inquisitively, eyebrow raised. his hands were still on your hips, only having adjusted slightly to a more comfortable position there since pulling away from the hug. you noticed this just now, but you had to get your thought out now. overthinking his hand placement was a game for the future you to play at.

“have you ever heard of shotgunning smoke?” he looked at you in confusion. of course he doesn’t fucking know what that means, idiot. he barely knew what a cart was before you showed him yours in 10th grade.

“fuck. okay um. basically. i’m going to take a hit, and then we’re going to basically kiss, and i’m going to blow the smoke into your mouth.”

“so like a fake hover kiss with smoke?”

“yeah, exactly like that. you got it jisung. that. i want to do that.”

“isn’t it kind of pointless? neither of us will actually get a real hit out of it. plus, why not just kiss for real?”

“you’re right. you’re right. yeah actually… that kind of is just a waste of a hit.” you sighed, horny demon put to sleep. until, hold on, there was another line of that sentence. alarms were blaring, your horny demon was screaming, you were staring silently at jisung, and you were also taking too long to continue in a way that was coherent.

“i want to raise children with you.” that’s what you ended up on. this is the fate that the horny demon decided for you. you were busy accepting the sad fact that your nearly 15 year long friendship with jisung was over as of tonight. you could wave bye-bye to your twisted fantasy of wooing him with your astronomical knowledge when you visited that observatory you had bought tickets for a month ago. there goes that plan.

and then you felt hands slide up your body to cradle your face. you felt one of those hands move into your hair to gently coax your head downwards, and you felt soft, slightly chapped lips meet yours in a gentle press. it was a peck, simple and innocent. except your heart was racing. your head was blaring “i’m so in love with this man” “i need to have him in every way imaginable” “i need to be by his side for the rest of my life” and you decided to silence the onslaught of thoughts by eagerly reconnecting your lips to jisung’s.

there was more to it this time, both of you getting the chance to move your lips slightly out of sync (marijuana does not make synchronized movement an easy task). a slide of your hand onto his chest. a gasp as you nipped at jisung’s lip. a smile, interrupting the (admittedly mismatched) flow of your kiss. in no time, both you and jisung were smiling ear to ear, high as hell and drunk off of each other’s lips.

“hey.” his voice was a little squeaky, like he hadn’t recovered enough air yet to get the word out properly. you laughed.

“hey.” you parroted him, smiling softly.

“i’m kind of in love with you, honestly.” those words, falling down from his perfect lips, floating up into your auditory range, registering in your head. your heartbeat picked up. a flush found its way to your cheeks. jisung just said he was in love with you.

“oh. that’s perfect actually, because i’ve been crafting an in depth bedtime scenario of our entire life story together since we graduated high school.”

“you’ve been what?”

“we’re scheduled to have a wedding at yerkes observatory in exactly 824 days.”

“you would make our wedding venue be an observatory?” he seemed genuinely touched. you fucking knew that would be the right choice. 1 point to the little employee in charge of sleep scenario crafting in your head.

“i’m proposing to you when we go stargazing in 437 days at the same field we go to on our first date. i felt like the space theme should be continued. we also paint the milky way on our first daughter’s nursery walls.”

“you’ve really thought about it that much?”

“you should see my notes app, jisung. i have to cut off my whole ‘falling asleep’ process if i start imagining a situation that’s too good to get lost to my dreams.”

“can i be your boyfriend? please?”

“oh. yes. yeah. of course.”

his responding smile was blinding. he was practically vibrating in place. his hands snapped up to hold your face gently, his lips frantically pressing all over your face, kissing on the tip of your nose, on your forehead, on the corner of your mouth, on your eyelids when your eyes fluttered closed. he pulled back slowly, still grinning as he moved his hands down to your waist again. the look in his eyes shifted slightly. you were too high to process what his change in expression meant.

“you can blow smoke into my mouth if you want to, by the way. i think it sounds hot.”

“... huh?”

mel yaps: did i reread this before posting? nooopeee. did i write this while high? yurp! am i posting this while still high? you know it!! happy new year all, this is my real new year present for you.

#: @f6llsun (sorry for ur 10 thousandth tag of the night... idk why i keep uploading stuff that's my bad)

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xiuriii · 1 month ago

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✩ 69

(MDNI)

smutty smut , nerd jisung x hot girl experienced reader , ji's first time giving head , 69 sex position (first time writing this ahh) , pussy eating , dick sucking , sorta face riding , she's on top , big dick ji (canon) , lots of body fluids , jisungs a pussy hungry dork , kinda pt. 2 to library head , lmk if i missed anything!

jisung would probably die of embarrassment if you could see his face. he was practically foaming at the mouth, cheeks burning red as you wiggled your ass in his face, your soft giggles only made him impossibly harder as he imagined how you'd mock him for looking this desperate.

"come of ji, just give it a taste."

he watched as your juices glistened against your folds, hips still wiggling in a taunting motion.

"i- i don't know if i can do- oh my-"

his hands came up to grip your thighs, the soft kitten lick you landed on his tip making his head spin.

"we can stop if you want ji-"

your small fingers wrapped around his length, gently gripping his base as you leaned down again to give his leaking head a kiss.

"fuck- don't do that- i'm gonna-"

you giggled again, moving your hand away his length and placing it on his thigh, slightly turning your body to get a look at him,

"baby look-"

you reached in between your legs, reaching into your core to collect your juices before extending your fingers out in front of his mouth.

"taste."

he stuck his tongue out, eyes meeting yours as you placed your wet fingers on his tongue. a grin spread on your lips as you watched him moan against your fingers, eyes rolling back into his head.

"good?"

he nodded quickly, mouth chasing your fingers as you pulled them away from his lips.

"now here-" you pointed to your core.

his tongue poked out to wet his lips, a small gulp running along his throat, "tell me if it's too much okay?"

you wanted to laugh at his question but your voice got caught in your throat, body going limp against his lap as he dove straight in.

"ji- jisung wait-" you gripped his thighs, moans leaving your lips as he lapped at your dripping core, tongue stiff against your clit. his hands were harsh against your hips, pulling your ass closer to his face, glasses pressing painfully against your supple skin.

you gripped his length, trying your best to also bring him some pleasure, but your forehead pressed against his pubic bone, eyes squeezed shut as he completely devoured you.

"jisung please- slow down- i- fuck."

he let go of your clit with a loud pop, fingers coming up to rub against your heat as he angled his head to look at you, "am i doing good? am i?"

you turned to face him. his glasses were foggy, pushed close against his face, swollen lips parted slightly awaiting your response.

"doing so good ji, just go a little-" he didn't get to hear the end of your response, ears zoning out as he got back to slurping at your juices.

jisung had never been a fan of sweets, but tasting you was almost addicting. everything else was a blur (partially due to his foggy glasses) the taste of you against his tongue turning his brain into mush.

he could cum like this alone, your hips moving gently against his tongue, your soft sounds filling his ears, but you were not a quitter. your hands wrapped tightly around his base as you forced yourself to remain steady, lips wrapping his aching length.

a smile spread on your lips as you felt him moan against your core, hips jutting up slightly against your mouth. you were quick to move against him, spit starting to collect in your mouth as you bobbed your head along his length.

he detached from your core, whiny moans leaving his lips as you picked up speed, sloppy noises of spit coming from below him,

"fuck- fuck- fuck- you're so good at that- fuck."

he pulled your hips down towards his face again, tongue flat against your heat. his grip tightened as he rocked your hips against his face, his groans vibrating against you as he pressed himself deeper into your cunt.

you moved your mouth away from him, spit helping your hands glide against his length as you jerked him off,

"ji- ji baby- yes- just like that-"

your body was now upright as pressed yourself onto jisung's face, his grip on your hips guiding you against his tongue. you rubbed yourself on him like your life depended on it, stomach tightening at the feeling of his stiff tongue grazing your swollen bud,

"so good baby- so good."

only deep groans could be heard from him as you continued to rock against him, using him to reach your high.

his glasses clattered against the bed as they fell off his face, giving jisung a new sense of freedom as he began to shake his head against your core, new vibrations radiating against you.

"keep- keep going ji- i'm gonna-"

he winced slightly as your grip on his length tightened almost painfully, your orgasm making your whole body tense above him. you fell against his lap again, loud moans leaving your lips as he eased you through your orgasm, soft hands massaging your ass as his tongue slowed against you.

if jisung thought you tasted good before, now he thought you tasted amazing. his tongue prodded at your pulsing hole, new juices flowing out of you. he sucked desperately, this new taste better than the last.

but his trance was short lived as he felt you pinch his thigh, your pained moans bringing him back to earth.

"jisung! jisung! too much, hurts, please."

he let out a nervous chuckle, hand coming up to scratch his head,

"s-sorry, you taste really good-"

your giggling made him flush, his sheepish personality coming back once again.

"that- that's a compliment! good taste of body fluids usually means good diet and hygiene! in my biology clas- oh!"

he threw his head back against your sheets as you lips wrapped around his tip, tongue swirling against the flushed skin.

"i don't give a fuck about your biology class jisung."

rude. but not like he cared, the rest of his biology class probably wasn't getting insane head.

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